#both of them are gods. and icarus was a mere mortal. and then he was a mere shade

[antimonys-stuff]

anyway what I'm saying is BISEXUAL Icarus who in his mortal life fell (quite literally) for the splendor of Apollo in his chariot, and in his death falls in love with the princess of the Underworld, who also shines in her own way

[lillybearrie]

Hello I would like to remind everyone that the first (technically second if you wanna get really technical but who cares) thing we heard from fable was

"Release Me,

You are free of Enderian, now focus on purpose"

Directed at Icarus

"Now focus on your purpose"????? WHAT HAPPENED TO "HI" "HELLO" "HOW ARE YOU MY SON"

BECAUSE NEWSFLASH SIR THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TALK TO YOUR FUCKING CHILD

THEY AREN'T A FUCKING ROBOT TO TAKE AND CARRY OUT YOUR ORDERS THAT'S YOUR GODDAMN KID!

PEOPLE TREATED SEVEN WITH MORE FAMIARITY AND RESPECT

no offense to seven great guy rip man BUT STILL

Anyway on to actual analysis

After reading this note, several deductions can be made about our antagonist's character right off the bat, which in season 3 we see to be accurate assumptions

First of all the sending of the note "release me" constantly at the beginning of every reset presumably for the past several ones gives us a base line of a few things A) whoever wrote it is trapped B) they really want out C) whomever was to recive the note presumably can help with this D) this person is either very angry and resorting to formal wording as a form of passive aggression or they are simply a very formal person Had this not been the case they would have written "let me out" or "get me out" or even "help me"

Now for the post-corruption portion

"You are free of Enderian"

1) this person knows Enderian 2) This person knows at least of Icarus 3) They intentionally have been sending these to Icarus 4) despite being trapped they have some way to know what is going on 5) their particular view of Enderian is not favorable it's not overtly antagonistic however this is the one part of the not that can be read as at least partially sympathetic to Icarus

Finally "Now focus on your purpose"

1) they don't see Icarus as anything but a means to an end 2) tone wise it feels like both the chastisement of a child and an order to an unthinking being 3) "your purpose" seemingly refers to the prior statement of "release me" either implying that the writer believes Icarus is only here to get them out of wherever they are or that Icarus's sole purpose in life is to aid and assist them and 4) the use of "now" after the previous statement implies they view the corruption arc as simply something that was inhibiting the progression of them being let out

First off once again SIR THAT IS YOUR CHILD YOU MOTHERFUCKER-

In conclusion deductions that can be made from this note with the knowledge that i now hold are as follows: Fable wanted out of purgatory, they issued Icarus with the fulfillment of this task and saw the corruption arc as merely a speed bump on the road of getting his ass outta there. Fable is a pretentious douchebag. Like everyone else in his life Fable is constantly using his own son as a means to achieving his end goal.

Other notes:

Had Fable's motivations not been his underlying obsession with keeping what he believes is "his" even when it disrupts and disregards the rules of the universe and the sanctity of life he likely wouldn't have given 2 shits about Icarus.

If we view Fable's interactions with others through the lense of him thinking of those of the overworld as "his" his people his creations his world then it starts to become clearer that he only sees individuals as tools and for their potential usefulness to him. And if we want to take this view even further we could even say that he at least on some level viewed Alerion giving a place for his deceased mortals to restate something akin to how a child views their sibling stealing a toy from their room, which then implies that the war of the gods is just a big temper tantrum where Fable hurt his brother then his other siblings stepped in and went "hey woah man not cool you can hit Al dude he is literally just playing the game" to which Fable's response was to hurt them as well and now he's just got out of timeout and basically started blaming his parents for everything wrong in his life which is so silly goofy of him until you remember that these were people he was upset about his brother "stealing" from him and it becomes less silly goofy.

"But Lilly!" I hear you say because you've totally read this far, mhm definitely "If he doesn't actually care about the dead people, then why does he act nice? Why is his charisma stat so high?" Well to that I say is it easier to keep someone in one spot when you make them believe this is where they wanna be or when they know the whole truth?

[viviennevermillion]

Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)

Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!

Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!

Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life. When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic. As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.

Themes:

The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth

Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices

Religious Trauma

Healing from Abuse

Rebuilding trust in others

Learning to understand others

Navigating radical changes during adulthood

Elitism and class inequality

The problems with the ideal of meritocracy

Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction

Addiction

Gender Dysphoria

What this story contains:

A variety of fun magical powers!

Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!

Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)

Mysteries to unravel

The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood

Humor

My blood, sweat and tears as an author

The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters

Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!

#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust

❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝

Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.

#2 — Morgan Miralaith

❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝

Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.

#3 — Mortis Grimm

❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝

While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.

Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞

Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame

[plantwriting]

I was going to make a post about which greek heroes the jrwi pcs are but i came up with a better idea. Which greek myths/stories the jrwi pcs are, mostly just based on themes and vibes and stuff. Also some of these will be combinations of two or more characters when that’s required to make things fit

Riptide

Jay: starting off with what i think is the easiest one. The myth of Icarus, but more specifically: she’s Daedalus. Crafting wings for herself to escape the prison she has been locked in, reaching freedom but losing her family in the process. It just fits very well. (Was this entire post inspired by @enby-ralsei’s fic gifted wax wings? Maybe)

Gillion: had kind of a hard time choosing between the Illiad and the twelve labors of Heracles, but landed on the Illiad. It fits him as a story of war, of wrath and prophecies and higher powers playing with the lives of mortals. Achilles, the child of a goddess, an extremely capable warrior able to level entire armies by himself, but still human, still fully aware that he will die for the war he is fighting in. Helen, an innocent bystander by all logical means, the child of a god, or a goddess, or mere mortals depending on who you ask, ripped from her home and thrust into a battle she never asked for a part in. It just… well. It fits pretty well, I think.

Chip: The Odyssey, specifically from Telemachus’ pov (huh both jay and chip got a myth but from a different pov than the title character). Just a now grown up son trying to find his father who he lost years ago, even when all likelyhood points towards him being long gone. …lets hope chip and arlin can also get a happy ending reunion? Maybe?? Please???

Prime defenders

Dakota: the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa. Perseus is like… the ideal greek hero even by modern standards. Which, you know, Dakota obviously isn’t flawless, but he is very much the ideal of heroism. Kind, willing to learn from his mistakes, forgiving, capable, strong in multiple ways, he inspires people (Mark, William, fucking the whole of WATCH) to be better. Perseus really just fits him with like how ideal his story is at least in its older forms (obviously gets very different vibes if we go with the later interpretation of medusa being a victim but the older versions fit dakota better so thats what im focusing on)

William: Hades and Persephone! Extremely complex and complicated, somehow simultaneously one of the healthier love stories in greek mythology and also the story of Hades kidnapping his wife.. yeah its complicated. Just like Will! Also you know themes of the underworld and death and rebirth :)

Vyncent: the twelve labors of heracles, it doesn’t really fit as well as some others do but i barely have any fitting ones left (not writing these in order) and at this point like 90% of the myths i have left are just men being the worst. So vyncent gets a myth thats NOT a man being the worst! A very strong and capable fighter, sometimes easily overtaken by his own anger, in desperate need to prove himself and make up for his past mistakes

Blood in the bayou

Rolan: King Oedipus… uh ignoring the incest. Focusing on the themes of discovering your true identity and being so horrified and disgusted by the truth that you can’t live with it, that you’re the monster you’ve been seeking this whole time. Being unable to ever go back to the way things used to be no matter how much you wish you could do so

Kian and Rand: Orpheus and Eurydice. Not in the sense of “this character is this one” but the different themes just fit them both so well. Kian is music, is love, is hope and failure and loss and /love/. Kian is Orpheus risking everything for those he loves. Kian is Eurydice dying again because that very love was always going to be her downfall. Kian is a tragedy, and we all know how it will end. Meanwhile Rand is grief, is loss, is refusing to move on and let go of those you love. Of looking back even when you know it will only hurt you more. Rand is Orpheus, forever stuck in mourning those he’s lost. Rand is Eurydice, never able to come back from where she has gone. Rand is a tragedy, and we all wish we didn’t know how it will end.

Apotheosis

Rumi and Peter: already talked about this in my which greek gods they are post but!! The myth of Eros and Psyche. A god and a mortal that fell for each other, pulled apart by their circumstances. The mortal dying, only to be brought back by their godly lover and raised to godhood themself. A happy and loving marriage with their (lizard) children. It just fits so well

Thanatos: always feels ironic to pick a myth that doesnt involve Thanatos himself but. I think Thanny fits the story of Prometheus pretty good. Defying the gods by stealing fire for humanity and succeeding in that goal but then getting trapped forever because of that. I mean Thanatos you know stayed trapped willingly but still (also theres a real lack of greek myths where someone defies the gods and doesnt end up suffering like. A lot. Prometheus honestly got off somewhat easily compared to some others)

Not including the suckening since i still haven’t finished it :/ ill add my thoughts on the characters once ive done so

[punemy-spotted]

For Blue Skies

Pairing: Ikaris x Desi Muslim!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to FGM/Clitorectomy; Allusions to Child Abuse; Allusions to Scars; Angst; Arguments; Throwing of Glass; Psychology and the Healing of the Inner Child; Some element of Hurt/Comfort

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Word Count: 2k words

Summary: To love a God is no easy thing. To face a God who could not shape a kinder humanity is even harder.

Author’s Notes: When I was five years old, I was subjected to a clitorectomy, a procedure that was a violation of my human rights and bodily autonomy. It has fundamentally changed the way I view my sexuality and challenged my ability to see myself as a person worthy of sexual pleasure and love.

Eternals was a movie that I both loved and hated because of the implication that the Eternals just… sat by and watched human history become what it is, or that they may have actually shaped it into what it is. Knowing the historical origins of FGM and connecting that to some of the story of the Eternals, I had a mini-breakdown and ended up spending weeks writing this to deal with it.

As always, thank you @brandycranby for putting up with me ranting about this.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

In a way, you almost should have known this would happen — just as Icarus himself so loved the freedom of his wings and the warmth of the sun upon them that he flew too close and fell to his death, the act of loving Ikaris has burned you alive, hasn’t it?

Immortality, you know — have known, long before he broke his way into your life — is a curse. He has seen so much, grappled with Gods and Monsters, shaped the very humanity you are afflicted with. How can he see your pain properly, viewed from so high above, so aware of the whole scope of humanity, unbothered by your mundane troubles? Small things to a giant, the rough edges of this unforgiving universe are… nothing.

But you, mortal you, a microscopic blip in the scope of human history, wrapped in the constant daily stressors of your ephemeral life. To see the world through your eyes is to magnify his view a thousandfold and even the smoothest of surfaces are a mountain range of jagged peaks reaching up to the sky when viewed from up close.

To love a God is to know he was never truly yours, no matter how many promises he makes of himself — fealty and fidelity and faith — or how many ways you want to believe him. Never yours, but in the moments your life and his coincide, you are his.

The weight of truth is a heavy, heartless thing, sinking into the bliss of new love slowly, burning away the hazy edge of infatuation to bring about clear realization. A hand of ice and stone emerges from the ocean floor and truth emerges from the well of his mouth to shame you both for having the very audacity to think that you could.

A thousand lives born from every single one lost — it seemed like such a fair exchange at the time, he tells you, barely able to meet the pained betrayal in your gaze. He almost makes it sound so reasonable.

What is the cost of a life, what is worth the weight of all your memories, is it a thousand lives scattered across a thousand different worlds, a consciousness split across many infinite light years? What is the price you would pay to erase all your pain in conjunction with your pleasures, all for the chance to maybe be reborn on a world guided by kinder Gods?

So all of this, all of human progress was … priming us to be cattle, it is not a question, merely a truth, a shameful reality you are forced to face, Then what was I? There. A selfish question — but then again, what are humans but inherently selfish, occupied by their own survival first? What are you too, but a tangle of traumas desperate to be seen as yourself and loved for it all the same.

You… How can he answer that, what answer can he give to that, when the truth cannot be softened, cannot be smoothed over? You would have been my greatest regret to lose.

On television, a reporter speculates aloud on the investigation into the dormant behemoth that might have borne any number of new utopias and before you, the Eternal who once never questioned the cost holds back tears.

It’s a tragedy you failed.

At five, a child’s body does not belong to them, belongs to the elders, the “know-betters” who decide everything from clothes to eventual college education, to “best interests” and good intentions, an object both sacred and unconsecrated, carefully cataloged and sealed away until — like wine — it has aged enough to be known.

And who are the catalogers but kindly doctors and home surgeons, self-taught anesthesiologists with adulterated sherbets and unwanted visits to hospital rooms built in the home, meant for the poking and the prodding, the measuring and marking before the magic is done — just a moment of knifework, easy as that — and the specimen is released into the arms of its anxious owners, finally made pretty and perfect, purified in blood.

If there was a physical recovery for you, you don’t remember, not anymore. Memories fracture with your mind, shattered by the knowing you’ll never stop grappling with, the wondering you’ll never find an end to.

The blame you need to try and place.

Would you have? Regretted it, if the Emergence had actually happened?

You ask it of him days later, days of pretending you aren’t weighing every word of his confession in a thousand different configurations, trying to find one that did not anchor your heart to the slumbering giant at the bottom of the sea.

You ask it of him and all he does is watch you, measuring the weight of your distrust, I would never want to see you hurt.

Oh.

Oh sweet love, you almost tell him, almost throw the glass in your hand at him, almost shatter yourself at his feet, Oh sweet love it is far too late for that.

You bite it back instead, bite back the bile rising in your throat, bite back that scream you wish you could shatter the planet with, You wouldn’t have seen though.

You never do.

He wouldn’t have seen, you charge him, and in doing so you set his hackles to rise, the uneasy truce of your broken heart splitting the chasm between you further and this time he wonders if it’s worth trying to fly, I promised you I would protect you, he reminds, in the sharp admonition of a father insisting his love is Real don’t you see all that I do for you?

You did, you concede. You have to acknowledge it.

The tragedy is, so does he.

It is strange. To be a child and an adult all at once, to watch him and feel all the hurt and betrayal of your present coursing through your five-year-old psyche, the terrified child at the very core of you screaming for answers you promised, you promise, you promised!

Did he know, would he have known, would it ever have been relevant for him, so passionately dedicated to ridding the world of Deviants in their entirety? Wasn’t that enough?

Would it ever be enough?

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, shouldn’t charge him with the failure to protect you from the crimes committed before he ever knew he would come into your life in the aftermath. How could he have known, have seen, have anticipated the consequences of his indifference when — for so many centuries of his immortal life — he has followed only the design of a God merciful enough to let him pretend to be one on this planet?

You shouldn’t, yet you do.

You do for the sake of the girl you have never stopped comforting, for the woman you could have become, the mourning you have not ceased. He can see it, can’t he? Can see the child at the core of you wondering if she has — once more — placed her trust in the wrong person.

He says your name like an apology, approaches you slowly, watches you burn from the inside out and wonders too if he has — once more — laid waste to the heart of a woman he loves.

The weight of truth is a heavy, heartless thing, sinking into the bliss of new love slowly, burning away the hazy edge of infatuation to bring about clear realization and as the smoke of your denial clears you find yourself facing a man who could have and did not and you wonder if the weight of your resentment is enough to unseat him from your chest, from that space between your ribs where his name beats like a drum, Did you know?

What?

Did. You. Know.

Sweetheart, if I had known I would have—

Don’t call me sweetheart! You have lost the right to any sweetness left in me.

The glass that goes sailing from your hand flies without much coaxing, an act compelled by a girl who knows only that she is angry and in pain, believing ardently that the current target of her ire was at fault for all of it.

He manages to avoid the projectile with infuriating ease, glancing back to eye the shards of your heartbroken psyche, seeing the many injustices of time past reflected back at him in the wreckage and still… walks… closer. I know you’re angry, swee— he cuts himself off his time, hands bare and bloody before you like surrender.

Surrender surrender surrender.

It’s a standoff, shards of you twinkling in the once-comfortable home of your kitchen, his hands unsteady as he wonders how to put you back together without crumbling you to dust. You step back and he steps closer, like he could cage you in. Did you know did you know did you know?

Did he?

To be all-knowing and all-seeing is to know that seeing and noticing are two different things — one does not always take notice of that which one sees, the nose in front of one’s own eyes is edited out by one’s own mind — and the Eternals are neither omnipotent nor omniscient, merely … eternal. And to be eternal is to forget. Forget the mundane terrors of the past, leave the present an unfolding path, and look to what chains drag the future ever closer.

All of this was supposed to end.

To love a God is to know he was never truly yours but what of a God who loves a human? What of knowing the inexorable passage of time will lead to the inevitability of decay, what of immortalizing a memory that too, will one day fade in the mind of a being that has only so much space to remember?

All of this was supposed to end, he tells you, arms wrapped around you, collapse halted but briefly as he tries to justify the unjust.

What is the cost of a life, what is worth the weight of all your memories, is it a thousand lives scattered across a thousand different worlds, a consciousness split across many infinite light years? What is the price he would pay to erase all your pain and all his guilt, all for the chance that somewhere, on a world far away from here, there is a being composed of the same atoms as you who does not know pain or betrayal or him?

Thus, All of this was supposed to end.

You knew.

Knowing is different from doing. We trusted Arishem then, when we were told not to intervene.

Immortality, you know — have known, long before he broke his way into your life and your heart — is a curse. He has seen so much, faced the collapse of his very faith itself, saved the very humanity you are afflicted with. How could he have done anything, when — so aware of the scope of history — he would then have had to do more and how close can a God wander towards Tyrant? Small things to a giant, the rough edges of this unforgiving universe are humanity’s very struggle to survive.

He will see you too, and find fleeting joy in the small things.

Everything was always so fast — there were so many Deviants and still no one could unite to fight them.

So their traditions took a backseat.

They always found a new way to kill each other.

Humanity is a hard thing to love, but humans are soft, are fragile, are reaching for meaning in an unfeeling universe and he… does not love them but loves you, has sworn to love you in the only ways he has learned to, been yours in the only way he has been capable of, is the only home you have ever known and here in the magnified reality of your life, he whispers the words, I’m sorry.

He is. You know he is.

So he says to you, Forgive me.

So. Singed by the fire of his devotion to the larger things beyond, you sink yourself into the hearth of his promise now — fealty, fidelity, faith — and try to believe.

I’ll forgive you.

[charlotte--kensington]

Guess who is starting a new thing because she totally doesn't have like 5 WIPs anyway? Meeeeeeee

Anyway, this will have multiple parts, but aside from some minor stuff there's no true chronological order I'm planning or anything.

"You can't seriously expect to keep me here."

The expression of complete and utter annoyance that adorned the face of the God of Death was one to behold. His eyes followed the movement of the deity beyond the set of bars separating them, but his arms remained where they were, folded across his chest as he stared the other down.

There was a mirthful smile on that sun-kissed face, a glint of mischief as the God of Spring eyed him with a mix of interest and marvel and pride, a combination that brought about naught but hybris, that had brought about the demise of Icarus and Bellerophon alike. A slight smirk played around his lips, and the eyes of the caged god narrowed farther yet.

"And why should I not? You have neither escaped nor tried to, have you?"

He continued his path along the living cage that had sprung up around the God of Death by virtue of the other's power alone. Bright blue eyes and wheat-blond hair, tanned skin and the muscles of a man, a God, who spent each and every day on the field and in the gardens.

The picture of a simple man, and yet he'd managed to trap the Lord of the Underworld so easily.

"As long as you are here, why should I expect anything less than for you to stay?"

The God of Death grit his teeth, fists tight around the trunks of what should have been decade-old olive trees, when really that living and growing cage that surrounded him had sprung up in a matter of seconds. A wide canopy of leaves had formed above him, a soft blanket of daisies and violets beneath his feet.

And yet, nothing was as pretty as it seemed.

He was trapped, at the mercy of a young, impulsive god, cut off from any source of power as the cage kept him bound to the mortal realm and as deep-running roots separated him from the black earth and the minerals it held.

He was bound, the King of the Dead trapped above ground as though all his power and subjects had lost value.

"Somebody will notice," he replied at last, "Somebody will notice, and when they do, they will apprehend you, foolish God-"

"Alfred."

The God of Spring had interrupted him, uncaring for his words or the danger they told of.

"Call me Alfred."

"Why should I, we're not-"

The God of Spring - Alfred - rolled his eyes, taking a step closer to that cage that had grown upon his wish, with little more than the wave of a hand and a wish on his lips. He reached out for him, a tanned, calloused hand reaching through the branches as though to caress his cheek.

At the last second the God of Death retreated.

Something flashed across the other god's face, but he couldn't quite name whatever emotion it was.

"You'll be here for a while," the other insisted after he'd regained himself. "I'll be the only one for you to talk to, so you might as well save both of us the time of using titles. So what will it be, Arthur?"

Arthur, God of Death, Ruler of the Dead, King of the third realm, had never been a devotee of making things easy, much preferred order and structure over the simplicity of chaos. He frowned, trying to force the other deity to join his subjects by virtue of his expression - the proverbial death glare - alone.

"It's funny of you to assume I'd wish to talk to you at all," he retorted curtly, "I live among the dead, it's not like I make a habit of talking to them either."

"And yet you talk to me."

Arthur folded his arms, leant back against the trees that formed the back of that little bit of green he was confined in, lips pressed together in a fine line as he remained silent.

The other god merely laughed.

"Is the silent treatment really how you want to convince me to release you?" Alfred questioned, still snickering to himself, as he charmed a small ivy tendril to climb up the stem of one of the trees, snaking around the stem and the branches and higher yet.

"Guess I'll just have to decorate your new home with sunflowers and daisies all over."

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, you bet I will."

[modern-vellichor]

Darling, You're Hopeless

Summary: You and Loki are seemingly always on the run. One day Loki is forced to leave you, and Steve takes care of you while he's gone.

Warnings: smoking, cigarettes, mentions of blood, handcuffs?, needles, loki fluff, steve being a good friend, mostly fluff.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Dating the villain isn't as bad as it seems, especially when you are one in the same. They knew you only as Hestia, except you weren't a God, not like him. They knew that you flirted with flame like it was an old friend, hence the nickname. You were the first one they called when he ended up in their grasp. It had taken a week of persuasion from Tony and Cap to convince Thor to contact you.

You were nice when you arrived. You stepped out of the cab in very mortal clothes. Cap noticed how generously you tipped the driver. You shook everyone's hand when you came in, even gave Peter a soft, motherly smile and a pat on the head. When you were talking with Tony and Steve you were nothing but mannerly. You didnt hesitate in declining a call in the middle of your meeting. You shook your head and apologised upon hearing of Loki's actions. Then politely asked to see him, and they didnt see why not.

"My Darling, Hestia. You dont know how happy I am to see you", he said, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth after the gag was removed.

"I know, baby", you whispered, wiping his chin with your thumb.

The two of you spoke for a while, Tony and Steve watching intently. Then you flicked your hand beside your head, a lit cigarette appearing between your fingers. You took one long drag, and exhaled. Smoke filled the room, obscuring their view. When they burst in, the two of you were gone and the room had been set ablaze.

They should have known.

Your house in Missouri was secluded. You hid there, you and Loki. You lived an almost normal life. You had groceries delivered to the house and spent your days lounging around. You had work to do, and Loki kept himself busy.

One late afternoon you heard knocking on your door. You opened it without thinking and next minute Steve Rogers was shoving his way into your entry hall. You stopped him before he reached the door to the living room, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Y/N, Darling?", Loki called out. "Is everything alright? Who's at the door"

"Everything's fine, baby. It's just an old friend. We're going for a walk." You answered nonchalantly.

You shoved Steve into the cool afternoon air. You didnt say a word until the two of you had walked to the next block.

"So, Y/N?" He asked lazily.

"You don't get to call me that." You spat in return.

You had worked so hard on keeping private and safe. And now everything had been compromised. For all you know there could be 20 S.H.I.E.L.D agents at your home for Loki while Steve distracted you.

You took a deep breath. "What do you want, Mr. Rogers?"

"I want to make a deal"

"What deal?"

"Keep your boyfriend distracted long enough until we have precautions in place to defeat him should anything,,,happen. We have Intel that Loki is planning an attack on the Avengers and we dont need another problem right now"

"Will those precautions involve killing him?", you asked sadly.

"No"

"Then you have a deal"

"Pleasure doing business with you"

From then on Steve made a visit every month. He promised not to tell any of the other Avengers of your location. You had begun to enjoy your monthly walks. Until one day Steve rapped at your door and you opened it, teary eyed and distraught.

"He's gone and I dont know where he is", you rambled hastily. "Steve you've got to help"

Steve was quick to get to straight to New York. He left you stranded in a concrete room while he searched the city for Loki. Eventually he came to let you out, and guided you to a plain but comfortable looking cell. In it was an angry looking Loki who was pacing. He had a cut on his temple and a bruise forming on his cheek. You sighed in relief and tapped on the glass. The two of you spoke quietly for a few minutes before your hands were being held behind your back.

Loki put up a fight as you were lead away in cuffs and chains. But you went quietly. You made small remarks to Steve, you was hesitantly leading you to a cell of your own. He had done so much for you, the least you could do was cause him no trouble. And even in captivity, Steve took care of you. He snuck you books to read and journals to write in. He took letters and notes to Loki, and brought you his in return. And after a few months of lonely captivity, you asked Steve a final favour.

He had come to bring you dinner when you grabbed his arm, looking into his eyes with a pleading look.

"Steve please. Allow us to share a cell. I worry what Loki will do, should he be left alone any longer"

He walked you to Loki with your hands tied behind your back. The first thing that Loki did was embrace you, your hands not yet free. Before Steve could remove your restraints, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and passed a little note to him.

Steve came to visit you in the evenings. You both hated to admit it, but you had become good friends. Should things have been different, you would have turned to him for advice.

Steve liked his evening visit. You and Loki read aloud as you lay with each other. While you liked to recite poetry and other dramatic readings, Loki preferred to read classic literature. Steve vividly remembers a poem you recited about icarus. He remembers you being so passionate about changing the narrative of the story of Icarus, and it had worked. Steve never saw that tale in the same light.

One evening Steve brought you and Loki your food. You came to retrieve your plates from the little hatch. You were muttering an apology before he even realised what was happening. He only felt the needle as you were pulling it out of his hand. On a normal man, that amount of tranquilizer would knock him out for days. But with serum raging through his veins, it merely immobilized Steve. It was enough though. You and Loki crawled out of the confines of your cell. With the walls behind you, Loki was finally able to get the both of you out of there.

Your holiday home in Italy was a lot nicer anyway.

Neither of you were working very hard in Italy. The two of you spent your days walking around in the summer sun, or spending your afternoons curled up in bed with each other. Loki was soft behind closed doors. Soft and loving, gentle and caring. Although you weren't allowed to tell anyone that. You lived like this for a few, happy months.

Then one night you were curled up, asleep. Loki's hand rubbing comforting circles on your stomach. You didn't wake up when the lock on your front door clicked, nor when the thudding up the stairs began. You still kick yourself for it. You only startled awake when your bedroom door was kicked in, a sad group of Avengers standing where it would have been. You immediately scrambled to hide your lover from the group of angry heroes. Steve had an emphatic look on his face, he met your pleading eyes with sorrow.

"Steve", you whimpered. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't do this"

You gave Loki a loving squeeze on the thigh. That was the signal. Within seconds he had disappeared, and you were left alone with tears in your eyes.

"Can I at least get dressed before you lot kidnap me", you spat.

Most of the group ambled pathetically downstairs, all but Steve.

"I'm sorry." He stated, sitting at the edge of your bed. His gaze trained at the floor while you dressed.

"I'm sure you are"

"I'll take good care of you, until Loki gets back"

Should those words have fallen from any others mouth, you would have thought them a threat. But on his lips, it was a kind gesture. You smiled at your unlikely friend, and things felt a small bit better.

Months went by. Every day you woke up in that God forsaken compound wishing that Loki would arrive to collect you. And each day you were disappointed. But there were little things to make up for it.

The young Avenger. Peter, you had grown close with him. And even though you were as stubborn as a mule, and refused to help, Stark could not kill you, you were simply too valuable. So you had the run of the library. You memorized poem upon poem for the day your lover returned. You knew in your heart one day he would.

Eventually your incessant complaining grew too much for Stark. So he allowed Steve to take your for walks. The two of you would walk Peter home from school sometimes.

It was on one of these trips that a familiar voice rang in your ear. The familiar call of "Darling" lingered in the air as you almost fainted. Sure enough, when you turned around he was there. Notably a fair bit skinnier. You weren't sure if this was really him or an apparition. When you embraced him you found him to be solid. Peter and Steve stood awkwardly as the two of you reunited.

"you have to go, god knows what they'll do if they find you," you say, pulling away from him with tears in your eyes.

You run your hands down his chest, straightening his shirt and fixing his jacket.

"come with me, please, darling. You have to, I need you," he begs. His eyes are soft and pleading.

Peter is standing behind you, he watches in fear. He's heard of Loki and the damage he's done, although he isn't scared of the Loki that you tell stories of, he's definitely afraid of the one standing a few feet ahead of him.

Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Peter reaches for his phone and begins to call Tony. Steve grabs the device and crushes it in his hand. Peter begins to protest but Steve's quiets him quickly.

"Does that look like a man who's gonna hurt someone?" He whispers angrily, gesturing at the frail and weak Loki. "He's not here for revenge, he's here for her"

Suddenly you turn around to look at Steve, teary eyed. You look at him imploringly, silently begging him to let you go with Loki.

Steve smiles at you sadly, he raises his hand and waves at you.

Your eyes go wide in shock and disbelief.

Steve nods and shoos you away with his hand, turning around a pulling Peter with him.

You both look back one last time and you mouth a Thank You at the blond. He just nods and turns around again.

When he looks one last time you're gone. But he knows he'll see you again, and hopefully you'll have turned Loki into a better man. Or maybe he'll have corrupted you equally as much. Steve didn't try care. He'll miss his friend, and you will too.

[fermented-writers-block]

Submitted by @sepublic:

So a while back, my pal @fermented-writers-block aired a theory. To sum up the abridged version, they suggested that if the Boiling Isles was allegorical to an Underworld, and the Human World to… Well, itself, then what of a third realm above? What if there was a parallel to an angelic realm, one populated by the show’s equivalent to a race of angels/Valkyries? They speculated that Emperor Belos himself may have been one of them, cast out… And he desires the portal and access to the Human World, in order to access this hypothetical Angel Realm!

In our discussions, we came across the idea that the Human World functions like neutral territory. It is the realm between realms, the buffer/barrier between the Angel Realm and the Demon Realm. It is where the two come together, and where influences from both have leaked in, to inspire real-world myths; A callback to Eda’s line in the first episode! The Portal, as speculated by my pal, potentially is rooted in the Human World, giving it equal access to the Angel and Demon Realms respectively- As a result of the Human World being between both of them respectively!

If the three realms were bus seats, the Angel Realm might be the Window Seat, while the Demon Realm is the set right next to the aisle where people walk up and down across the bus… And the Human World is sandwiched right between! This of course means that in order for either the Demon or Angel Realm to access one another, it would be through the Human World… With only the Human World maintaining access to BOTH realms, instead of just the one!

Ergo… Given the theory that Belos intends to reconnect to this Angel Realm, it makes sense that he wants to access the Human World! To him, it’s merely a stepping stone, not his destination… The ladder he needs to reach the top, it’s his stopping point before he can progress on to the end! He has no interest in the Human World, as he claims, beyond utilizing it as a passageway to something far grander and more interesting.

But now… onto a certain idea behind Belos.

To put it simply; Fermented Writer’s Block and I think that Belos could potentially be a Satanic/Lucifer allegory. A Fallen Angel, in a sense. From a Doylist perspective, this would settle Disney’s concerns over depicting Heavenly characters as negative, as the only truly negative Angel in this sense would be a literal Satanic allegory. It’d be like Doom, in a sense!

I’ve discussed… a LOT in the past, the idea of Luz and Belos being counterparts. Even if we don’t have much within canon, there IS the association with Light, as well as the ability to communicate with the Titan to some degree. Luz’s name literally means Light… And Lucifer means Light Bringer! It’s in the name, Luz-ifer! If Belos is a twisted counterpart to Luz’s guiding light, then perhaps he’s a more literal take on the Satanic allegory…

Specifically, the idea of an Angel who was cast out of their world and fell, plummeting into a realm beneath that of the Human World! We’re already making allusions with Lilith’s name, after all. And I’d LOVE to see The Owl House tackle some more classic, eldritch takes on the Angels of old and their original interpretations, such as the Seraphs!

After all, people have noted the similarities between Belos and the idea of Christian Imperialism. If Belos were a literal ‘angel’, or the show’s equivalent, this would be a fitting twist! Fermented Writer’s Block also observed that on one page of the Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles, Belos is depicted with almost mechanical wings, in addition to the book being somewhat burnt. What if this could imply burnt wings on Belos’ part? Especially given Belos’ mechanical, industrial motifs and deteriorated nature...

If Belos WERE a Fallen Angel, then perhaps his Wings motif amidst the Emperor’s Coven imagery is intentional. Not only does it hearken back to his true origins and identity… But it could also allude to him having burnt wings, which in itself is symbolic of a Fallen Angel, as someone who was outcast and can no longer fly! The dude IS associated with Fire, to a degree… His throne room is lit by blazing braziers. Amity and Boscha are associated with his Coven System, in a sense… Amity is indoctrinated into its values and wants to join the Emperor’s Coven, while Boscha’s ideas of hierarchy and elitism reflect Belos’ values rather well. Both characters are associated with Fire… Which, helps to serve as a unifying motif among them- Especially with Lilith, who has blue fire and was leader of the Emperor’s Coven!

It’s a contrast to Luz and her Ice, and what she stands for… Her Light is reflective, while the Light of characters like Belos is harsh, dangerous, and off-putting. If Luz were more comparable to a night star, shining amidst the darkness and providing guidance- Then Belos is like the Sun, harsh, bright, demanding attention from all… But also too powerful to be personal with, something to be regarded from a distance, and never closely looked at. This would fit into Belos’ enigmatic nature, and the idea of him heralding Day, while Luz is Night… After all, Owls are nocturnal! And if Belos is a coming dawn, then that could tie into Angelic motifs… Amidst Luz’s Night bringing an end to his Light! It’s a take on that age-old term, about the Sun never setting on the British Empire… And THAT empire is emblematic of colonialism and imperialism as a whole!

It could also allude to the myth of Icarus- A mortal who flew too close to the sun! Of course in this scenario, Belos was in fact an Angel… But there’s still the recurring theme of wanting more, of one’s circumstances not being enough, of being guided by arrogance- It’s shared between Lucifer and Icarus both, to varying degrees. Perhaps Belos tried to lead a revolt in the Angel Realm, or got too arrogant… Either way, he was cast out- He flew too close to the Sun he wished to embody, and so his wings were burnt. Clipped of the thing most emblematic of his identity, no longer able to fly and ascend… Belos fell to the Earth, and then even deeper.

It’d tie into Belos having earthen motifs, as someone who can no longer fly. Him having angelic aesthetics, underscored by demonic motifs and growls, fits into the idea of Lucifer having been a beautiful angel, only to become the literal Devil and leader of Hell and all of its horrific demons! Belos already has a decayed, deteriorated condition to him that implies he’s not in the best health. Perhaps his burnt wings are the cause of this- Or at least another symptom of whatever injuries he suffered in the past? Not only that, but returning to the Icarus motifs… If we want to get meta, we can ascertain that Dana Terrace has read Fullmetal Alchemist. She knows of Hiromu Arakawa’s artstyle, citing it as something Luz would emulate back home- And there’s that other post comparing Father and Belos!

If Belos is like Father, then there’s once again that idea of using a portal to access a heavenly ‘realm’, through the Sun, in order to access a ‘God’ figure, or beings around that level. Not only that, but Fullmetal Alchemist, from its very beginning, made a very pointed reference to the myth of Icarus, likening its main protagonist Edward Elric to him! If Father is in some ways a foil to Ed, just as Belos could be to Luz… Then it makes sense for Dana to have been inspired by Icarus by virtue of his tale being important to the themes of Fullmetal Alchemist! And if Belos IS a Satanic allegory… Well, Lucifer’s name literally means Morning Star. As Belos’ antithesis, Luz brings the sunset to his Day of Unity. They’re both outcasts to the Demon Realm, but from different worlds respectively.

Now, there’s a question- Who are the Angels? What do they look like? And where does the Owl Deity factor into all of this? Well, this gets me onto my NEXT part;

I think the Owl Deity could be the closest thing to ‘God’ in this universe, AKA an all-powerful deity who reigns above all! A while back, a background artist for the show released some art he did, depicting Luz and King resting beneath a spire. If one looks closely at the top, they can see a depiction of Belos himself! And right above it is candles, surrounding an Owl… An Owl above all. Perhaps we’re looking too deeply into this. But it brings to mind a pun, about the God of All Things… Also being the God of ‘Owl’ Things!

If the candles are lit, then this suggests fire’s association with the heavens, which fits into biblical depictions of Angels! Not only that, but Belos is right beneath the Owl… And right beneath him is a fleshy stump, indicative of his own motifs… And it’s connected to what appears to be a giant eye right beneath him! Eyes are a big motif in the Boiling Isles –and amongst biblical angels- so perhaps the fleshy stump, akin to Belos’ constructs, is symbolic? That he’s bridging the gap between the demonic world below, and the heavenly world above?

Regardless, the next portion of this theory suggests that the Owl Deity is a supreme being. Perhaps a neutral mediator between both the Angel and Demon Realms, with the Human World as neutral ground. Perhaps a weapon, utilized by the Angels? Or a powerful deity they managed to sway… More on that later. Regardless, it DOES make one consider the Clawthornes’ connection to the Owl Deity, specifically Eda’s. Her house DOES have the only known depictions of this enigmatic being, after all.

And THAT house was likely fashioned, at least partly, from a tower! Towers are known for their reach towards the skies… Could a Clawthorne Ancestor have been connected to the Owl Deity as a worshipper? A follower? Maybe they were ALSO an Angel, like Belos, albeit not fallen… Or at least, much more well-intentioned! It could bring a dark twist to Lilith’s line about Eda being with her ‘real’ family… Unbeknownst to her, Belos, being a fallen Angel, is arguably ‘family’ in the sense that the hypothetical Clawthorne Ancestor was ALSO an Angel! After all, it might better explain how Eda has access to the Portal. Not to mention that golden, blazing Owl Wraith she summons during her final battle with Lilith… Birds ARE a Clawthorne Motif, after all! And Angels have bird wings.

If Belos IS similar to Father from Fullmetal Alchemist, then it makes sense that there’s a ‘God’ he plans to usurp as a Lucifer allegory. The Owl Deity could be this god, or at least associated with the Heavens that Belos seeks to conquer and return to. That of course gets us into the symbolism behind the angelic motifs of the Emperor’s Coven. Now, when Belos first arrived in the Demon Realm, he would have been acting VERY contrary to the Boiling Isles’ values about magic at the time, and he clearly had to utilize plenty of force and genocide to make people comply. In other words, this is a dude who cares not about conforming to others, but making others conform to him…

So it doesn’t make as much sense for Belos to change his aesthetics to an Angelic one, to appease the Boiling Isles residents if he’s clearly averse to everything else they do! Especially if Angels, or what lingering memory of them there is, is seen as negative by the Boiling Isles… The point being, this alludes to Belos being genuine about his Angelic motifs, and not adopting them to appear more palatable to others; Because all of his behavior suggests otherwise, that he forces others to adapt to him, rather than the other way around!

Not only that, but if the Emperor’s Coven is Belos’ attempt at reinstating his ideal form of heavenly rule/environment on the Boiling Isles… And if the Owl Deity is a god to be conquered, then how fitting is it that his subordinate wears an Owl Mask? Perhaps it’s meant to arrogantly symbolic… That the Owl figure that Belos once looked up to, now serves him! Of course it’s only in symbols; But the idea is there, that the image and motif of Owls has been appropriated, not as a holy being above Belos, but instead as an image belonging to a subservient minion.

Now, this all leads into another question- What about the Titan? What does the Titan have to do with this? And for that matter, what of the giant Titan remains, scattered across the Boiling Seas- We know others exist, but OUR Titan is the only known intact corpse! Well…

In Understanding Willow, Hooty briefly mentions his backstory. It’s hard to discern, but he mentions how it all began with a hunt, and how there were blood-red skies before Eda and King’s dialogue cuts him off and drowns out the noise. There IS the idea of Hooty being a lobotomized and weakened reincarnation of the Owl Deity, or at least a spawn of it… Or having SOME association with it, moreso than most characters! We don’t know what killed the Titans, or why OUR Titan’s corpse is intact. There could be Doylist answers to this, maybe it’s meant to be a mystery that’s never explored, but left to a sublime imagination…

But if not, then this is where I get into a crazy idea here;

Angels are depicted as adversarial with Demons. The Titans would’ve been the first Demons, of the Demon Realm. We know one of them had Magic... And if Belos is any indication as a fallen angel, there may be a heavenly aversion to magic. Hooty recalls it all beginning with a hunt…

What if the Angels hunted down the Titans? It’d explain their sudden extinction… As for why our Boiling Isles (BI) Titan is still intact, well. Perhaps it was a lone survivor! Perhaps its Magical ability permitted it to last longer than others, before it too succumbed to death after the genocide. For all we know, its Magical ability was what drove the Angels to commit genocide upon the Titans, for fear of an uprising! Either they failed to target the Titan actually responsible for finding magic, or they kept them from spreading their craft to others by killing off anyone else who would be willing to learn.

If Hooty has a connection to the Owl Deity… Well, remember when he mentioned being haunted by his actions forever, in Adventures in the Elements? What if the Owl Deity led this ‘hunt’ against the Titans… Either as a creation of the Angels, or as a neutral mediator who was swayed to their ideas of magic being dangerous! Either way, there seems to be a recurring theme of regret and remorse… Perhaps when all was said and done, the Owl Deity rejected its actions, and banished itself to the Boiling Isles? Maybe the Clawthorne Ancestor was connected to/IS the Owl Deity… As for how the Owl Deity died, maybe it simply willed itself out of existence in shame. Maybe it succumbed to injuries from the water. Either way, the Titan didn’t erase all traces of it, which could imply some forgiveness on its part… That, or the Titan was too dead to act in outright vengeance, who knows?

Regardless, the story goes- A Titan discovers Magic, is deemed a threat by the Angels. The Angels lead a mass extermination of its kind, with the Titan the sole survivor. The Owl Deity helps lead the hunt, but comes to regret its war crimes, and dies amidst the BI Titan’s corpse, laying the foundations for the Owl House. As I said, the BI Titan also eventually dies, alone and traumatized, as the Angels head back home.

Owl Deity culls rest of titans, is about to finish the Titan when it realizes the horror of what it did

Either the Titan took it out in a pyrrhic victory, or - more likely - the Owl Deity, being an entity focused on balance and neutrality, allowed itself to be killed/seriously wounded as way to “rebalance” things as much as it can for its nigh complete genocide

We know that Belos claims to enforce the will of the Titan. Well, if he’s a fallen angel… What if he’s persuading the Titan to help it get revenge? What if as a fallen angel, he arrived on the Boiling Isles and approached the Titan’s spirit, proclaiming himself as trustworthy, in an Enemy of my Enemy situation? Belos would point to him and the Titan as being wounded and rejected by the angels to some extent. Belos would have insider knowledge on his kind. If the Angels swayed the Owl Deity, what if Belos swayed the Titan to his side by offering it the chance to strike back at the Heavens for its crimes, and avenge its fallen brethren?

When Belos claims to enforce the Titan’s will, he’s not completely wrong- It DOES feel justifiable anger, though clearly Belos is capitalizing and manipulating this anger, and then passing off the Titan’s actions as solely its own, and not at all a product of Belos’ own manipulations in any shape or form. You know how I likened Belos to Father… And my past theories about Belos resurrecting the Titan, on the Day of Unity?

Hooty mentions it all began with a hunt, with blood-red skies. What if the skies are blood-red once more, on the Day of Unity? As the realms converge or whatnot… What if Belos’ weapon to defeat his Angelic brethren is none other than the resurrected Titan, wielding full access to the powers of Magic, and with vengeance in its heart? What if Belos resurrects the Titan on the Day of Unity, possibly with its body underneath HIS control as a parasite… We could have a scene mirroring that iconic moment from Fullmetal Alchemist, where a continent-sized Father rises from the ground and reaches out to the Heavens, accessing them with the Portal! Just replace Father’s gigantic form with the Titan’s resurrected, magic-fueled body!

Now, this does lead into the idea of settling the Angels as antagonists, once Belos is done and over with. Perhaps a resurrected Owl Deity will be instrumental, with the help of Luz and the others? If she’s the Night to Belos’ Day, then perhaps she needs to set the sun on Belos’ reign, on his Day of Unity! It all begins and ends with blood-red skies, after all. Perhaps with the help of a resurrected Owl Deity, Luz can appease the Titan, or at least sway it to not turn to vengeance and jeopardize the Boiling Isles inhabitants in the process. She has experience with calming down vengeful entities in the past, as seen with Inner Willow… And Luz CAN communicate with the Titan!

Especially if the Angels have grown to also regret their actions, as a parallel to characters like Lilith! Or at least, the Angels can be held in line and prevented from further massacres, with the resurrected Owl Deity. If the Owl Deity is regretful of its actions, then perhaps we could get a scene calling back to Understanding Willow… Where Belos, at the last second, sways the Owl Deity to his logic, and suggests vengeance and annihilation of the Angels! The Owl Deity, frighteningly, agrees for a moment, reminding the Angels that its genocide of them is merely finishing what THEY started, after all…!

But then Luz steps in. Alongside the others, such as Amity and Willow, Lilith and King, Eda, and so forth… She persuades the Owl Deity to have forgiveness in its heart, especially if the Angels show remorse and a desire to fix mistakes! It’d hearken back to the theme of having justified anger, but otherwise channeling it productively into fixing mistakes, rather than simply harming the one responsible for them! It’s about a productive way of tackling issues, rather than focused on punishment; Again, a theme as far back as the first scene, when Luz is punished with the Summer Camp, VS actually having her emotional issues properly addressed, and being given the chance to fix the damage.

Our protagonists could all call back to similar incidents, with Lilith citing how Eda sparing her gave her the chance to fix the damage, or at least remedy it… Instead of JUST dying as retribution! How Willow chose to still retain her feelings, but also spared Amity so the girl could change and improve as a person, instead of just killing her off and calling it a day. It’s about not only recognizing damage, but working to properly fix and recover from it- Recovery is the key word! Fixing the damage together, as Luz said- Productively fixing what was caused, instead of beating oneself over it, the way Amity and Lilith initially did!

This could lead to the Owl Deity, especially if it has Hooty’s memories, being swayed back to a good stance. It’d contrast Belos and his inability to grow, heal, and recover from his emotional and physical wounds! Either way, perhaps the Owl Deity could make peace with the Angels, or at least ensure they genuinely change their attitudes and behaviors. Belos is stopped, and the Titan can finally be laid to rest, its spirit perhaps still communicating with whoever is willing and eager to learn Magic, the same way it did!

Now, this does leave the question- Who was Belos during the Titan Genocide, if he was an Angel? Was he even alive back then? This gets me into the speculation that Fermented Writers Block made, of Private New Guy being an allegory to Belos… If Hooty was haunted by his actions that night, well. Perhaps Belos was just another young recruit, another generic Angel in the hunt- But he was inspired by the Owl Deity, maybe even saw it as someone to emulate? And that’s part of why he’s so power-hungry and bloodthirsty, because of his ‘idol’…

Yet ironically, Belos is merely projecting his idea and desire for what he wants the Owl Deity to be, VS what it actually is- A repentant, remorseful entity with a lot of guilt! Tying into the idea of characters projecting ideas/expectations onto others that just don’t exist, confusing fantasy with reality… Maybe like Private New Guy, Belos tried to seize power in the Angel Realm, and it’s why he was banished? And hey, going into even MORE mindless speculation- What if Owl Mask was MORE than symbolic of the Owl Deity, but outright the same kind of being? Perhaps they’re Belos’ attempt at recreating the Owl Deity albeit young and/or imperfect, an additional asset to conquer the Angel Realm, in addition to a resurrected Titan. Who knows?

Mind you… ALL OF THIS is one hell of a stretch. It’s an incredibly unlikely theory, that hinges on a LOT of factors… But it’s fun food for thought, is it not? And hey, if you never pick up a shovel, one will never find gold even if it IS there! It’s an extension of the Angel Realm theory, while tying together a bunch of other details here or there, and hearkening to past themes, morals, and lessons. I’m sure that even if this isn’t what Dana and the others have planned, what we WILL get will certainly be just as enjoyable- But until then, it can’t hurt too much to guess a bit, and maybe have some outlandish fun or there, right?

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DMITRI.

Admin Cas: There’s something so tragic about Dmitri that I love: everything about him is a contradiction. Yet, for all his love and light, he’s also really quite terrifying, and the way you balanced both of those aspects of their character was truly breathtaking, Emma. I thought your reflections on the idea of Dmitri as a sort of wingless angel was especially impressive. In spite of all the things that make them angelic, they can never truly be one with God’s angels. That, after all, is what sets him apart from their brethren; where they are ruination, he is its saving grace. I put this golden prince in your hands without fear that you’ll do wonderful things with him, and I can’t wait to see the directions you’ll go together! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma.

Age | 21+.

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I’m able to get a reply or two out at least once daily; depending on length, it could potentially be more or less than.

Timezone | Eastern.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group?  | LSRPG tag.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I delete my character accounts to create a blank blog for my next character account. I save snippets of threads I adore, so I’m so sorry. RIP - xoxo

IN CHARACTER

there is a swelling storm and i'm caught up in the middle of it all and it takes control of the person that i thought i was the boy i used to know.

CHARACTER 

Dmitri , the Horsemen of Conquest

DRAW TO CHARACTER

I’ve never been the type to write a sample for a character before fleshing out the other bits first, but Dmitri’s voice whispered, begging to be explored as soon as I read their biography. The first sample you’ll read below was the initial picture I painted and kept throughout this application because Dmitri resembled that of a poor Icarus, who simply overindulged in something not meant for him to enjoy. 

I imagined Dmitri in the seconds after creation gasping at the sights of Heaven, reaching back for white wings — only to be met by their bareback. Shoulders aching for the flight of angels, the purity evident in their veins to be his own, God’s presence given at a moments notice.

Yes — I very clearly drew these small, delicate details from a few lines, but Cas wrote this character in such a way I felt the weight of Dmitri’s needs as if they were my own to be met. The biography held me captive to do whatever would be in my ability to give this character justice for what they were never gifted. I still get butterflies reading over the biography and couldn’t stop what followed. 

This application is my confession of love for Dmitri, and I would even offer to say this could be read as a fever dream because isn’t that what God would want? His beloved, lastly mad Horsemen to be written in a state of complete and total euphoria for conquest and recklessness… but more importantly, I hope to show how beautifully flawed this character is to desire to be loved by a dead God, and the journey I would take them on to realize their purpose was never tied to God’s needs.

FUTURE PLOTS

SUMMARY: I’ve written these in a format of progression based on what I think could occur first in-game based off of current connections, and Dmitri’s direct link of being a Horsemen, making it far more likely to push said plot first. Each builds upon the other in a sense of a video game character skill branching system. As in, I’ve written some answers or may propose them in a way, which would directly change a plot below it. Hope this helps explain the mess which is about to occur below!

FUTURE OF THE HORSEMEN

what happens to those who were meant to end a world already destroyed?

Their purpose set forth to them by God has come to no fruition as the world destroyed itself, at least in a way. Each Horsemen dealing with their new identity as a mercenary in their own way, but I can only speak from the perspective of Dmitri. When it comes to them, the Horsemen are family. They came from the same Gos as them, shaped from different moments but important just the same. Their future as a whole could be explored by each Horsemen’s motivation. For Dmitri, the idea of leaving them to go elsewhere seems far-fetched at first; a type of daydream when the cleanup after a job is too heavy to stay focused on. If given a bigger glimpse at something else, something Dmitri could find himself desiring to do, I imagine the Horsemen could find a strain.

FUTURE OF THE HEALING

what is the purpose of being one of healing if you watched the wounds be inflicted?

Building upon a strain forming within the Horsemen, Dmitri would first need to experience something so terrifyingly out of character for them to do, which could trigger a wave of events to follow. The concept of using their healing ability seems to be the “fun” direction as this golden boy not being able to save someone caught in the crossfires would be an angst ridden thread to experience. I want to shape his tenderness in a way to correlate with his healing. Dmitri’s process of healing someone is something I haven’t ventured much into yet — but I imagine the sight of it to be something beautiful, almost too beautiful to fully understand what you’re looking at. This light bringer among those who only bring darkness is the difference enough to push the first plot and this one forward.

FUTURE OF THE LOVED AND WORSHIPPED 

what does one do with love and praise when all they expected was hate?

Imagine the first time someone witnessed Dmitri healing a mortal. Who was it? What occurred? No one who lives now among the mortals knows, yet their growing affection towards him makes me feel as if he’s gotten his own personal tale passed between them. Here in this new found love among men, I think Dmitri sees what he’s always wanted out of life, rather existence. It’ll be such a wild ride of secret trips to different parts of the world to see if he finds this love and praise everywhere. He’d be drunk over this, but there also comes the dark side of being given something kept from you for so long. Yes, I would love for this beautiful, precious Horsemen to ride happily off into the sunset… but there’s definitely some trauma left from God. Here within this, I find Dmitri’s breaking point could take place and all of the above could shatter.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | yes — given a month’s notice and option to decline? i feel as if the answer would be different depending on how they were to die and character development, if this makes sense.

IN DEPTH

but there is a lightin the dark, and i feel its warmth

in my hands and my heart why can't i hold on?

CHARACTER MOTIVATION

It’s unknown at first- their motivation. Perhaps, God always intended the existence of those who were meant to cause the end of the world to possess no motivation. Life to them, the Horsemen, was simply a story already written down in the stars, yet Dmitri walked out into the New World with the story finished and no part to play in it. Purgatory had warped their glowing essence, satisfying God’s need to prevent prayers said to Conquest over the God of Creation. 

Yet motivations can still be rather fickle when they were never intended for you. Dmitri’s creation came from the infinite love God felt for man, yet they were never meant to have this (this being love) as their backbone. No, they were to indulge their fellow Horsemens’ wrath by mending the blows they were destined to cause. Their gift, their healing, their voice. All things given by God to serve a purpose not their own. Somewhere between all of the havoc and chaos of this world, there had to come a time where Dmitri sought to figure it out. 

Their motivation laid rotting within the crevices of darkness and filth they called home all these centuries. Purgatory did it’s job more so than God could have ever intended because Dmitri struggled with purpose outside of God’s. Sunshine filled his veins in a way the darkness fed off of and merely left the Horsemen of Conquest bare. So walking out of, rather escaping from, Purgatory to Dmitri awakened this desire for answers. With the death of God, Dmitri discovered their rebirth into something rather ungodly as he wanted to become everything God never intended on him to be: loved. 

From this death, Dmitri has discovered a solace with mortals he’d never found with the fellow Horsemen as there’s something to be said in regards to being made last. He didn’t resemble the others completely as he felt a mirror to man more so than his Horsemen. I imagine actions and motivation for him to be teetering currently as his own questions in the regards of ‘what’s next?’ as having a calling as a mercenary never sat well with him. He wants to be loved in a way God had left unspoken between them over the possibility of competition.

SUMMARY: Throughout interactions and inner thoughts expressed throughout this roleplay, I would love to dive into the future plots tying into Dmitri’s motivations above with the balance of being deemed as loved or worshipped. Dmitri needs to be loved, yet I think if it ever rocked towards him being worshipped, it’d be a nice little shift of what truly motivates him. Overall, I find my motivating factor to be Dmitri’s voice and relationships with the Horsemen due to my overall understanding of how much he truly values them. Yes, he’s always wanted more for himself, but there’s always going to be the glimpses of why he is among their ranks. He isn’t pure as the angels or as mischievous as the demons, but I find Dmitri’s complexities something of value as a character in a world without restraints.

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLES

i. DREAMS AND THE HEREAFTER

‘Icarus, my son — your wings are too brittle for the warmth of light. Now, I shall watch you burn with the rest.’ Or was the name spoken across the lips of God dmitri? Did he curve the appetite of man’s undeserving love of their creator by existing? Were his screams - for more - not enough to make the tear from God’s eye a regret? 

‘But father, I shall fly with you. We can escape together. No mortal shall ever have to look upon our faces again. We can finally be--’ Scorned brow silenced all of his pleas, bringing the truth to the forefront. Dmitri dreamed before the tear was ever caught and molded into the literal form of his being. They knew of themself from the perspective of God’s eye and convinced themself of something which wasn’t there. ‘Am I never to be free of this burden then? Am I to suffer?’

They painted a world where they crawled from the depths of Purgatory, where their strength came from the purity of man, where God Himself welcomed Dmitri back into Heaven as if he’d never gone. In this recurring dream, God would realize the mistake to tuck away his most prized creation. 

The final Horsemen did not deserve the caverns of impermeable darkness Purgatory supplied them because somewhere in the infinite of his existence, he truly believed himself to bare wings. 

‘Suffer? Suffer! You are the brilliance of life; my creation. Do you wish to know what I plan to do with you? Follow me, Conquest. Your domain awaits.’ 

Their eyes open with horror, memories of a man - rather a god who loved him less. A god who created him by mistake. An outstretched arm from active slumber finds its way back onto their chest, an unsteady rise and fall of breaths lost. His own torment from sleep a self-given punishment as he allowed himself to fall into the corners of his own mind. The hidden doors which locked memories long forgotten as he believed himself to be more than he was. 

God regretted shedding a tear for out came the brightest of shadows, the technicolor snake of dispute in the form of a golden angel. They were truly no closer than their brethren to bearing wings, but if one deserved them, Dmitri would declare themself so. 

Instead of wings, however, cascading down their back, you would find a seeping hole of nothing; a hollowed out mine of what could have become of them. It is the wickedness they hide beneath enchanting smiles, minor suggestions, and lack of resolve which will keep their back bare. Denial being a sort of game which they’ve mastered over the years.

Once, one might have spotted the prospect of gold, sinless existence within them, but they were not created like the other angels, the other horsemen, the other fallen. They were made as the result of emotion, and one knew what followed closely with emotions — mistakes or rather the sins of man.

They were the rotten cavities created over years of divulging in sweets, buried in the crevices of newborn teeth who hadn’t the taste of sugar.

And in their devastation, Dmitri destined themself to find the answers which God withheld from them.

 ii. DENIAL IN THE FORM OF SINFUL BEAUTY

“You’re late — again.” A simple nod towards either Nerissa or Viktoria felt enough to find his place among his family, his fellow Horsemen.

One thumb found its way to his temple before releasing a heavy sigh. “Dreams haunt me recently. 

“You mean nightmares.” Nerissa could never resist correcting him over something so miniscule as words, yet this simple exchange caused a growing irritation to sprout wings and turn into complete rage.

His temples tensed, nostrils flared with fingernails already cutting at the skin of his palm. “You honestly think I’m mortal enough to switch the meaning of two words, War?” Tongue pressed against the back of their teeth, Dmitri allowed their body to sink into their assigned chair, of sorts. Each had a place within the others home as if each home belonged to all four of them collectively. 

“Someone woke up feeling out of place again.” Always Ryuk with a quick word before letting the storm brew on.

“It’s the dreams — I wake up in horror over...” Their eyes, washed in an array of gold, scanned the softness of their palms, the lack of scars on their flesh, the harrowing displacement of havoc in their words, and the deficiency of darkness their fellow Horsemen possessed. “...for it is the dream I can never grasp.” 

With the unblemished palm, he wiped away at both of their eyes, trying to remove the hints of sleep behind them. More importantly, he wanted more than anything to remove any attempt of truth being proven by Nerissa’s words.

Harsh snarled laughter came from the corner of their domain, mocking their spiral for something less than what it was. To Dmitri, they saw these dreams as something more of an awakening, uncovering their last moments with God.  

“What is the point of man if not to suffer, dear Dmitri?” 

“But I am no man!” Fists shattered the monotony of the discussion, calling in the last ounce of sanity any of them could take as they stood from the table.  “I am no god.” The once golden irises, which mirrored the glory of the sun’s warmth,  now mimicked the lava spewing from a devastating volcano. “I am Conquest, and I shall suffer no more!” 

Here in the brilliant, pure light of their anger, their risen voice, the very might of their denial gave birth to something else. 

A soft chuckle from the other side of the room destroyed any build up between the others as Viktoria waltzed over to them. 

“He’s not wrong… None of us are man, so none of us shall suffer.” Viktoria’s hand draped over theirs with a tenderness they’d only felt from the mortals, but it was enough to show Dmitri the horsemen had the ability to give him what he wanted.

[carlsaganlunatic]

La Déesse Dedans/The Goddess Within: Anime and Ego

       In the biblical story of the “Tower of Babel”, humanity attempts to build their way to heaven. God, in order to inhibit the prideful undertaking of the humans, casts a magic spell to diversify the spoken languages of those audacious people, effectively enabling them from being able to converse and communicate (The Bible). The attempt to become gods is a foolish one. In theology and philosophy, sentience is a necessary hierarchy that separates gods from men. Through self-contemplation and existential crises, the vast majority of humans are guilty of muling over their purpose in life. Reminiscent of the “Tower of Babel”, this search for truth in the uniquely “human” paradigm is a fruitless endeavor grounded in egotism.

       We like to believe we’re special. Ptolemy and Aristotle believe that Earth was the center of the universe in which bodies in the solar system revolve. Furthermore, the absence of evidence for alien intelligent life helps drive the fantasy of humans being the sole observers of the Universe. An innate bias programmed into our worldview filters down into our actions, inflating our egos to unreachable heights. Conflict plays a major role in the cyberpunk anime Ergo Proxy as the characters struggle to find meaning in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. In this dismal world of demons and gods, humans create robots resembling humans called Autorievs programmed to perform tasks in society with precision and automation (Ergo Proxy, 1). Chaos breaks loose as the Autorievs begin to fall victim to the Cogito Virus, a programming malfunction that forces the robots to become self-aware. Humans fear the evolution of their sentient creations as it challenges their own superiority complex of intelligence and awareness, clearly reflecting the god complex of many humans that challenges the ultimate divinity of n’importe religion. Pattern denounces breaking the natural hierarchy of the world through any attempt to evolve a being’s set level of sentience.

       Suffering is an inevitable condition of the human experience. Suffering ensues from our inherent curiosity about the ways of the world and the ultimate reality of existence. Ultimate truth implies the possession of omnipotence- a capability beyond the likes of mortals. Certitude renders the search for meaning a futile effort. Nihilism argues that, because there is no essence or implied meaning to reality, life is meaningless and reality is not even real. The plot of Ergo Proxy creatively depicts this meaningless search for meaning as its main characters struggle to reconcile their existential anguish. For example, Re-I, grand-daughter of an elite government official in their dystopian society Romdeau, sets off on her own journey for truth after coming face-to-face with a Proxy (Ergo Proxy, 1). Proxies, like Autorievs, are a creation of the technologically-advanced humans, previously intended to act as rulers of the domes or societies of the Earth-based humans in hopes of reinstating order to the ruin that Earth fell into. Proxies, though, possess powers that threaten the authority of human-beings as they are more advanced in their consciousness. After coming into contact with one of these evolved beings, Re-I becomes impassioned to seek for an explanation to the awe inspired by this glimpse of divinity. Her curiosity quickly becomes the bain of her existence as she suffers endlessly to piece together the meaning of her place in this world of gods and women. Re-I’s egotism is a commonality shared by all human beings. Anthropomorphic views blind our rationality, leading us to reach beyond the limits of our knowledge and almost always ending in tragedy.

       Hubris or excessive pride misleads humans to their tragic downfall as they overestimate their mortal capabilities and emulate the qualities of gods and goddesses. In the myth of Icarus, our tragic hero flying too close to the sun, reached too far beyond his limits and was incinerated in the process. Ergo Proxy explores this concept seen in the Greek mythological story of Icarus referred to as hubris. Vincent Law, the male protagonist of Ergo Proxy, suffers similarly to Re-I in his journey to self-realization. Being both human and Proxy, Vincent cannot understand his place in the world and tortures himself by trying to reconcile the meaning of his existence. From a nihilistic point of view, Vincent’s efforts are meaningless as he cannot possibly know what significance he has in the Universe as no essence is prescribed to his existence. Interconnecting nihilist philosophy with the idea of anthropomorphism as a bias in perspective of reality necessitates a new term. I would like to introduce the term “tumidism” as the belief that humans’ egocentric search for a truth beyond their own level of sentience is the effect of a meaningless existence. Our selfishness leads us to assume some meaning beyond the evidence seen before us. We invent gods and demons to fill the gaps of our understanding of the Universe as, we as mere mortals, cannot possibly comprehend the vast nature of the Universe. In Ergo Proxy, Autorievs infected with the Cogito virus drop to their knees and pray as they develop an overwhelming sense of awareness that materialized from a void. Following a sequence of references to the mythology of Icarus, the final episode of Ergo Proxy famously shows one of the Proxies retreating to the heavens in an array of light rays, reminiscent of Icarus’ flight towards the sun (Ergo Proxy, 23). The Austrian psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud claims that humans have a tendency to explain away phenomena unknown to them through religion. Coined the “God of the Gaps” theory by Friedrich Nietzshe, famous German nihilist philosopher, this pattern emerges from religious beings assigning gaps in their understanding of the Universe to be direct evidence of God's existence. Nietzshe recognized the egocentric nature of humans in believing themselves capable of making sense of the mysteries of the world. Ergo Proxy’s Autorievs reaching towards human sentience, humans reaching towards god-like omniscience, and Icarus reaching towards the sun, we all form a rung on the ladder of hubris, destined to fall.

       Without evidence for extraterrestrial intelligence, humans remain in possession of the highest level of sentience among beings. This supposed uniqueness of humanity inevitably leads to a sense of pride in our intelligence. A pattern repeated throughout history, the hubris of Icarus from ancient Greek mythology heeds warning to reaching beyond one's limits. This quality, derived from human’s anthropocentric and ecocentric worldview, defies the natural order of intelligence as it is a forced evolution by humans to become gods. The post-apocalyptic anime series Ergo Proxy shows the progression of suffering that results from searching for an ultimate truth beyond one’s capabilities of comprehension. Art mirrors life as the characters of Ergo Proxy realize the inferiority of humanity on the Universal time scale.

       Nietzsche’s nihilistic philosophy combined with the anthropomorphic tendencies of humanity brings to light the catch-all term- “tumidism”- describing the downfall of humanity as placing their own selfish meaning to a reality otherwise meaningless as far as human-sentience is concerned. With latin root “tumid” meaning goddess, god, or divinity, tumidism effectively unifies egotism and heroic tragedy. Vying for equality as no single person is above or beyond another, tumidism thereby grants universal equality to all breathing beings. Whether the respiration source is oxygen or methane is of unimportance. In a world accelerating towards climate catastrophe, it is clear that the selfishness of humanity does indeed yield a price to pay. All that exists was birthed from the same cosmic origin. Whether or not some divine being set off this creation is not the most essential question. The significance is within the fact that all beings, humans included, are kin in the cosmos.

       Assigning unique importance to any one species of being is plain ignorance. I, for one, am awaiting the day where humanity realizes the cosmic commonality shared between all creatures and can set aside our egos to simply admire the beauty of the world. “Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?” (Adams). Messiahs aside, we are all one in the spirit.

Works Cited

Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Pan Books. 1979.

Ergo Proxy. Shuko Murase. 2006.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1891.

The English Standard Version Bible: Containing the Old and New Testaments with Apocrypha, Oxford UP, 2009.

[thatlittlered]

Burning Desire | Duo

Summary: A late night at some trashy bar gets John a whole lot more than he bargained for but he’ll have to put on a fight just to keep it.

Read Part One.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Your skirt is riding up from where you sit on the passenger’s seat but you’re too busy gazing outside the window to notice.

He wishes you would say something, anything to relieve him from this torture. Anything to make him forget about the fact that what he wants lies only inches away from his reach. All he has to do is spread his arm and...

“This is a nice ride you have.”

Good God, you’re killing him with that smile.

“Oldie but goodie, huh?” he catches you winking and bites down a sigh.

You’re enjoying this.

He grunts a ‘thank you’ or at least he thinks he does before his eyes are back on the road in hopes of not killing you both today.

“You get in cars with strangers often?”

He’s not quite sure what came over him, but the need to ask was almost as big as the need to touch you right now.

You smile again, extending your hand for him to take and he quickly picks up on your offer. John’s palm envelopes yours, large and warm and sweaty enough to make you realize the effect you have on him. Your smile widens.

“The name is Y/N.”

His response comes with a clearing of his throat as if to ground himself in the moment, “John.”

You settle back on the seat with a grin on your face.

“See? No such thing as strangers anymore.”

He laughs, as to why he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s your attitude or maybe self-pity once he realizes how deep in the shit he really is. You overwhelm him.

It’s five am and no diner’s serving breakfast, of course. You settle for burgers and he thinks that’s good enough as long as you’re sitting right across him in the small faux leather-clad booth.

The food arrives in little time, filling both of your senses with the scent. John’s eyes never leave you but you seem entirely invested in the little basket that’s placed in front of you.

You feel his stare and decide to have your fun with him.

Your leg grazes against his, softly at first; barely there. Yet he feels it. It’s like electricity rushing through his body and his onyx eyes twitch.

You can’t help but smile in triumph.

“Split the fries?”

He nods and you quickly grab one to place in his mouth, lightly grazing his facial hair before moving your hand away. He happily munches on them and you take the opportunity to stuff one into your own mouth, only halfway in.

John’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and he gapes at the expectant look you’re giving him, the way your lips pout for him to understand. Then your face inches closer to his and the message is clear.

Split them.

He groans and glares at the look you’re giving him; wide eyes and pouty lips driving him mad. “You’re impossible…”

His teeth sink into the soft flesh of the fry, merely inches away from your mouth and he quickly moves back to his seat like he’s Icarus and flying too close to the sun. The grin that pulls at your lips reminds him of a Cheshire cat. You wipe the bit of stray ketchup around your mouth, licking your finger clean.

John’s heart ceases its beat right then. He’s just meat and bones now, simply sitting there as the rest of your meal continues in silence. Your leg is still touching his. Your soft lips peck his own with every fry that you ‘share’ and all he does is gape at you in fear of this incredulous power you possess over him.

The fog inside his brain only clears up when your back hits the door of his house and he can feel your thighs around him, your mouth molding with his own. The weight of your body is nothing when carrying you to his room but there’s a sense of relief overwhelming him when he finally gets to lay you on the bed and he realizes that you’re still very much here, that this is not just a dream.

In the room that is twilight and shadow and sterile white surrounding you everywhere, your bodies are glued together, close enough to breathe the same air… relish in each other’s scent. He feels your hand in his hair. Oh, how you love the softness of it; dark locks tangling themselves between your fingers.

Then your hand is down his cheekbones, tracing the well-groomed beard down to his lips. He watches you in utter admiration, a mortal man paying homage to the goddess Venus herself. His mind’s enslaver.

You kiss him, long and sweet and rid him of all inhibitions. He’s yours for tonight.

A laugh breaks John out of his reverie and he cracks an eye open, stealing a glance at the disheveled you. Your gleaming eyes are focused on the hindrance that his jeans are. You want them off.

“Too many clothes…” you whimper, lips grazing his earlobe in a way that makes him shudder.

He nods in what you can only describe as desperation, making the mattress bounce softly as he lifts himself from the bed enough to fumble with the material on his legs that’s now beginning to itch the longer it restricts him. Soon enough, all his clothes are a mess on the floor as they should be and you beckon him back into your open arms, eager to rid your own clothes.

John watches a delicate hand wrap in the material of your V-neck, pulling it down enough to give him a heart attack when his gaze falls to your breasts; contained within a lacy bra and eager to be touched by his hands, his mouth.

He aches.

“You gonna help me take this off or should I just help myself?”

He growls, low and dangerous and you almost shudder at how lovely he sounds. You do shudder though when his hands come in contact with the soft skin on your stomach and slowly tug the shirt off, taking in your scent that clings there. His mouth is surprisingly soft while trailing a path to your breasts. You work on your bra while he does and his hand squeezes yours as a ‘thank you’.

He doesn’t want to waste another moment.

Your skirt follows and you feel your back arch in anticipation, knowing where John’s hands will soon reach. His fingers slide over the tiny piece of fabric that your underwear consists of and your head rocks back against the pillow as they do, the first moan escaping your lips.

He drinks that sound in, he does. Suddenly, all that’s important is making you do it again and again till you’re begging him to stop and all that’s heard inside the room are the sounds that you’re making.

He yanks the lacy barrier off and you moan again, this time louder. His eyes darken impossibly so at the heavenly sound that seems to linger on your lips. They’re more sweet-sounding than your laugh, something seemingly impossible but he swears that it’s true.

Your hands wrap around his biceps, feeling the beautiful muscles up there and pulling him closer on top of your body. There’s no space to be left between your aching selves and he accepts it, feeds off it. His finger hesitantly grazes where your burning heat rests and he thinks he hasn’t done this in forever.

He only hopes you can’t tell.

Yet you seize his movements, grabbing his hand and kissing the palm like it’s something sacred. John wants to laugh at the irony of that; those hands have killed and hurt and injured countless. It doesn’t matter when they’re touching you, of course. It almost feels like a cleansing of sorts, like redemption.

“Fuck foreplay?” his voice comes out in a grunt. He’s falling apart right in front of you and it’s hard not to bloody enjoy it.

You laugh, breathless as you are and all undone under his body, “Fuck foreplay.”

He fills you and it’s deliciously slow… until it’s not. The heels of your feet seem to dig in his behind with every thrust he gives but he doesn’t mind it. He couldn’t, not when he’s being so consumed by all that’s you.

Again and again, you squeeze around him and he grunts. He’s fucking losing it.

All he can hear is the wonderful sound of skin slapping together and soft mutters of ‘John!’ that fall from your lips. His thrusts are becoming sloppier and he’s long lost his pace but you don’t seem to mind it. You’re both impossibly close to the edge.

When it comes, it’s like electricity shooting through his body. With a single, final thrust John buries himself in you, whispering something into your neck. Still, his fingers move vigorously to please you and it’s not long until you join him.

With panting breaths and still wandering hands, the fog in both of your visions starts to disperse. You hold each other through it, allowing your bodies to mold together in the late of the night – or rather, early morning.

John doesn’t take his eyes off you once until you’re succumbing to sleep and he follows you then, albeit hesitant.

He’s fucking terrified you’ll disappear from his side should he dare to close his eyes for more than a moment, but the prospect of sleep is almost as seductive as you and he gives in for the second time tonight.

True to his thoughts, you’re gone with the first morning light.

Tags: @morningriseghost @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @homesoutofhuman

[l0n3lysstuff]

back then, when the days faded into nights and everybody started at that change in amazement, there was a boy.

his name was Icarus. he was beautiful, both in the inside and out, one of the most beautiful people to ever walk the earth.

Icarus's father, Daedalus, was a brilliant architect. so good at his job that everyone ended up envying the court he was working for, and each citizen couldn't help but look at his finished products with a gleam in their eyes. brilliant indeed.

that his why Daedalus and his beloved son ended up getting captured by Minos, the king of Crete, and the architect was given a task: building the largest and most complex labyrinth to ever exist, thought to contain a dangerous and raging monster.

many stories were then intertwined under the consequences of this action, but Daedalus did it nonetheless, in hope that Minos would finally let them go.

once the job was done, however, the architect found that that had never been the king's plan. sadly and with the most inimmaginabile consequences, both the architect and his child had to stay in Crete for many more years, being treated like guests, surely, but giving orders was the king's constant reminder that they both were, in fact, prisoners.

once Icarus was already a young man, and Daedalus falling into the dark sorrows of old age, they both knew they had to get out of Mino's kingdom, to live their remaining years together and happily.

so the architect had an ingenious idea, and his hands were able to do as his mind commanded.

he didn't say anything about that to Icarus, despite his constant questions and complaints. his son, however, had soon understood, like the smart man that he was, that Daedalus wasn't going to give anything away. so he just waited.

and after working day and night for what felt like an infinite amount of time, two pair of wings were finally ready, hidden in the architect's office.

when Icarus saw them, he was amazed.

«careful, my son, for those wings are made of wax. we will use them to get far from our capture, but they are fragile and need to be kept away from the burning sun.»

those were his words, and just as responsabile was Icarus's response and nods.

once they were ready to leave, and could already taste the sweet scent of freedom on their tongues and up their nostrils, they reached the highest wall of the kingdom, and finally lifted into the air.

flying was easy, and Daedalus managed to keep a straight line in the sky. he was sure everybody could see the two of them from down there, but could have never have imagined that someone was watching them from above, too.

In his bright carriage, Apollo was drifting on the clouds, carried by the white mounts around the sun, and back. it wasn't much before he noticed the two seemingly birds flying around - at least he didn't think much of it, but with a closer look it was easy to identify the subjects as mortals.

the god of the sun catched a glimpse of Icarus's face right when he was getting on his father's side, and couldn't believe his eyes. he was suddenly outraged by the mere fact that such an enchanting man walked between humans and not the gods.

Apollo shut his expression tight, and ordered his mounts to fly down, closer to the two.

if there wasn't any way for him to get the man to walk the grounds of the Olympus, then he had to at least deny his presence among mortals.

he knew the name, and so he called him - Icarus, Icarus.

and again, until the young man finally turned around to face the sun. shielding his eyes with one hand, he searched blankly for the voice that had said his name three times.

Apollo called him again - Icarus. Icarus, Icarus.

at that he couldn't help but fly higher, sustained merely by curiosity, and something else: an attraction he couldn't quite explain.

Icarus flew, and flew higher, until his father wasn't much more than a black point underneath him. after a minute the voice called again: Icarus, Icarus.

the man was speechless, for how could he heard a voice without seeing its owner?

bu it came again, louder this time, and Icarus thought he was closer.

but he wasn't.

as he started to recklessly fly higher, the sun had become hotter, then burning, until Icarus's wings started to feel lighter on his back. once he understood the danger, it was already too late: the wings had started to melt underneath the nearby fierce sunlight, until they couldn't hold Icarus's weight anymore.

so he fell down, and he fell, his father's voice screaming in his ears, but he had a hard time telling it from his own.

both filled with dread, and creaking under the weight of the terrifying inevitable.

Icarus fell, and Apollo watched everything.

[faeflowerfeline]

Young lover, I’m begging you please to wake up

He is the son of Clio and Pierus, the muse of history and a mortal man. He is also the most gorgeous man on earth – that is, he is in the eyes of Apollo and his rival, Zephyrus.

(If asked, Zeus would claim Ganymede to be the most gorgeous man on earth. Poseidon would claim Caeneus, Hades would claim Icarus and Artemis would scoff, say that women are gorgeous and that men are pigs. She would exclude her brother from that statement – they are the best of friends, and she claims to have beaten the pig out of him.)

Apollo comes to him, the sun shining bright behind him because he is a god; in fact, he is the god of the sun, and whilst that is a chore (the sun burns, it is bright and warm but if you are too close, if you are pulling it , it is far too hot) it is also a blessing in that when he wants to impress mere mortals he can do this.

Hyacinth gapes, stares at the god who has come to him, wordless. Apollo just laughs, quietly, almost like bells, and the sun rises higher so that it is no longer blinding. He places a hand, soft and warm – hotter than a typical humans (as expected, he is god of the sun ) but not enough to burn – and he smiles and his teeth are as blinding as the sun he left behind.

Hyacinth falls, as women and men both have before him, because Apollo is a god and a charming one at that.

(It is Artemis’ influence, that makes him charm and seduce instead of just taking , because she is the guardian of women – especially young girls – and she would never let her brother do anything like that.)

“You’re Apollo,” Hyacinth says, voice quiet. Apollo laughs again, agrees readily, and offers Hyacinth his hand. The mortal takes it, of course; only the hunters or the Amazons would refuse it, and even then the hunters might solely based on his relationship to their patron. Apollo lifts him from the ground, up into the sky, and takes him along the path of the sun to explore the known world.

Hyacinth is not a hero, but he is favoured by a god.

~~º0º~~

During their travels, Hyacinth captures the attention of Zephyrus. The god of the west wind is not known for his anger, or his jealous rages – instead he is known for kindness, compassion, a less violent temper than those of his brothers.

They do not tell the stories of Zephyrus’ rages.

They should.

For as Zephyrus watches Apollo travel with his lover, watches Hyacinth laugh and dance and date (and kiss, he watches their kisses far closer than anything else – looking for a hint of dissatisfaction that would justify him taking Hyacinth from Apollo, but he never finds it) and travel, he finds himself growing angrier. Across the lands, the west wind blows more fiercely than it ever has before.

Mortals feel Zephyrus’ anger, and they pray to him in a desperate attempt to calm him, but he turns a blind eye and a deaf ear. Zephyrus, in his rage and envy, does not care for those he harms, or of his brother’s dissatisfaction with his actions. He only cares for Hyacinth, and Apollo’s careful hands as they grip Hyacinth’s shoulders, forearms, hands.

And his rage burns hot, because the west wind blows warm.

~~º0º~~

Apollo stares into Hyacinth’s eyes, and his eyes are full of love. It is almost sickening, watching their tenderness and love - or it would be, if it wasn’t so pure. Aphrodite has obviously blessed this union; it is obvious in their every interaction. Even the more violent things they do together (Apollo takes him hunting with Artemis sometimes, and it is a testament to the extent of his relationship with the huntress’s brother that she does not kill him for it) are sappy - Apollo catching the meats Hyacinth enjoys the taste of the most, and Hyacinth sacrificing all of his remains to both Apollo and Artemis (and, wordlessly, to Aphrodite, who very much enjoys the sacrifice).

Hyacinth is the most beautiful man on earth in the eyes of his lover, and Apollo is the most beautiful god on Olympus in the eyes of his.

~~º0º~~

They often play games together; racing each other across fields, competing in javelin throwing and shot put and discus. (This is where our story comes to a head.)

It is a bright summer’s day, the grass green and soft, the trees sighing softly as they watch the two men where they stand in the centre of a clearing. Hyacinth has a discus with him, and he throws it, watches it land.

“Good throw,” Apollo says, walking over to where it landed. Hyacinth laughs, because he knows he may be a good throw for a mortal, but his lover is a god and he will never beat him.

“You could do better,” he says, and Apollo shrugs, picks the discus up from the ground and walks to the unofficial starting line. Hyacinth steps back, towards where Apollo had been standing watching him, and Zephyrus (who had been watching the whole time) sees his chance. Apollo releases the discus, and Zephyrus calls on the wind, changes its course, and lets the god of the sun watch on in horror as the heavy metal disc collides with his lover’s chest.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, (and he will be the god of healing as well but he has not yet claimed that title from Hermes - that is a tale for another time) rushing to the fallen Hyacinth, dropping to his knees beside the prone body, “you can’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He is too late, and he knows it - he will not be able to save this one.

(He has been unable to save any of his lovers.)

When Hades’ begins to tug, Apollo pulls back, using his power (far, far more power than necessary) to keep Hyacinth with him. In a last-ditch effort - he will not lose this one, he cannot lose this one - he turns him into a flower, preserves him amongst the earth for all eternity.

Then he sobs, because his lover died by his hand. This, like so many other deaths (all of them lovers, all of them cared for) is his fault, and he thinks that this, perhaps, will be the last.

(Aphrodite saw everything, and she is facing Zephyrus as Apollo cries, and as Artemis arrives and realises what happened. She is not to be trifled with, especially in the matters of a love that has her blessing - there is a reason she has her title, and a reason she should be feared, but none really talk about that side of the goddess of love.)

“Oh, brother,” Artemis sighs, sitting next to him by the flower. It is gorgeous, just like the youth it had once been - purple and white, elegant, arching petals - and she sighs, inhaling its scent.

“I killed him,” Apollo says, and she sighs again, rests her arm over his shoulders. He leans into her, and they sit in front of the Hyacinth flower for what seems like forever. Finally, Aphrodite appears (with ichor in her hair, but they don’t mention that and she won’t talk about that). She leans against Apollo’s other side, runs her hand through his hair.

“Did you curse me?” he asks, and she shakes her head mutely.

“I blessed this union,” she tells him.

“Then why did I kill him?”

“You didn’t,” she says, “Zephyrus did. He was jealous, Apollo, please don’t blame yourself.” He looks up at that, still confused, with tears clinging to his eyelashes. Artemis claps him on the back, stands, pulls him up with her. Aphrodite rises with them, touches a finger to Artemis’ hand (and gets a soft glare in return, although it holds no malice) before vanishing and leaving the siblings to themselves.

They stand, together, hands clasped, and they vanish in a brilliant silver and gold light, leaving a beautiful purple flower in their wake.

(They go to see Zephyrus, find him bleeding on his throne room floor. They do not help him.)

check out the rest of the theioan stories series

(requested by @shitpostsandhappiness)

[arcticdementor]

In 1924, the British scientist J. B. S. Haldane coined the term “ectogenesis” to describe how human pregnancy would one day give way to artificial wombs. “It was in 1951 that Dupont and Schwarz produced the first ectogenetic child,” Haldane wrote, imagining how an earnest college student of the future would describe the phenomenon. “Now that the technique is fully developed, we can take an ovary from a woman, and keep it growing in a suitable fluid for as long as twenty years, producing a fresh ovum each month, of which 90 percent can be fertilized, and the embryos grown successfully for nine months, and then brought out into the air.” By the year 2074, Haldane imagined, ectogenesis had become a popular technique — with “less than 30 percent of children... now born of woman.” Writing at a time when debates over contraception and eugenics raged on both sides of the Atlantic, his prediction was an understandable outgrowth of these new efforts to control fertility. “Had it not been for ectogenesis,” Haldane prophesied, “there can be little doubt that civilization would have collapsed within a measurable time owing to the greater fertility of the less desirable members of the population in almost all countries.”

Today, we have inched slightly — but only slightly — closer to perfecting the technology that would realize Haldane’s vision, albeit for reasons other than the eugenic improvement of the race. A small knot of scientists in the United States and Japan are experimenting with both live animals and human cells to mimic the functioning of the womb. And while their work is in its early stages, it is worth exploring the scientific prospects and ethical implications of research on artificial wombs.

Haldane’s chosen title — Daedalus — is perhaps telling. In Greek mythology, Daedalus, “the cunning worker,” was an ingenious practitioner of the mechanical arts, a figure whose inventions proved, at best, ambiguous contributions to humanity. His most famous invention — wings crafted from bird feathers, wax, and string, built to escape with his son Icarus from the clutches of King Minos — became the tool of his son’s destruction, when “the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven.” The hot sun promptly melted the wax wings, Icarus plunged to his death, and Daedalus was left “bitterly lamenting his own arts.”

…

The question is whether these different avenues of research — at the beginning of pregnancy and the end of pregnancy — will one day converge. “I’ve talked to researchers who are doing research on partial ectogenesis — interventions for premature births, mainly — and I’ve talked to in vitro fertilization researchers who are trying to extend the period of time an embryo can live outside the womb,” says Scott Gelfand, Director of the Ethics Center at the University of Oklahoma, Tulsa, who organized a conference on artificial wombs in 2002. “Put the two together and eventually we’re going to be able to do this.” Of course, many scientific and biological hurdles remain, and physicians who work with assisted reproductive technologies are hesitant to predict the future. “The uterus is a complex organism,” says Dr. David Adamson, Director of Fertility Physicians of Northern California and past president of the Society for Assisted Reproductive Technology. “There are still issues related to immunology and cardiovascular development that are extremely complicated and not very well understood. In terms of putting together all of these and having a clinically successful artificial womb,” he says, “my personal perspective is that it is decades away.”

…

Artificial wombs are just the kind of technological prospect that radical ethicists love to celebrate. In 1985, philosopher Peter Singer gave them a ringing endorsement: “I think women will be helped, rather than harmed, by the development of a technology that makes it possible for them to have children without being pregnant,” he said. Singer’s vision echoed that of feminist theorist Shulamith Firestone, who made a similar argument in 1970 in The Dialectic of Sex. Once the “freeing of women from the tyranny of their reproductive biology” occurred, she said, they could finally reach full equality with men. Viewed this way, artificial wombs are merely another step in the ongoing advance of human reproductive technologies and women’s social equality. They would both expand the range of reproductive choices and make the differences between men and women matters of technological convention rather than biological nature.

…

But many ethicists are not so sure. “I think artificial wombs could lead to a commodification of the whole process of pregnancy,” says Rosemarie Tong, a professor at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, and a leading scholar in feminist bioethics. “To the extent that we externalize an experience like pregnancy, it may lead to a view of the growing child as a ‘thing.’” The further we erode the mystery of the development of human life, the more appealing it becomes to think about improving upon it, or demanding greater control over it. Even given developments in fetal surgery, the human womb still insists that we not breach its protections too often. But with artificial wombs, the transparency of the technology itself would invite greater intervention.

At stake in this debate is the very meaning of human pregnancy: the meaning of the mother-child relationship, the nature of the female body, and the significance of being born, not “made.” Let’s say, for example, that scientists perfect the artificial womb to the point where it becomes a “healthier” environment than the old-fashioned human version. Artificial wombs, after all, wouldn’t be threatened by irresponsible introductions of alcohol or illegal drugs. They could have precisely regulated sources of temperature and nutrition and ongoing monitoring by expert technicians in incubation clinics. Like genetic testing of unborn fetuses, which is fast becoming a medical norm rather than a choice, people might begin to ask: Why take the risk of gestating my child in an old-fashioned womb? With an eye to avoiding costs and complications, insurance companies might begin to insist that we don’t. (Imagine “expectant mothers” stopping by the incubation clinic once a week to check up on their “unborn” child.)

In the near term, most women would almost certainly gestate their children the old-fashioned way, even if they had the choice. “Relatively few people, with tons of money, who are unusual, would use artificial wombs,” says Tong. But even the option of artificial wombs might change the way we view pregnancy, and perhaps the way we view women. Feminist critics of science, particularly those who embrace an “essentialist” view of women, have long claimed that artificial reproductive technologies threaten women’s social status. Australian sociologist Robyn Rowland has argued that the creation of artificial wombs would spell the end of women’s innate power. “We may find ourselves without a product of any kind with which to bargain,” she writes. “We have to ask, if that last power is taken and controlled by men, what role is envisaged for women in the new world? Will women become obsolete?” Rowland and other feminist critics are hardly shrinking violets; they called their 1984 conference on the subject “The Death of the Female.” They view the medical establishment as irredeemably male — a monolithic, misogynistic institution that views women who are not pregnant as, literally, idle machines.

More thoughtful feminist critics note that even without the possibility of manipulation by the medical establishment, artificial wombs would create serious disruptions in our relationships with our children. “It would weaken the mother-child bond,” says Tong. “Indeed, I think it would weaken the bonds between parents and children in general. On the whole, I think the physicality and embodied nature of pregnancy is a real and material way for one generation to connect to the next... Without that rootedness in the body, relationships between the generations become more abstract, less feeling-filled.”

…

There has always been an incalculable mystery surrounding the womb, as religion and folk wisdom attest. “As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all,” says Ecclesiastes. In the Hebrew Bible, interventions in the womb were considered to be solely the province of God, not man. In the story of Rachel and Jacob, when the barren Rachel says, “Give me children, or else I die,” Jacob responds in anger, saying “Am I in God’s stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?” For centuries, folk tales warned pregnant women against walking in graveyards, looking at deformed people, witnessing a solar eclipse, or even strolling around after dark, lest they damage the developing child.

Our feelings of awe and curiosity about the womb are a reaction both to its physiological function and its potent status as a symbol of fertility, procreation, and the continuation of the species. It is not quite an organ, although it can be donated and transplanted; and it is more mysterious than the heart or the lungs, which both men and women share. It is freighted with meaning because it is the site, or the potential site, of such a fundamental and in many ways still deeply mysterious thing — the emergence and development of a new human life.

In an essay written just before he died, the philosopher Hans Jonas observed that “natality,” as he called it, “is as essential an attribute of the human condition as is mortality. It denotes the fact that we all have been born, which means that each of us had a beginning when others already had long been there, and it ensures that there will always be such that see the world for the first time, see things with new eyes, wonder where others are dulled by habit, start out from where they had arrived.” In the end, artificial wombs are different from current technologies like IVF and modern arrangements like surrogacy, because they represent the final severing of reproduction from the human body. There is something about being born of a human being — rather than a cow or an incubator — that fundamentally makes us human. Whether it is the sound of a human voice, the beating of a human heart, the temperature and rhythms of the human body, or some combination of all of these things that makes it so, it is difficult to imagine that science will ever find a way to truly mimic them. We should remember this truth as we expand the reach of our powers over the very origins of human life, lest we give birth to a technology we will live to regret.

[punemy-spotted]

HAAAAAY girl! Happy Fanfic Writer's Day and answer these questions, please!

Questions for my favorite writers, please answer any or all that interest you.

— How long have you been writing fanfiction?

— Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.

— Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written.  

— Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

— What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write? — Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

— Any personal or frequently used tags?

— Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.  

— Best editing tip?

— What drives you to write?

— Share something about your writing that you have wished someone would ask you about. Or alternatively, something that you are just really proud of.

— Where do you draw inspiration?

— What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?  

— What is your biggest challenge in writing?

— 1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP??

— What story or scene are you most proud of?

— Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

Aaaaah! Thank you, my friend! I love you so dearly!!

I got a couple of these so!! I decided to split my responses here into two different answers because otherwise it would be a treatise and that would be too. long.

Still putting things under the cut though! I love you!

— Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.

Honestly, probably Fuck, considering how often I swear at myself while writing.

— Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

In a way, you almost should have known this would happen — just as Icarus himself so loved the freedom of his wings and the warmth of the sun upon them that he flew too close and fell to his death, the act of loving Ikaris has burned you alive, hasn’t it?

Immortality, you know — have known, long before he broke his way into your life — is a curse. He has seen so much, grappled with Gods and Monsters, shaped the very humanity you are afflicted with. How can he see your pain properly, viewed from so high above, so aware of the whole scope of humanity, unbothered by your mundane troubles? Small things to a giant, the rough edges of this unforgiving universe are… nothing.

But you, mortal you, a microscopic blip in the scope of human history, wrapped in the constant daily stressors of your ephemeral life. To see the world through your eyes is to magnify his view a thousandfold and even the smoothest of surfaces are a mountain range of jagged peaks reaching up to the sky when viewed from up close.

To love a God is to know he was never truly yours, no matter how many promises he makes of himself — fealty and fidelity and faith — or how many ways you want to believe him. Never yours, but in the moments your life and his coincide, you are his.

The weight of truth is a heavy, heartless thing, sinking into the bliss of new love slowly, burning away the hazy edge of infatuation to bring about clear realization. A hand of ice and stone emerges from the ocean floor and truth emerges from the well of his mouth to shame you both for having the very audacity to think that you could.

A thousand lives born from every single one lost — it seemed like such a fair exchange at the time, he tells you, barely able to meet the pained betrayal in your gaze. He almost makes it sound so reasonable.

What is the cost of a life, what is worth the weight of all your memories, is it a thousand lives scattered across a thousand different worlds, a consciousness split across many infinite light years? What is the price you would pay to erase all your pain in conjunction with your pleasures, all for the chance to maybe be reborn on a world guided by kinder Gods?

So all of this, all of human progress was … priming us to be cattle, it is not a question, merely a truth, a shameful reality you are forced to face, Then what was I? There. A selfish question — but then again, what are humans but inherently selfish, occupied by their own survival first? What are you too, but a tangle of traumas desperate to be seen as yourself and loved for it all the same.

You… How can he answer that, what answer can he give to that, when the truth cannot be softened, cannot be smoothed over? You would have been my greatest regret to lose.

On television, a reporter speculates aloud on the investigation into the dormant behemoth that might have borne any number of new utopias and before you, the Eternal who once never questioned the cost holds back tears.

It’s a tragedy you failed.

— For Blue Skies

This scene is another one of those moments where I watched a movie, had a breakdown, and then proceeded to spend entirely too many days writing angsty fic about it. It's one of those moments where I came to terms with a lot of things, and also wrote an angst indictment of those who can but do not.

— Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

Gothic Horror, I think! I'm learning I love anything atmospheric, scenic, diving into the eldritch and the unknown, soft, slow reveals and the futile attempt to describe the indescribable.

— Best editing tip?

Step back. Take a day or two. Don't hesitate to rewrite your entire fic in a new window, you'll catch things as you retype and realize maybe you need to move stuff around or maybe you made a whole lot of nonsense typos. Read your work aloud if you want to capture a specific kind of voice. And most of all: this is for fun and grammar is a construct.

— What drives you to write?

I have so many stories I want to tell, scene and dynamics I want to explore. I love worldbuilding, love sharing my daydreams in the form of written work. For me, writing is a form of self-care.

— Where do you draw inspiration?

Extant media! I love listening to podcasts, watching shows, finding worlds I can dive into. As much as I love worldbuilding when I write fic, I like building off extant worlds more, making them my own. I also draw inspiration from my own personal life, because I view writing as a form of therapy and catharsis, and so my experiences become a font of emotion for me to draw from in order to release those emotions I have pent up.

— What is your biggest challenge in writing?

Finding the energy. Between work and personal life, I often find myself burnt out and struggling to put words on the page. It doesn't help that my waning creative energy means aggressive writer's block and a hyper-perfectionist mentality that is normally more detrimental than not. I struggle to remind myself that good enough is fine, nothing needs to be to my standards of perfect because I will always find a flaw in what I create.

— What story or scene are you most proud of?

I think I'm proudest of The Cut still. It's the one that has the most of "me" in it, with the happiest ending, and really it's the one I feel the most comfortable re-reading.

— Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

Aaaaah! The Masterlist!

[shanastoryteller]

I know you've gotten a lot of Hades/Persephone asks, but I've spent the last three days listening to Hadestown by Anais Mitchell - I have a burning desire to know how your Hades and Persephone would handle the Orpheus and Eurydice mythos?

Thefirst time he hears of Orpheus is when Ares comes to him, in spring, when hiswife his gone. Ares only comes to him when his wife is gone.

“Apollohas a son,” he says, dark eyes darting around like there’s something chasing him.There is always something chasing the god of war, and many of them now residein Hades’s realm. No matter how many times he’s tried to reassure Ares thathe’s safe here, he doesn’t believe him.

“Apollohas many sons,” he returns, dry. He reaches out and places two fingers underAres’s chin, sees the bone-paleness of his skin against the rich red-copper ofthe younger god’s, and swallows. “You look tired.” Crescent purple bruises arecarved deep beneath his eyes.

Aresdoesn’t shrug off his touch, but neither does he lean into it. “I,” he finallymeets his gaze, and Hades smiles, warm. Ares’s lips twitch up like he wants toreturn it, but can’t. “I haven’t been sleeping. There’s a war in the East, andthey’ve been invoking me for weeks. I think I need to go there.”

Heknows. There’s been hundreds of new people in his realm every day. Thanatos andCharon haven’t slept in weeks. Neither has he, for that matter.

“Whatwill you disguise yourself as this time?” he murmurs, “Another general?”

Thatwas the wrong thing to say. Are’s eyes go impossibly distant, and his skin gainsa sickly grey hue. His hands aren’t shaking, so Hades has no reason to takethem in his own. He can’t decide if he’s disappointed by that or not. “No. I –no. Just a foot soldier. Less guilt that way. Less – less. Just, less, thatway.”

Lessnightmares, less fear, less blood on his hands. Less of the constant,inescapable battle-fury that keeps him alive, but also keeps him from sleep,even on his best days. When Zeus declared his son the god of war, this probablywasn’t what he had in mind.

Hadeshopes it isn’t, at least.

“Becareful,” he says, and Ares flinches.

Hegrabs Hades’s wrist before he leaves though, and squeezes it so tightly that itwould snap if Hades was a mortal man.

There’sthat, at least.

~

Persephonewears not the vibrant red that marks her as queen of the underworld, but thesoft green that names her the daughter of spring. She sits on a smooth rock inthe middle of the sea, her curly dark red hair brushing her bare shoulders.It’s the last day of summer. She goes home tomorrow.

Demeterdoes not strain to keep her daughter at her side anymore. Now she’s merelycontent to keep her away from Hades.

“Wereyou waiting long?” a voice like lapping waves asks in her ear, and Amphitritesits at her back. She presses a kiss to her shoulder, and her long green hairtumbles down Persephone’s front and blends into her dress.

Shetilts her head, allowing Amphitrite to trail salty kisses up her neck. “No.Have trouble sneaking away from your husband?”

Shesnorts. “I do not sneak.”

“Yousaid you had news from my husband,”Persephone reminds, does not allow herself to become distracted. Not yet.

“About,not from,” she uses a single claw to cut through the back of Persephone’sdress. It falls down to her hips. “They’ve been waging war for months. A bloodyhorrible thing. And rumor is Ares was in Hades’s realm. People are saying thatAres sends the dead to your husband as tribute.”

Peopleare idiots. Besides, she likes Ares. She does not mind that he visits herhusband; she only wishes he would visit her as well. “Is that all?”

Amphitriteshrugs then bites at Persephone’s ear, “Won’t you come to the sea with me? Mypalace has many places more comfortable than this rock.”

Sheleans back, pulling Amphitrite down with her, and does not answer.

Sheis not Poseidon. She does not forget that Amphitrite possesses, but is not tobe possessed, and she dares not follow this personification of the sea itselfinto her domain.

Amphitriteloves her. She may not give her back.

Persephoneis not Helen either. She will not be the cause of any wars.

~

Thanatos,the boy who Hades still calls Icarus, sits with his head in his hands. Hades reaches out and absently runs a hand up and down his spine, thinks notfor the first time that he must have been a sight to see with his golden wings,for that glorious moment before he fell. “Persephone should be crossing theshore soon. Why don’t you go and wait for her?”

“Iknow what you’re doing,” he says, voice muffled, “Styx can bring her. Or shecan walk herself, since there’s not a thing in this realm stupid enough toattack her.”

Hadesleans down and kisses the top of his spine, “She likes it when you’re there tohelp her off the boat. Please?”

Icarusturns and glares at him. Hades kisses him below his left eye, lets his lipslinger on the delicate skin there. “You’re cheating,” he accuses, a blush highon his cheeks, “this is cheating.”

“Stopworking for a couple hours and go get my wife,” he commands softly, “The armiesof traumatized dead will still be here when you return.”

Icaruslistens ­– finally – and slips away to the river.

Hadeslooks back over the map. The problem with the dead is they never go anywhere,so his realm only gets bigger. He’s going to need get Hecate so the two of themcan raise another city at this rate.

There’sa push in the air, and he startles. No one enters his realm without permission,but he recognizes the outline of the person trying to push through, and allowsit. Ares tumbles from the air, and into his arms. He’s covered in blood, hislong black hair is soaked through with it.

“Notyours, I assume?” he asks, gripping Ares’s forearms. He’s strung so tightlyhe’s nearly vibrating.

“Iwish it was mine,” he says, somewhere between a scream and a sob. Hadeswishes this was the first time Ares had come to him like this.

Areslocks his wrists around Hades neck and pulls him down, knocking them both tothe floor in his exuberance. His mouth connects to Hades’s, slick and tastinglike sulpher and metal. “I have to go back soon,” he gasps, dragging his lipsalong the edge of Hades’s jaw, “they’re invoking my name. Distract me untilthen.”

Hestill has hours until Persephone will return home, and besides she would notdeny him this. “Okay,” he whispers, and when he rolls them over they’re nolonger in his office, but his bed. Ares keens and strains his body up towardsHades, and he grabs the young god’s wrists and pins him to the bed. “Do not worry,”he says, and Ares’s whole body glistens red with blood that isn’t his own. “I’vegot you.”

Aresrelaxes, just the smallest amount, under his hands.

He’lltake what he can get.

~

Shecan tell Ares was there before even steps foot in her palace, and knows it forsure when she enters her bedroom to find her husband naked on their bed andcovered in blood.

“Howis he?” she asks, and he startles, having been so deep in thought he hadn’tnoticed her.

“Persephone,”he greets, his whole face going soft as he pushes himself up. He holds out ahand to her, and she doesn’t hesitate to drop her cloak and crawl over the bed tohim. She hikes up her dress and straddles him, arms crisscrossing behind hisneck. She kisses him slow, licks over the places where Ares had bitten hislips. “I’ve missed you.”

Sherolls her hips downward, and is gratified by the way his hands flex on her thighs,“As I have missed you, husband.”

Shekisses mortal blood off his skin, and tries not to worry too much about the manwho left it there.

He’ssurvived every war since his birth, and he’ll survive this one too.

~

Aphroditeenters his realm, her hair piled atop her head and held together with copperpins fashioned in the shape of delicate flowers. “Apollo has a son,” she says,biting at her bottom lip.

Heand Persephone share a glance before he says, “Apollo has many sons.” He feelsas if he’s had this conversation before.

Shequirks her lips in a half smile, “This one is different. He plays the lyre, heplays it better than his father even. He plays it so well that – that there arerumors that he can sooth any beast to sleep. And,” she adds, even quieter, “thatAres himself is soothed by his playing.”

“Whyare you telling us this?” Persephone asks coldly. Hades places his hand on topof hers. They like Aphrodite, afterall.

“BecauseI know Ares cares for Hades,” her eyes flicker over to him, “and I believeHades cares for him as well. I – I could not accept his proposal. My love wasnot the peace he thought it would be. But I wish him well.”

“Wecan neither kidnap nor kill a son of Apollo,” Persephone says. Hades feelscompelled to add that they shouldn’t wantto either, but he can already tell this is a situation which is quicklygoing to spiral out of his control, if it hasn’t already.

Aphroditeraises a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, then lowers it when she realizedher hair is already up. “He loves a mortal girl, Eurydice. If she were to die,he would be beside himself in grief. Enough to take his own life, even.”

“Really,”Persephone says flatly.

Aphroditecontinues, “Then he would be a subject of your realm. You could compel him tohelp Ares, could you not?”

“Ihave subjects, not slaves,” he says, “I can’t make him do anything.”

Persephoneputs her hand on his arm, eyes bright. “I have a better idea.”

~

Aphrodite’splan had merit, but this is better. Smarter. It gives Apollo less reason to beupset at them later, since his son comes to them now on his recommendation. Althoughhe’s far too attached to all his limbs to dare cross her regardless.

Orpheusbargaining with her husband now, and she’s given Hades strict instructions,that Orpheus must agree to play in their courtyard for eternity if he fails. Hewon’t cross her either, even if he wants to, even if he’s not totallycomfortable with this plan.

Sheknew when she married him that he was too soft hearted for his own good. It’shalf the reason she married him in the first place.

Fornow she circles the girl that the half-god had been so willing to riskeverything for. She’s attractive enough, but plain, and she has no particulartalents nor is she overtly clever. “What makes you so special?” she asks, whenshe sees nothing but an average young woman.

Eurydicesmiles then, and she’s much prettier that way. “He loves me,” she answers, cheeksflushing. She hesitates, but asks, “Will you really let him take him me back?”

“Aslong as he listens, as long as he leaves the underworld without looking back atyou, you are free to follow him and return to the world of the living,” sheagrees, but knows that will never come to pass.

Orpheusloves her too much to risk leaving without her, and his doubts will overcomehis hope. He will look back, and become trapped here forever.

~

Thewindow of one of the spare rooms is open, and the most beautiful playing comesthrough. Hades sits at the edge of the bed, and reaches to run the back of hisfinger across Ares’s cheek.

Thewar still rages. A war always rages. Yet Ares sleeps, the bruises under his eyesbecoming lighter by the day.

Heturns toward Hades, straining in sleep for his touch. Hades hesitates, but hisrealm is stable enough for now. He slips beneath the covers, and almost immediatelyAres curls into his side, tangling their legs together and pillowing his headon Hades’s chest so he can feel Ares’s damp exhales on his sternum.

Therewill always be another war, and Ares cannot stay. But for now he sleepspeacefully in Hades arms, and that will have to be enough.

~

Persephonesits in her garden in the courtyard, listening to the same beautiful song.

“Thisone is my favorite,” Eurydice says, seated besides her and beaming.

Sheglances over to Orpheus, who grins wide as he performs a love song for hisbeloved wife. Behind him is the cottage tucked in the corner of their courtyardwhere Eurydice and Orpheus live.

“Minetoo,” she says.

Hadeswas too soft hearted for his own good. She’d known that when she married him.

gods and monsters series, part xi