#he was never meant to escape the mythological world

[lovegrowsart]

the argument i keep seeing that the choice qimir gives to osha to leave the island in episode six isn't a "real choice" because in the real world it'd maybe be realistically logistically/physically difficult to cross that body of water is driving me up the wall because it's such literal thinking when star wars has never been and will never be concerned with what's realistic or logistically plausible. there's fire in space in the first episode of the show, because fire needed to be there to give osha that moment of flashback to the trauma of her childhood and help further establish her character - it's entirely in service to the story, doesn't matter that that's not how it works irl.

the reason the ship is there is because it needed to be in the distance to facilitate the visual storytelling - osha looking back at the ship, her chance to flee/escape the underworld, then looking back at qimir walking away off screen and making the choice to follow him. that's literally (heh) it. he even suggests waiting for low tide if she wants an easier time of it if we're gonna be that concerned about how oh so terribly hard it'd be for osha - who is an adult ex jedi and a mechanic that does such dangerous jobs on space ships that the republic legit made it illegal for anyone but droids to do them - to manage a bit of a difficult swim :(

ymmv on the qimir being manipulative angle, but i think it'd benefit a lot of people's understanding of the dynamic between osha and qimir in episode six to remember that star wars is fairytale - it is metaphorical and psychological mythology. it is not realistic or grounded in reality, nor is it meant to be read with realism in mind, because then you're simply analysing/critiquing from a position that the story isn't operating from.

you don't have to take a creator's words into consideration when developing your own interpretation, but such things can be helpful and valuable. leslye headland's made her intentions re: osha and qimir's dynamic pretty clear - that it's not meant to be manipulative, that one of the purposes of episode six was to explore qimir's "lighter" side and osha's "darker" side (hence the wholly unsubtle costuming choices, him in natural-looking off-white and osha entirely in solid grey). while qimir isn't being wholly honest with her right off the bat (cause why would he be?), he also isn't deceiving or tricking her about anything re: who he is and what he's about - how could he? she knows his face. she knows entirely what he's capable of and what he did in episode five. he can't play the master and the fool the way he did with mae, he can only be as honest as a man like him can be if he wants her to listen to him. i don't think she's naive about him at all, and i think people struggle with understanding that - that she doesn't have any illusions about his morality or lack thereof - and understanding that she still has the agency and desire to listen to what he has to say. you can believe it isn't "good" for her to listen to him, sure, but that doesn't mean she's being maliciously manipulated maliciously.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Snippet of tsamsiyu ta'em chapter sixteen

Despite coming to many revelations, only to be riddled with just as many questions, Kayla still found time to be with Ronal and Tonowari, just the three of them. Even though every bone in her body told her to refuse and avoid their presence, she found that her feet were still walking in the direction that Tonowari had instructed her to meet them after their evening meal.

She tried to come up with excuses in her head as to why they wanted her to join them at night. Perhaps it was under the guise that all three of them had been extremely busy ever since Kayla and Spider returned, but that still didn't make her feel better, knowing that to want to spend time with her meant that they cared for her in some way shape, or form. And even though she logically didn't want that... she couldn't ignore certain other parts of her that were seemingly devoid of logic. Parts of her wanted to believe that they wanted her around for something besides gratitude, besides wanting to keep an eye on her or wanting her to do her part and not be useless to their village.

She finds them standing along the beach where they told her to meet them, their toes dipped into the bioluminescent sand, creating a rippling galaxy beneath their very feet. Kayla can't help but think of the Milky Way, a long line of clustered stars lining the island where the sand meets the ocean. Ronal and Tonowari stood at the center of the cluster of stars, immovable planets that demand others to revolve around them, and in a way, Kayla found herself doing just that, moving toward them like an unforeseen gravity pulling her in. 

Tonowari was watching her approach while Ronal was looking up at the sky, watching that familiar, beautiful gas giant with the large crater glaring down at them. Kayla was now standing close enough where she could count the tattoos on both of their faces, so she stopped, deciding that this would have to be close enough, a few feet away, just out of arm's reach. It was for the better.

Tonowari watched as Kayla peered up into the sky, watching the same gas giant as Ronal before the chief spoke up, "It is Naranawm. 'Great Eye.'"

Kayla hummed in understanding, "My people call it Polyphemus, named after a cyclops."

Both pairs of Metkayina eyes are now trained on her, Kayla's ears tucking close to her head out of embarrassment while she shyly explains herself, "It's uh... it's a mythological creature from my homeworld. The Cyclops is a man-eating giant with only one eye at the center of its face." 

"That is barbaric." Ronal simply states with a scrunched nose.

A breath of a laugh escapes Kayla, "And yet, you guys have man-eating creatures here that are considered the stuff of nightmares where I'm from. Polyphemus was one of the pretty popular in one or two stories. His father was the god of the sea-- or something like that."

"God of the sea?" Tonowari tilts his head with interest.

Kayla nods, deciding that it would be inappropriate to share how she imagined Poseidon to look like Tonowari if such a benevolent god existed, "Yeah. Um... depending on what part of Earth you lived on, your faith in certain deities varies. Polyphemus stems from Greek mythology and the Greeks believed in multiple gods, Poseidon being one of them. He was the god of the sea."

"What deity did your part of the world believe in?"

"One god, like Eywa..." Kayla shivered at distant memories of religious trauma, "Only the Great Mother tends to sound kinder."

~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Fucking hell, I might've lied when I said I was never going to write a 20k+ chapter again. Anyway, can't wait to finally post once it's all said and done!

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully @lightandshadow31 @jamie-poopoo @brittney69 @avatar-lover

[streets-in-paradise]

Of Palaces, Princes and Magic - Thor x (Fem)Reader

Warnings: Clueless, powerless Thor from 2011. Tons of fluff

Summary: Wandering arround your home Thor discovers evidence of the fairytale fantasies of your childhood and promises to make your dreams come true.

Note: I wrote this last night on my phone with the last bits of battery I had and post it on the morning from the laptop. There is no editing or proofread.

Tags: @thorsslxve

Allowing a stranger inside your home wasn't your initial intention, but you kept stumbling with him untill you realized he had nowhere else to go. From the barely understandable bits of explanations you got from him, your first guess was that he may have just escaped from a cult, but that didn't make him necesarily dangerous. He was lost, clueless of the world after abandoning the place that was all he ever knew. You did remember him mentioning something over the lines of ' being casted out as a punishment' and that seemed to comfirm your theory. A cult linked to norse mythology, with a leader believing himself to be Odin who had raised him as his son.

Thor lived in a fantasy world and you could tell he was harmless because he never meant to hurt you in any way. He probably required of professional help, but to get there he needed to reach some bassical functionality. If many people would get to hear more of his nonsense, he would end up locked and that possibility saddened you deeply. As far as you could tell, he probably had been physically disconnected from the world all his life already. Besides, it was clear that he trusted you, because the out of place displays of odd arrogance he had with everyone else didn't happen much between you. For you he only had a quirky but lovely chivalry that sometimes was enough to make you live his fantasy for a while.

From all the decorative details in the place, his atention was focused in a miniature replica of Cinderella's castle you had on a table near your bookshelves. A beautifull toy incluiding small figures of characters to habitate it, so delicated and romantic that you kept it as decoration even if you wouldn't play with it anymore like when you were a little girl.

" Do you like it? " You asked him, followed with a sweet smile of encouragement. " It was my favorite growing up ... I'm a grown up woman and I still love it."

The last part of the explanation confused him a bit.

" I don't see why age would fundamentally change your appreciation, it's a fine sculpture of a castle fitting for the aesthetic preferences of a lady."

You couldn't help chuckling a bit, then showed him how to unfold the toy in order to see the inside and put it all back in.

" It's a toy, for little girls to play with." You corrected him. " Many girls enjoy playing pretend to be princesses as children, but when we reach a certain age we stop thinking of palaces, princes and magic... Unless we are reading a fantasy novel or something like that. It's stuff of tales and Disney movies, not reality."

The answer surprised him even more, but there was some sort of sadness in it. Pretty much as if he took pitty on the fact.

" Are people like me casted out to remain only in the literature of this realm?" He asked, with genuine curiosity. " Which tale does this castle tells? If there is any, as your words suggest."

Even in the simplest of details, the conversations with him allways felt like the dialogue of a fairytale.

" If someone would tell me that you have came out from the pages of a fantasy book, I would believe it."

" Yet you can't believe that Asgard is my homeland." He mocked you in return. " I'll convince you, all your doubts will be clarified once I will have my mighty power back."

You didn't argue with him, there was no need at the moment.

" Alright, your highness ... Do you still want me to tell you the tale?"

Thor smiled in agreement and you began to narrate using the playset castle as a visual guide. The fact that a grown man was just being introduced to the tale of Cinderella felt quite odd, but very cute. He was particularly intrigued with the fact that the King found no issue on letting his son marry a servant that presented herself to him magically disguised just because she was the owner of the crystal shoe.

" ... Even if she was the rightfull heir of the household, her stepmother made her a slave and that's a downgrade that should have disqualified her at the eyes of the King. How could the prince convince him of blessing that union? "

He was taking the story seriously and it was hard to provide answers in that perspective.

" I guess he simply indulged his son and let him marry the woman he loved. Prince Charming fell for Cinderella at the Royal Ball, he had no idea of who she was back then. The girl was a princess in spirit and maybe the King saw that, the crystal shoe proved her worthy of the prince."

For some reason, your answer made him smile a bight brighter than before.

" I believe you are a princess in spirit. " Thor sweetly confessed. " ... and a magnificent storyteller."

His pure cuteness was too much for you and behind your own smile heat has started to take over your face.

" Me, a princess? Please! You don't have to flatter me for hospitality. I haven't wore a tiara since I was eight."

Thor looked at the little figures of Cinderella and Prince Charming in their miniature balcony, then glanced back at you as if a new strange idea had just occured to him.

" What if you could experience what's like to be a princess? Would you believe me then?" He asked you out of sudden. " Not only about Asgard, but about my very sincere perceptions of you."

You began to wonder if the last part was some sort of romantical approach and were quite confused about that. He was very sweet and you loved his company. It could be said that you fancied him too, but encouraging him would be taking advantage of the strange situation and you would never do that.

" It's allright, Thor. I'm fine just like this. We are friends, you can help me arround ... "

" I insist, that's how I will repay you for all the troubles I have caused. " He cutted you off with determination. " I will take you to a real Royal Ball."

He sounded so serious about it that you began to question your own sanity.

" The noblefolk would be judging, It's a bad idea. "

" They will see you like I do." He optimistically replicated. " Your looks will reflect your royal spirit and you will not have to flee at midnight. If that's your desire, you will get to dance with a real prince ... Maybe two, if Loki also requires it. Ask him nicely and we may convince him of hexing your shoes to look as if made of crystal."

You giggled out of a pure,sweet surprise while hearing the details of the fantasy he was almost roping you in.

" That's very sweet. You are the sweetest man I have ever known."

You were gazing into each other's eyes when he formalized the promise.

"Currently less than what you deserve, but I will fix that soon. I will be back to my former glory, I will be worthy of you and In honor of your infinite kindness and patience, I shall make your dreams come true. "

[sonicasura]

Alternate idea for TFA Optimus being stranded on Arachnus Seven instead of Elita-1. First off he doesn't turn into a spider. Nope, I'm going for another creature that lurks in caves but tend to eat critters like spiders: BATS.

Fun fact: Optimus Primal's original design had been a bat before it was replaced with the gorilla we know and love. As for the OP here... I'll going for multiple inspirations so he can truly be alien like. Mainly because the 'bat' Animated became was an equal level predator to the Arachna Seven Spiders.

This four winged species which I'll call 'Arachna Nebulas' went extinct due to outside interference as the bat genus in general are very sensitive to changes in their environment. We all know what happens when an ecosystem is heavily disturbed. Optimus was lucky enough to find intact enough remains to become Vetaleus Prime.

Vetaleus being a word play on Vetala, a mythological vampiric bat like entity that takes over cadavers. Fitting as in a way OP is dead whether it be to those he once knew or his old self. For Arachna Nebulas, it's from the Cosmic Bat Nebula that can be found in Orion's Constellation.

Now I have two types of inspiration for Vetaleus Prime. One from the real world while the other is media consumed over the years. For bot mode, I introduce you to Yu-Gi-Oh's King of the Feral Imps and Digimon's VenomMyotismon.

Considering he had remains for this reformat than an alive specimen, OP's techno-organic nature has glaring differences when it comes to his modes. His thick fur becomes large mane like clusters around the helm/wrists/ankles while thinning out half way down his torso as defensive measures shift to the bones of the secondary wings become spikes and horns.

A 33 ft bulky frame meant for sheer force whether it be large powerful claws n talons, sharp piercing teeth to drain a prey's life, powerful tail that can flatten, or even large ears which can hear an ant breathe. Vetaleus Prime's bat like face doesn't help in portraying his gentle yet nervous nature and his still Autobot colors remain under scrutiny. No stereotypical evil Fateswap OP's in this house.

Onto the Arachna Nebulas' mode, I have fictional inspiration alongside three real world ones. Meet the Golden Crowned Flying Fox, Vampire Bat, White Honduran Bat and Monster Hunter's Paolumu!

Optimus is very fluffy in alt mode as the Nebulas' thick fur prevents the spiders from injecting their venom into him. Akin to the Paolumu inspiration than just visage, there's a special air sac in the neck that allows the species to not only float but also spit large blasts of pressurized air if their hammerlike tail slaps don't do the job. Here's the boss fight from Monster Hunter World for further details.

Vetaleus Prime's alt mode is built with the 'bob and weave' concept. Dodging the opponent's strikes while landing your own attacks on them. His larger upper arm wings makes it easier to move and adjust his trajectory in float as the secondary protects the less fluffy parts of the body.

In alt mode Vetaleus has more animalistic mannerisms. Growling, purring, roaring, and whining to convey his mood. He grooms himself like any other animal much to confusion of those around him.

Those mannerisms are still present in bot mode but Optimus tries not to unless alone or around others he trusts. He can't escape from nesting though. One of the ways to our bat bot can make himself feel comfortable and safe.

Like with Arachnus Prime, Vetaleus Prime goes into self exile knowing that Cybertron will never accept him. He ends up on Earth because of poachers who visited Arachnus Seven to capture some spiders to sell on the black market. A conflict that leads to a crash landing before canon occurs.

Optimus here has a more harsher craving when it comes to organics as his primal nature no longer has those giant spiders to satisfy him. It isn't uncommon for the deer and bear population to decline but also poachers or illegal hunters to disappear. You can say Vetaleus Prime holds a feral grudge on this specific group. Unless he has a good supply of oil than Cybertronian are in sheer danger from a feral episode.

Vetaleus craves companionship but isolates him due to fear. He has hurt others before and doesn't want to harm innocent people or much worse a companion. A fear made more apparent from his feral outbursts if refueling needs aren't satiated.

Ways to sustain this primal nature becomes more difficult once Vetaleus is forced to make the sewers his den. Stealing from food delivery trucks WILL happen if he cannot find ample resources in time. A desperate action that solidify his cryptid status as the 'Detroit Devil', escaping with the quarry in hand before anyone fully sees him.

Vetaleus Prime does his best to remain being hidden and indulge soothing hobbies like reading or knitting than cause people potentially dangerous strife. A task that might become impossible when the past ends up in Detroit. Or the haunting realization of what can happen should Vetaleus fail to satisfy his other side.

Team Elita-1 best be careful. An innocent monster is just as dangerous as any other. Optimus rather not sink his fangs into someone he considers a dear old friend but evil will not miss an opportunity like this...

That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back at the crossroads between Detroit and Cybertron! Now Transform and Roll Out!

[mask131]

Greek mythology talk... About the incompatibility of modern sensibilities with Ancient Greek mentality.

Don't worry no rape or sexual talk. We'll do something more joyful... DEATH!

I want to talk about Thanatos, and about how the treatment of this personification in modern media reflects a fundamental fracture between modern mindset (well... modern American mindset let's be honest) and Greek mythology.

There has been a recent streak of interpretations of Thanatos as a fair deity, in all the senses of the term. Beautiful, needed, just, benevolent or neutral. And that Thanatos would be interpreted in such a way is very logical and... yeah kind of needed. We are currently living (or we have lived) a strong cultural shift when it comes to Death - where fiction has done its best efforts to destroy our fear of death, make us accept or embrace it in various way. We have gone through a lot of Death personifications that are all about being respectable or charming or funny or honorable entities: Pratchett's Reaper, Gaiman's Death of the Endless, Guillermo del Toro's Angel of Death, etc, etc... We are living in a culture that works to make Death a neutral principle, a force of nature beyond morality, or a benevolent and pleasant though grim and sad thing. Again, it is something we do need after millenia of us mortals being taught to fear and escape our own mortality, and this same fear or disgust of death causing us to do all sort of horrible things.

That being said... While it makes sense that such a way of thinking would be reverberated onto the Greek Thanatos, it poses a big problem. Thanatos was never meant to be a benevolent, fair or even just entity. That's actually a counter-interpretation of the Ancient character. And that's what I mean by how modern mindset has a hard time grasping the ideologies and philosophies behind the Greek myths.

Ancient Greek society was one of the main reasons behind Europe's fear of death. It is one of the roots of the "death is evil" mindset. And not accepting this is not just denying a reality, but also completely misreading the ancient myths. The Greeks feared death - and as such Thanatos is considered and called a "dreaded" deity, because all the gods associated with mortality were supposed to be terrifying. The same thing goes with Hades: he who must not be named, he who must not be seen. And unlike Thanatos Hades is actually a fair and honorable god - but still he was feared and avoided precisely because he is associated with and rules over death, which itself is a negative principle. Talk about death, you attract death (out of a superstitious mindset) and the Greeks would avoid that at all costs - for their main goal and ideal in life was to live. Remember: eternal life, immortality, was the purest and most perfect form of existence ever (hence why the gods are superiors to mortals). Death was never seen as pleasant or seducing in any way.

More than that: Death was filth. It is something typical of many Ancient societies, but the Greeks had it going VERY strongly. When someone died, it soiled the place and the people. Hence why there was a need for purification. Hence why murderers were more likely to be cursed and banished than rapists for example. Death was filth, a disease, a stain, something foul and vile, which needed to be cleansed. And the mere idea of the dead returning to the world of the living was one of the worst case scenarios ever - which is why Hades' threat in the Persephone myth was taken so seriously. It would not just be an "upset of the balance", it would be the end of humanity because the mere SIGHT of the dead returned would cause the living to go crazy of fright or die of terror or be broken out of shere repulsion. And it would soil the living world forever...

All of that to say: Thanatos, the embodiment of death, was not in Greek mentalities a good guy. There has been a long talk about "Let's un-demonize Hades", I myself participated in this talk, and I couldn't agree more. We cannot ignore that Hades was a feared, dreaded god that was avoided and recognized as a sinister force - but he was not evil, not a bad guy, not a Greek equivalent of the devil. He was just a neutral force of nature, someone performing a dirty but needed task, and someone who we feared because of what he could unleash and thanked for not unleashing this. He was feared and avoided, but the same way a prison warden or an executioner tends to be treated - we don't want to hang out with those people, but when they do their job by the law we thank them for being here. (Well for the executioner, it's debated depending on if you are for or against death penalty but that's another story)

Thanatos on the other hand... Its bad. Thanatos is not fair. Thanatos is not neutral. Thanatos is not just "acting by the law". Thanatos is a deity that is dreaded by all living beings and that terrifies them - and for a good measure! Thanatos is supposed to be all the darkness and horror and ugliness and violence and filfth of death combined into one person. It is Hades that maintains the order and the balance: not Thanatos. In several texts we have Thanatos described as an enemy of humankind, as an entity who delights in ending lives, as a god who enjoys more his job when he gets to kill young people, as an entity who sees his job as a privilege and will never let a mortal escape him without a good fight. Why does Zeus, when he wants to offer a peaceful and glorious end to his son Sarpedon, seds both Hypnos and Thanatos to him, not just Thanatos? Because, the text precises it as such - Hypnos is the one who is "painless". Aka, Thanatos is the pain. Death is a suffering in the Ancient Greek mindset, and this suffering is named Thanatos. Without Hypnos by his side to soothe his evil and veil his brutality, Thanatos only brings horrible diseases and brutal murders and vicious disasters. To die peacefully "in one's sleep"... That's Hypnos, not Thanatos.

And it isn't just Thanatos - he is affiliated with the Keres. And everybody forgets the poor Keres... Thanatos is sometimes described as drinking the blood of funeral sacrifices, making him look like a gruesome vampires. This is because the idea of a death as a bloodthirsty-vampire was typical of Ancient Greece - and can be found back within the Keres. These female spirits were in charge of death on battlefields and during wars - they were the female counterparts of Thanatos, the embodiment of brutal murders and death by weapons and manslaughter. And they were depicted as Erynies-like entities, a mix of vampires, frightening ghosts and corpse-eating birds, with an horrifying appearance, who terrified all those that saw them, and who spent their time ripping away bodies and drinking the blood of the living.

All of that to say, the embodiments of Death in Ancient Greece were deeply unpleasant. It was horror entities, and the "rehabiliation" of Thanatos does not answer the same questions and needs as the rehabiliation of Hades in modern perception of Greek mythology.

I want to insist that I do understand, and I accept and I can agree with a reading of Thanatos as a beautiful, fair, just or benevolent entity. Either as a subversion of Ancient Greek mythology (and it is not because we need to be better taught about the source material that we can't do subversions fit to modern days), either as a simple continuation of our own modern culture. Because we do have an entire aesthetic of the "beautiful Angel of Death" (or the "beautiful Lady Death"), AND we do live in a world where the arts and the philosophies rely on a multi-continental idea that Eros and Thanatos are a couple, a duo, twins. As such, making Thanatos a "dark Eros" is defendable, logical, expected.

But the problem still stays that the idea of Eros and Thanatos as a couple could NOT have existed within Ancient Greece, and this is something that needs to be understood. Eros and Thanatos had nothing to do in Ancient Greece. Aphrodite did not belong to the Underworld. The twins were Hypnos and Thanatos, sons of Nyx the Night. As such, if you want to do something truly faithful to the Ancient Greek mythology, you will need to do Thanatos as a petty, stubborn, evil, wicked, ugly, terrifying, horrifying thing - on various degrees and nuances.

It does not mean one needs to stick to this idea, of course, people can do anything they want in the end cause if we were bound by millenia-old tales when it comes to modern retellings we wouldn't have anything new or creative today... However I do strongly believe that people should be aware and recognize that having a "fair Thanatos" is in itself a subversion and reinvention of the Ancient Greek myths, and is not at all faithful to the Ancient Greek worldview in any way. "Fair Thanatos" can exist, and has existed for a very long time... But to pass it off as the "real" or "original" Thanatos of the Ancient Greeks is a misinformation and a lie. The Ancient Greeks hated and feared death. They thought it was filthy and ugly and disgusting and repulsive. And it might be hard to accept for us today, since we know that death is just a neutral thing and unescapable part of the cycle of life and how the world works... But that was the Greek mindset and the Greek worldview essential to understing Greek mythology - the same way we have to accept that the Greeks believed all waters came from the Ocean which was not an ocean but a gigantic river surrounding the world, or that we have to accept that the Greeks believed Black people were black because they lived in lands devoid of night and thus had their skin burned by the endless sun.

It clashes with our modern knowledge and sensibilities and morals, but if we do not know and inform ourselves about these fact that were basics and fundamentals for Ancient Greek poetry and culture, we will completely misread the Ancient Greek myths.

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

strawberriesinmoominvalley's marvel masterpost:

hold my hand tight, we'll make it another night

an eighteen year old natasha defects to shield after clint takes the one shot he didn't, and finds the family she didn't think she deserved to have. a happy au where the world is saved (eventually), cycles are broken and there is something to be said about the power of friendship (possibly) being real

you have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve (and i have always buried them deep beneath the ground)

He needed to just kill her and finish the job. But something in his gut was telling him not to. That something else was going on.

He prepared to shoot, and stopped, before putting his bow down, sighing. Coulson was going to kill him, even if she didn’t.

“Look. I’m going to give you another option. Come back with me. Join SHIELD.”

OR clint's one shot he doesn't take, and what becomes of it

(can be read as a standalone)

look at the wonderful mess that we made

He wasn’t hers; not really.

Natasha wasn’t stupid. She could never have children, and was never meant to be a parent. The Red Room had made sure of that. But they’d had Peter for almost three years now, living on an isolated farm Fury had let them have. It was off the books, away from everything and everyone. It was a safe place to have a child who should stay as far away from the fighting as possible.

OR what happens when natasha and clint adopt a kid they find during a hydra raid

(can be read as a standalone)

falling doesn't feel so bad when i know you've fallen this way too

It was nice to essentially be rid of HYDRA. As much as she loved destroying Nazis, it was good to bring this mission to a close, to get rid of an organisation capable of so much terror.

The mythological hydra wasn’t impossible to kill, and neither had this one been.

OR they've finally taken down hydra, after years of near-constant raids. all natasha and clint have to worry about is going to stark's party and going home to their kid.

but when ultron goes wrong, and they're forced into a fight with a robot and two enhanced teenagers, where are they meant to turn? is it truly possible to get peace in their time, or are they fighting an indestructible force?

and will they all make it out alive?

you'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

The first day was awkward.

Dealing with ex-HYDRA kids was not Natasha’s first rodeo. She’d helped Peter - hell, she’d been brought up in the Red Room. She understood how fucked up things like that could make you. But Pietro and Wanda were different to Peter - they were avoidant to touch, checking for exits in every room they entered.

OR wanda and pietro learn they finally have a home, and are loved. the farm family gains two new members

it's the living that's hard

He joined her as she dangled her legs off the ledge, the metal cold even through his pyjamas. “Why are we out here?”

“I used to climb fire escapes when I was younger,” Wanda said, watching the skyline, at the lights from the buildings washing them both in a faint glow. “It was a good way to get quiet. When I was very little my Mama would take me out on the one outside my house when I didn’t sleep. It was scary because we never knew if there was going to be an air strike. But we never knew, and even though it was more dangerous than staying inside, it was worth it.”

Peter considered this for a while, before turning to face Wanda. “You didn’t have to share that tradition with me. Thank you.”

“She wouldn’t want me to be sad,” Wanda replied, a soft sadness in her voice. “They always tried their best for us, my parents. They’d be happy I have a family now.”

OR small moments from the family as they make their new life in new york

what happens now? do we have another go? (do we bow out and take our separate roads?)

Wanda struggled as she lifted the explosion surrounding Rumlow up, her body shaking. She’d almost made it high enough when her focus slipped and she let go of the explosion, taking out the entirety of a floor of a building.

Natasha could hear screams around her but she scanned for Pietro, finding him staring at Wanda. He glanced at Nat, shock on his face.

“Get your sister to the plane. Now.”

OR due to the incident at lagos, the sokovia accords are created. natasha and clint don't know what path to take, which one will keep their family safe. everyone has different opinions and the time of the avengers may come to a close

but what happens when the signing of the accords is attacked and bucky is blamed? was it really steve's best friend, now the winter soldier? and why does there seem to be more than one supersoldier running around vienna?

there are two of us on the run

Natasha was going to be a Widow. Her Mommy was going to die. Her baby sister was becoming a Widow. She couldn’t do this again.

Yelena swerved the plane sideways, spinning them around in the air. The force jerked everyone, and Yelena felt the seatbelt cut into her neck. She pressed the accelerator, flying them back the way they came.

OR yelena was the big sister, eleven years old and four years of the red room under her belt. natasha was six, her only memories full of ohio and the fake family they had. yelena had always been the harsher one, doing anything to keep natasha safe. in a split-second decision, she changes their course from cuba, taking natasha as they run from their past.

but the past has a funny way of catching up with you, doesn't it?

i will look for you as the sun rises higher

She hadn’t meant to do it. She really really hadn’t.

The breath was knocked out of her lungs as the gun fired again, her finger accidentally pressing the trigger. She screamed, throwing the gun away as fast as she could.

And-

She didn’t mean to. She really didn’t, and she didn’t know what to do-

OR children make mistakes and accidents happen. when your children are widows, accidents tend to be more fatal

you'll change your name or change your mind, and leave this fucked up place behind (but i'll know, i'll know)

Natasha promised that she’d do anything for Yelena and protect her forever. And Yelena knew that was true, because Nattie had always protected her. She always would. Plus, you couldn’t break a promise.

Nothing bad would happen to her if she was with her big sister.

OR natasha and yelena stopped being sisters after she let them go back to the red room. natasha just never thought to tell yelena that

blow a kiss, fire a gun (we all need someone to lean on)

The shower was icy cold as she stepped under the spray, her body flinching instinctively. The water ran red and only then did she let herself cry, scrubbing at herself with the soap.

The child had been six. The same age as Yelena when they were taken. In that moment, when she’d slit the boy’s throat and blood had sprayed everywhere, she saw her baby sister staring back at her.

OR moments of natasha washing off blood, and how she realises she's not alone

we are the reckless, we are the wild youth (chasing visions of our futures)

By the time Peter was nine, he was very aware that he wasn’t like the other kids. He asked May about it and she said he was autistic, which wasn’t a bad thing, it just meant he saw the world differently. Peter wasn’t sure he fully agreed, because if it wasn’t a bad thing why wouldn’t anyone be his friend?

Then Tony Stark became Iron Man and Peter had never been more excited in his life.

Tony Stark made technology and was a superhero! Ben helped him get lots of books from the library because he decided he was going to be an engineer and a scientist and a superhero all at once too.

OR peter's never spoken, which is fine by him, even if he desperately wants to fit in. his life is fine and he's going to be an engineer-scientist-superhero just like tony stark!

then his uncle ben dies and it's his fault. may makes him promise not to be a superhero. so his plans kinda fall apart until he gets powers.

because really, it would be dumb if he didn't help people?

he couldn't save ben. maybe he could save everyone else

if i could start again a million miles away (i would keep myself, i would find a way)

Being different in the Red Room wasn’t allowed. In fact, it got you killed.

Natasha had always helped her when she didn’t understand things, when kids would laugh at her for being unable to tie her laces, or for only talking about My Little Pony. She wouldn’t tease her, just patiently help her learn the skill (or do it for her, if Yelena was being honest). She’d always play with her and make sure she understood what was going on.

And now she was alone. The first time Yelena tripped because she couldn’t do up her laces she was hit around the face so hard the world spun.

She learned fast after that. You are not enough. Yelena is weird and different and that is bad.

OR moments of yelena's life of growing up up in the red room whilst being autistic, plus all the things that came later

i try to memorise and identify but it's all getting foggy

she says "i am real and you are not"

“What is going on?” she demanded, pulling the photo of the two of them out of her pocket. “You send me this and a bag of vials with no context? What’s going on?”

Yelena shoved past her, putting space between them before she folded her arms. “Why are you so angry today? I thought you were my sister. Fuck you, Dreykov.”

Natasha paused. “Today?”

OR when natasha goes to yelena after receiving her package, things don't go quite as she expected. natasha just wishes yelena would trust her. yelena just wishes natasha was there.

you're free to have everything you can see (all that you want from me)

Yelena didn’t protest, even though the idea of seeing him made her want to scream, to throw up, to run and run until she died. Because Ohio had been the only thing she knew was real for years, even though their little family was fake. Natasha was different, their mom was dead. Alexei had surrendered them to the Red Room. He’d broken Yelena, shattered her into the pieces she called herself.

Natasha deserved better than Yelena, so Yelena would be the perfect sister.

OR yelena really doesn't want to see alexei again. she also doesn't want natasha to leave - because that's going to happen. she just knows it

[ghcstao3]

Ur not obligated to ofc but after all the mythology reqs recently I just HAD to req a potential Orpheus and Eurydice au for ghoap because who doesn't love how tragic they both are

i don’t mind :) i’ve had to refresh my memory on all these myths though lmao

cw plain ol' mcd. Again. man u guys love ur angst

-

Johnny really couldn’t have imagined Simon’s death to come at the hands (well, at the teeth and venom, to be exact) of his lover’s very worst fear.

Nor could he have imagined it happening so soon, so early into Simon’s life. When they still had so much time they were meant to spend together leftover; an eternity cut so very short.

Johnny couldn’t stand for it.

He could never give up on Simon so easily. He could not let his sorrow go unheard, his song unsung. The earth must understand her cruelty and what she had unjustly taken.

He could not allow for Simon's soul to wander alone, destined to one day fade without ever knowing a full life, a complete love.

And so, determined, Johnny ventures into the Underworld. A treacherous journey for which he only has his lyre as company, an old friend for the mournful melody that would hopefully allow him the chance to save Simon.

Or, at the very least, the chance to see him again. The chance to know whether he should just beg to join his lover in unfair death so soon, so bitter.

Johnny gains an audience with the Underworld's god. He plays his music and grieves for Simon, pleading for mercy very few have ever been allowed.

And with music, Simon becomes one of those few. On the condition that Johnny leads him to freedom without so much as a glance back at his lover. At the captivating beauty that is Simon. A simple task, when Johnny will have all the time in the world to admire Simon once they've escaped with his soul.

A simple task, if Simon's steps hadn't been so silent. If he hadn't moved with such grace and quiet that Johnny's doubt grew stronger as they travelled further. His fear that he'd been led into false hope, a trick, and Simon could never be returned to him.

A simple task, if Johnny were not so susceptible to paranoia and uncertainty since having lost Simon once before.

He ruins everything, in the end. Because of an all-consuming doubt and an insatiable curiosity, with one final look back meant only to reassure himself that Simon still follows, Johnny instead dooms his lover to remain trapped in the Underworld. His foolishness is the downfall of them both; an irreparable fault of his own doing, forever his own doing.

Johnny returns to earth completely and utterly alone.

And the look on Simon's face as they were separated once again, for good, would haunt Johnny's every atom of being for the remainder of his miserable existence.

[a-strange-inkling]

Hellcheer AU Week: Mythology

(cw: referenced abuse, implied ed/starvation)

The minor goddess shivered when she felt his presence, when she felt the faint ghost memory of his touch sliding down the thin length of her neck, tentatively sweeping across her bare shoulders.

It couldn’t be…. She glanced up from her melancholy toils, from where she tended to the collapsing blooms that scattered the edge of the meadows. And there he stood in the pale, rosy twilight, hidden in the shadow of the columns that encircled her garden, his dark eyes soft with longing, watching her silently. A slow, nervous smile brightened his handsome face when she met his gaze. He had never ventured so close before, wandered so far from the gate that separated their worlds into her mother’s lands.

Exhilaration filled her lungs, her lips parting in wordless wonder and surprise. Blood coursing through her veins, she looked anxiously over her shoulder to the east to make sure her mother was still far enough away, out in the fields, watching over the bounty as the mortals harvested the abundant grain that fell from their sheaves like droplets of gold.

Seeing that they were safe from her fierce and scathing eyes, for the moment at least, she ran to him across the flush green earth, leaving a trail of small pearly white flowers in the wake of her steps.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered as he enveloped her into him, gathering her up whole into his strong arms, lifting her feet so only her toes grazed the grass. He spun her around, clinging tightly to her small frame. She breathed him in, curling her fingers into the long dark waves of his hair, his warm embrace soothing the heartache that had throbbed so painfully in her chest all these days and nights without him. Oh what has happened to me? What have you done to me? She thought to herself, overwhelmed by that heady, addictive scent of smoke and amber that wafted off of him.

You’re all I think about.

“I was so worried… I had to see you.” he rasped gently, burying himself into her soft golden tresses. “You didn’t come back and I thought—”

“Forgive me, I couldn’t get away.” She felt hot tears stinging in the corner of her eyes, picturing him alone in their clearing, waiting for her in vain. During their early encounters in the forest, when he was no more than a kind stranger, she had told him not to wait for her longer than an hour’s time, for that meant she was unable to escape her mother unnoticed. “I’ve felt so awful, so...”

Alone. So horribly alone.

She swallowed thickly, trying to explain herself. “She—she knows something… She hasn’t let me out of her sight day or night, if not for the harvest she’d—”

He gently pulled away, but did not let go of her, palms pressed firmly against the small of her back as his gaze traveled over the length of her body before searching her eyes. Her vision misted over as she watched him study her. She knew she must look gaunt and thin to him. Weak. Ugly. His jaw locked up as his thick brows drew together, pushing back her hair that hung like a shroud over half of her face, going still when his eyes fell on the faint rouge marring her pale cheek.“…Did she do this?” he asked, his voice low and strained, reaching forward to brush his rough fingers over the inflamed skin as he studied it, making her wince. “Did she hurt you?”

“…I-I spoke out of turn.” she murmured nervously, the well overflowing, silvery tears spilling freely. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he breathed, a shadow falling over his eyes as he lifted his palm, caressing her face tenderly between his hands, the calloused pads of his thumb wiping away her tears. “She should never.”

“She’s my mother.” she reminded him, her gaze falling.

“That’s no excuse!” he cried out, a rare anger flaring up inside him. “You are her daughter! She is supposed to nurture you, take care of you.”

“Please we must stay quiet— It doesn’t hurt, I promise, it’s nothing. Nothing.” she consoled, tugging desperately at his sleeve. “Please, please come away with me before she sees you.”

With a shallow, unsteady breath, he followed solemnly, letting her drag him further into the cover of the foliage that climbed and weaved along the white stone of the small temple that the mortals had built in her honor. She felt the weight of his heavy gaze upon her shoulders as she led him deep into the shelter of her garden, near the edge of the dark wood where first he found her lost, frightened… dying.

“Have you been sleeping better?”

“Yes…” she lied softly, feeling him entwine their fingers together as he came to walk beside her.

While his medicine, the otherworldly flower he has procured for her, had countered the venom that pulsed though her, quieted the ghoulish creature that resided in the darkest corners of her mind… a new restlessness now caused her to toss and turn beneath the stars in place of her nightmares. One that left a fevered burning beneath her skin, an aching emptiness deep within her body, her soul… a hunger she had never known before.

“Though, I’ve nearly run out of—” she paused when she turned to see a small vial filled with the dark tincture of aconitum in his hand.

She blinked up at him as he offered it to her silently, her sapphire eyes shining in the evening light. “Thank you.” she murmured gently, taking it carefully between her fingers, leaning back against the cold fluted marble that stretched above them.

Was this all he came for? She wondered in disappointment.

“You remember what I said?” he asked, drawing toward her as she examined it. What he’d given her was a blissful sleep in essence or a deadly poison in abundance. The purple plant that grew in the mountains of the netherworld, the bane of the wolf, absolutely forbidden in her realm.

“One drop in a shell of water.” she replied with a shy nod. “I remember.”

He nodded in return, looking a little relieved. “And never more… You haven’t seen him?”

He was the only one who knew of the demon who plagued her, who haunted her dreams, who took the form of her mother, sometimes her long lost father… but they were not themselves… they were twisted and decayed. Wasting.

She knew not his name, nor what he was nor from where he came. Only that he was a dark magician.

A weaver of visions.

“No, the wolfsbane wards him,” she answered quietly. “I can feel him lurking sometimes, but he can't seem to reach me… and when you’re near…” she hesitated as he stepped forward, her eyes falling shut dazedly when he pressed his brow against hers, closing in around her. Heat began to pool in the pit of her stomach.

“When I’m near…?”

“He’s gone.” she sighed, inclining her chin up toward him, wishing he’d come closer still. That he’d hold her, take her, make her his own beneath the heavens. “As though he never existed… It’s all gone. The pain… the loneliness.”

“You must—you must promise me then, promise to find me if he ever returns.” He whispered, his tone pleading, placing a firm hand along her waist, another caressing her cheek.

Her long pastel lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, staring up at him, humbled by the unguarded adoration and agony that met her in his deep russet gaze. His thumb traced her bottom lip. “I can take you away from here, you know she has no power in my realm… I know it isn’t the surface, but you’d be safe there… with me.”

A faint, watery smile graced her delicate features. He sounded so nervous, so vulnerable. Like a boy. And she was powerless to stop herself from wandering into that impossible dream. Disappearing into the forest with him, finally free of her mother’s chains. “…you risk too much for me.” she told him quietly, looking down at her tiny white feet where hundreds of little crocuses had blossomed beneath her.

The world would burn if she went with him.

“For you,” he murmured gently as he bowed down, eyes lowering to her lips. “I’d risk everything.”

*

@hellcheer-au-week

And some more moodboards of this concept because I can’t stop, and I won’t stop lol

[angelic-writer]

Hail True Body - (My) God's Not Dead

Holy shit, another one!! I'm on a roll! This time, I'm trying out Hail True Body by @mustangs-flames

The prompt is by the lovely @serickswrites who never fails to rip our hearts out. <3

This stars an AU I've been thinking of for a while now. I hope it's worthwhile.

CW: Captivity, Torture, Restraints, Forced to watch, Drowning, Attempted CPR, Escape, Referenced Character Death, Referenced injury of a child, Referenced toxic masculinity

Excerpt from John 11

The Death of Lazarus

Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, and then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”

“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews there tried to stone you, and yet you are going back?”

Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble, for they see by this world’s light. It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light.”

After he had said this, he went on to tell them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up.”

His disciples replied, “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” Jesus had been speaking of his death, but his disciples thought he meant natural sleep.

So then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”

Then Thomas (also known as Didymus) said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

The night sky was dotted with stars. In the barren plains of Edensfield, they all joined together to make a cluster, a light show made from the heavens. From a God that Mark thought he prayed to. It would've been a pretty sight if he and Cesar were out and about, enjoying themselves, not having a care in the world. But now, as he dragged his friend's body out into the field, he wondered if the stars above were supposed to mock him, taunting him of a future he could've had with Cesar.

"Look, we made it, Ces." Mark said breathlessly as he reached the edge of Mr. Marcus' property. He clutched Cesar tightly, fearful of dropping him or leaving him behind. "We made it to freedom. Just like you said."

Mark stopped walking, the weight of everything he had endured finally hitting him. "I'm free." He whispered as he stared into Cesar's upturned face. "You deserved to be free, too." He said as the overwhelming sadness he had started to feel back at the house began to take over.

"You... deserved it, too..." Mark repeated as a lone tear dripped onto Cesar's face.

The shorter boy's eyes were half-lidded, his gaze glassy and empty. His grey lips were parted slightly, and he was so terribly, terribly still. The kind of stillness that reminded him of that event. When they went to see her...

Mark dropped to his knees as he began to sob. He hadn't been fast enough. Hadn't done enough. Hadn't acted soon enough. He sat back against the tree, Cesar's limp body cradled in his lap. His heart was racing so fast, he thought it would stop at any minute. He wouldn't mind that. If he could at least see Cesar again, he'll gladly let his heart fail.

Mr. Marcus was their old high school history teacher who was obsessed with Greek mythology. He got along really well with the students, especially Cesar, to the point where people started calling him a teacher's pet. He had told them that they were gonna do great things when they grew up. He especially had faith in Cesar pursuing a medical degree. So when a mysterious figure pulled Cesar into a dark alley, knocking him out with chloroform and hit Mark over the head with a pipe, they had no idea who it would be.

They awoke several hours later in a dark room, lit by a single candle. There were handcuffs on their wrists, preventing them from any escape. There was the smell of rotting flesh coming from somewhere in the house. Didn't Mr. Marcus have a wife that he wouldn't stop talking about? He loved her, right? So why isn't she there? Surely, they would notice two high school graduates locked up in the house and call someone, right?

The figure walked in front of the candle and they could see a familiar face, illuminated by the candle.

"Mr. Marcus?!" Mark had shouted. "W-What the hell- What are you doing here?!"

Mr. Marcus tilted his head. His face looked like it had blood all over. His eyes had heavy bags under them like he hadn't slept in so long. "Hmm... That's a good question. What am I doing here? Well, I'm here because... Well, I had a bit of a revelation."

"Revelation? W-What do you mean?"

"Oh come on! Don't try to play dumb! Y'know, the one your little friend had."

Cesar shuddered, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Wait. So... You..."

"Yep. Those voices won't stop talking, telling me that something was wrong with her, that I couldn't trust her. I... I..."

Mark started to quake. "You... killed her...?"

Cesar let out a choked sob.

"I-I had to. One of them probably killed her and was wearing her skin! I... had no choice! I had to!! Oh god, the blood... I-It's gonna be hard to clean up, but I'll take it."

"Why...?" Cesar sobbed. "Why did you kill Mrs. Marcus?! Y-You loved her! You wouldn't shut up about her every day! You gave her flowers, took her out to dinner and everything! You were so happy! So why?! Why do all of this?! We never did anything!!"

"Because... Everything was a lie. They told me all I needed to know. How God abandoned us and that this world is doomed to fail. I cannot trust anyone. Anything. So I have to protect myself from them. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Mark?"

Of course Mark knew what he was talking about. The mimics. He had encountered one when he found Cesar bleeding out on the floor.

"In fact... The reason why I kidnapped you two... is because they told me to..."

Mark blinked. "....What...?"

"Mr. Marcus, you don't have to do this! Y-You can fight this! You have to! We can help you!"

"So you can turn me in for killing my wife? I don't think so. In fact, I don't think you're really Mark and Cesar. I think you're just wearing their skin."

"N-No, we're not! We lived through our attacks!!" Cesar screamed.

"Yeah! We have proof! You can look at Cesar! He's living proof!" Mark chimed in.

Mr. Marcus sighed. "You must think you're so smart trying to get me to let my guard down just because you have simulated scars? Well, you can't fool me. No one can. Not anymore."

And so, he left the room. For the first several hours, they were left alone in the dark, handcuffed together. Mark tried to ignore the smell of death and closed his eyes, muttering prayers to God. That did little to calm his nerves, but a warm hand snapped him out of his thoughts. Warm hands against bandaged ones. "Hey, Mark. I-It's okay. We're gonna get out of this, okay?"

Even with the trauma of killing his own mother, he still had his optimism. They escaped a mimic attack at the house before. This was no different. How confident he was... "M-Maybe we can figure out a way before he even comes back." He whispered, leaning his head on Mark's shoulder.

"I think it's going to take some time to figure our way out of this. We're handcuffed together in the dark somewhere we don't even know."

"We'll make it to freedom, you'll see."

Cesar had been so confident. He was so confident that he would escape with Mark. He was confident that they would be free before Mr. Marcus can come back. And he was confident that Mr. Marcus wouldn't hurt them that bad.

Cesar was wrong.

Mr. Marcus had returned after several hours, flicking the lights, revealing the contents of the room. Mark's mouth had gone dry when he saw the rusty bathtub in the corner of the room. Mr. Marcus silently filled the tub as Mark's heart pounded. Only one word came to mind: baptism.

"Which one of you should I start with, eh?" Their old teacher asked quietly. After a minute of silence, too long for Mark's comfort, his eyes settled on the taller boy. "How about you? If you really are a mimic, you'll come back from this, right?"

Cesar glared at Mr. Marcus. "Over my dead body."

He looked to Cesar. "Fine. Then we'll start with you. This will be your first extracurricular lesson."

And that was all it took. Mark screamed and tried to grab onto Cesar as the teacher uncuffed Cesar from him. He scrambled after Mr. Marcus as he dragged Cesar to the tub by the hair. "LET HIM GO!! LET HIM GO!!" He roared.

"None of that." Mr. Marcus snarled as he kicked Mark in the face.

He stumbled to the floor, his cheek throbbing. He sat there helplessly, trying to figure out a way out of the cuffs. If these cuffs weren't around the bastard's neck first. They were loose, but Mr. Marcus would see. He had to wait until he left them alone again.

Mr. Marcus plunged Cesar's head in and out of the tub several times, Cesar kicking and fighting each time, but he didn't stop. He shoved Cesar's head below the surface once more. The way his limbs flailed about wasn't a good sign for Mark. He had to do something fast!

'LET HIM GO, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!! I'LL KILL YOU!! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!" His eyes were wide with rage, his lips twisted into an unnatural shape, his nails dug into his palms, breaking skin and drawing blood. He was like a wild animal.

Mr. Marcus either didn't hear him or acted like he wasn't there.

Cesar's frantic scrabbling grew weaker and weaker until he stilled.

"CESAR!!!" Mark screamed as he watched Cesar's arms fall limply to his side.

Mr. Marcus blinked, relaxing his grip on Cesar's hair. He looked confused, the crazed look he had earlier disappearing. "C... Cesar?" He lifted his head up and looked at him. He flinched and dropped him to the floor. He stumbled backwards, his body starting to violently shake before he dropped to his knees. He looked at his hands which were still covered in his wife's blood. "Wh... What... What did I just...?"

He looked to Cesar who was lying limply on the floor. "D-Did I just...?" Tears started to fall down his face, his breathing quickening before he began to hyperventilate. "O-Oh god!! Oh my god!! I-I didn't mean- Cesar, I'm sorry!! I didn't mean-!!" He covered his mouth to muffle his sobs. He finally realized what he had done, though it was far too late.

¬ You killed him, Marcus. ¬

Mark and the teacher froze. That voice...

¬ You killed your precious student. ¬

It was here. And it had seized its moment.

Dark shadows wrapped around Mr. Marcus as he looked behind him. A creature beyond human comprehension was standing before him, black hands gripping his shoulders. A mimic. It followed him. Followed them. A pair of eyes looked at Mark and said in a voice he knew very well.

¬ Don't look, Mark. ¬

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he heard his former teacher screaming into the endless night. Screaming for help which will never come. Screaming until finally, it was silent. Mark opened his eyes.

There was no one. No Mr. Marcus, no mimic - just Cesar who laid on his side, his back to Mark. Water streamed from his body, staining the wood around him. "Hold on, Ces. I'm almost there. Hold on."

He slipped the cuffs quickly and stumbled forward. "Cesar?"

Cesar didn't reply.

Mark shook his shoulder. "Come on, Ces. We don't know how long we have until that thing comes back. We have to go." He said urgently.

Cesar's body shook with the motion, but he didn't respond. "Cesar?" Mark whispered as he rolled his friend onto his bad. "OH GOD NO!!" He screamed as he stared into Cesar's lifeless eyes.

No, no, not again! NO!!

"Please, Ces, please!!" Mark said as he started compressions. "Please don't leave me. We're getting out of here. Please, c'mon!!"

His medical knowledge was fuzzy, but he knew Cesar had been studying. He wanted to go to med school, wanted to be a nurse. He had a bright future ahead of him where he had nothing. Mark, you fucking moron! You should've listened! You should've let him go! You had Josiah! You could've come to him, but no. You just had to blow up at the one person who cared about you. Why are you such a selfish asshole?!

Please God, please. Don't take him away from me.

He counted to fifteen and blew into his lungs. His lips were slack, but they were warm. Still there. Still has a chance.

"C'mon, Cesar, please... You have to live. Please!" His hands sunk down into his chest, his ribs bending inwards. I think I'm doing this right. Cesar's body shaking like a ragdoll and the clicking of his ribs made him sick. It felt like an absolute nightmare, trying to get his heart beating and breathing expired air into his dying friend. Never in his life would he imagine doing this to anyone, let alone his friend. It felt like he was playing God in that moment. Cesar's life was in his hands.

"Cesar, c'mon! C'mon, you bastard!! Breathe!" He slammed his fist into his chest before he continued. He didn't know how long he tried to revive Cesar. He didn't know how long he pounded on his chest. How long he begged Cesar to breathe. How he pleaded with the universe to bring his friend back.

He just knew that eventually, he stopped because Cesar was dead. That there was nothing he could do to save him. That the only thing he could do was save himself and get Cesar's body to safety.

"You deserved it, too." Mark repeated as he stroked Cesar's still wet hair. "Oh Ces... I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything... God, please, no... Please, Cesar, please..." Mark knew he would never recover from this. Would never recover from watching Cesar drown. Would never recover from failing to revive Cesar. And he would never recover from staring into Cesar's lifeless eyes. And as Mark stared down into the face he loved above all others, he realized he deserved it.

A punishment for being selfish.

--------

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

--------

Mark and Cesar were laying in a field, listening to a song from Queen. Freshly bloomed flowers swayed gently in the breeze accompanied by the birds chirping. It was a few days after they graduated and they were enjoying the summer breeze. Mark played with his cross while his brain absorbed the lyrics.

"Hey Mark." Cesar had suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

"I've been wondering... What is it like to die?"

Mark blinked. "Sheesh. Dark, dude."

"It's been something that has been on my mind lately. Ever since Emile died, I've been thinking... Was he suffering during his last days? Was he able to feel some sort of peace when we were there for him?" He sighed. "I dunno. And considering my mom's job, it caused me to think."

Mark looked at the sky, at the whisping clouds. What was Lola's job like at the hospital? Since she's on night shift, she had to have seen a lot of shit. Broken bones, torn open wounds, mangled bodies from accidents - She had to have a strong stomach to deal with all of that.

"I think... You never really know when you die. Though if you do good things, when you die, God will let you into heaven. It's just how I think, y'know?"

"Of course you'd say that. Well, if this God you're speaking of lets me in, then I hope I don't get kicked out for not being straight enough."

Mark chuckled. He stretched his hand up to the sky, wondering if he could take the clouds and make them into any shape he wants. Death was one thing that was a constant on his mind lately. Now that they were out of high school, he had no idea what life held for him. Would he stay with Cesar forever in this small town? Maybe live in a dingy apartment trying to start up a band? The thought of it made him smile.

Cesar was the only thing he held onto in life. His best friend, his universe, his God.

He closed his eyes as Bohemian Rhapsody came on.

That memory was all but tainted by that terrible argument. And the screams for help when Cesar unexpectedly called in the middle of the night. And the blood...

He almost lost him that night, but they fought off death. They clung onto each other like a lifeline, never wanting to let each other go. But, like all things in life, death had to come eventually. And it eventually claimed Cesar.

Mark clung onto the hand that was beginning to grow cold. The hand that was so warm before. A sign of his failure. He wanted him to wake up in that moment, to tell him how sorry he was for being selfish, for holding him back, for ruining his life, anything! If it meant hearing his voice again.

He was not a good person. Despite what Cesar, Cian and Josiah said, he was not a good person. He killed his parents, he hurt his sister, his grandparents hated him for not being man enough, he hurt Cesar. Do these things make him a good person? In a way, Cesar dying was like God or whatever punishing him for his sins, his transgressions. Because of his actions, he will never be happy with Cesar.

Never have the happy family he wanted.

He's never meant to find happiness. He will always be alone like he deserves.

Lord, if you had been there, Cesar would not have died.

He thought he felt something squeeze his hand. He looked to see he was still holding Cesar's limp hand. What was he supposed to do now? He can't live without him. He can't. There were still so many things to atone for. So many things to do before he could finally be happy. He rested his forehead onto Cesar's, still feeling the droplets of water as he closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ces... I couldn't do anything to help you... Please forgive me... I'm so so-"

Something squeezed his hand again. He snapped his eyes open and looked. Really looked.

There it was again. Somehow, Cesar squeezed Mark's hand. But how? He was dead, right? Was it just a muscle spasm? He put his face to Cesar's mouth to check if there was something.

There was a faint gurgle emanating from his throat, his lips twitching in an ineffectual attempt to breathe. "Cesar!!" Pressing his ear to his chest, he could hear something. It was a heartbeat. Too faint and slow, but it was there.

Oh shit...

"H-Hold on! Let me help you!" Laying him back down, he tilted his head back, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth once more. He had a newfound sense of purpose now. He had Cesar and he was going to keep him there, mimics be damned.

He started compressing his chest again, counting to fifteen before briefly stopping. No, this number is too low. I have to go higher. What's the highest number? Twenty? Thirty? Yeah, thirty sounds good. He began to push past what he was initially taught, not caring if he had to break a few bones. All he wanted was for Cesar to live.

Cesar's hand twitched a few times as he continued. He will bring him back. This time, he was sure he will. He will get to have pancakes again. He will get to atone for what he did for hurting Cesar that day. Everything will be okay.

The sky was beginning to grow light, the individual stars going out one by one. The death of one life and the birth of another. The old lives they knew died on October 24, 1993. But with the rising sun, they will forge a new life.

Water came out of Cesar's mouth, but he still wasn't breathing. Mark was beginning to grow exhausted. Dammit, how did they make this so tough? Once more, he continued breathing into him, hoping, praying it will be enough.

He will make sure his God will not die.

After what felt like an eternity of Mark pumping blood through his friend's body, he finally responded. Cesar started coughing up water and rolled onto his side as he gasped.

"Ces!! Cesar!! Hey, hey hey hey, you're okay. You're okay now. J-Just breathe. I got you now." Mark stroke his hair as Cesar wheezed. Even though he just got brought back, he was in lousy shape. His skin was pale, his eyes looked sunken in and he was fading in and out of consciousness. "Hold on, let me get a phone-" He began to stand up, but Cesar grabbed his arms.

"No. Please... Don't go... Please..." He whimpered, his voice so quiet, it was like a little kid. Mark held him in his arms, carding his bandaged fingers through his hair.

"I'm not leaving you. Not this time. I promise." He rocked him gently, humming a song his mother used to sing for him. Cesar buried his face in his chest, his body relaxing as he slipped into unconsciousness. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around him, hoping to keep him warm. He will stay here for a while longer, then he'll find a payphone and call an ambulance.

What would he say to them? That their history teacher kidnapped them and almost killed Cesar, then got killed my a mimic? He'll figure it out later. Right now, he needs to calm the racing of his heart.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard police sirens coming towards the house. Looking up, he could see a familiar figure coming out of the squad car along with someone else. Cian. Mark began waving his arms and cried out, "Hey!! We're here!! Help!! My friend needs an ambulance!!"

Cian followed the direction of Mark's voice, barking orders to the other officers to get the EMTs. When he reached the tree that Mark and Cesar were at, he was shocked at what he was seeing.

Mark was holding Cesar in his arms in a loving embrace, his face wet with tears as the shorter boy wheezed. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon, causing the rays to shine behind him, creating a halo. A perfect recreation of a holy man holding a man who had previously died but was brought back to life.

--------

"So let me get this straight. He was dead?" Cian asked.

"Yes, he was." Mark said, picking at his fingernails.

"And he came back to life."

"Yeah. I tried CPR, but it didn't seem to be doing anything so I thought he was too far gone." His voice wavered. He didn't want to think about that event.

Cian closed his eyes and tapped his pen. Mark took a sip of coffee, a drink that the older man offered him earlier.

"Have you ever heard of Lazarus Syndrome?"

Mark blinked. "I-I guess. I know Cesar talked to me about it when we were studying."

"Mm. Lazarus Syndrome - Autoresuscitation after failed CPR. They started recording cases ten years ago, but they appear to be few and far between."

"Mmm-hmm. That's what it was."

There was silence. The more Mark thought about it, the more he slowly realized he jumped the gun back at the house. Cesar wasn't responding to the compressions so he thought he was dead when in reality, his heart delayed in beating again. It was just like Lazarus in the tomb...

And I'm Jesus Christ. Funny. You'd think it'd be the other way around.

The sound of the phone ringing broke him out of his trance. Cian picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Okay. He's doing alright?"

"Okay, that's good. Do you want me to go get him?"

"Alright, thank you."

He hung up. "That was the hospital. Cesar's stable."

Mark let out a sigh of relief.

"Do you want to go see him?"

He nodded his head a bit too enthusiastically. Cian chuckled. "Okay, okay. You kids really need some rest."

As they left the questioning room, Mark asked him. "By the way, how did you know where we were?"

"Josiah. He let us know what was going on."

--------

Mark sat beside Cesar's hospital bed, holding his hand. It was already becoming warm. He's here. He's here with him now. Nothing could take him away now. He had already been given a second chance that night and he will make sure he will treasure every second he spends with Cesar. Never take anything for granted. He will work on himself to become a better version of Mark Owens. He won't let anything ruin this moment.

Cesar slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey bud. You alright?"

He turned to Mark and smiled. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you."

"No problem. You'd probably do the same for me, right?"

"You betcha." He gripped his hand. It was just as strong as before.

A lone bird perched itself on the windowsill, looking at the two men with an inquisitive look. Soon after, Josiah came into the room and they all delved into mundane conversations. For a moment, everything was back to normal.

--------

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

[sburbian-sage]

What do you make of all the religious references in the game? Don't they seem out of place?

Especially the way that it's like, a mashup of so many pantheons. Greek gods and gnostic gods, I think you've even mentioned Lucifer on this very blog- but there is some selectiveness, since I don't think I've ever heard of anybody who had Christ as their denizen or anything?

Like, what would have been the dev's motivation? And how is it supposed to fit into the lore, really? I feel like there's some kind of *point* being made, but I can't tell what it is.

Because you posted this I'm going to get like five guys lying through their teeth telling me that Jesus Christ of Nazareth was in fact their Denizen and he told them which religion is the correct one (the answer may shock you).

And I'm not entirely sure what the motivation or "the secret inner working" is really. There are dozens of people who have devoted their online presence to analyzing the references to mythology and classic literature the game makes and what they're potentially hinting towards. It's like they're seasoned professors of theology delivering essay upon essay. Some people even build entirely new religions or spiritual worldviews based around SBURB, with lots of babble about how it's an ur-religion which human mythology (and suspiciously only human mythology) was derived from the half-glimpse the prehistoric man somehow caught glimpses of. And much like theology (and every religion), it's all based upon analyzing what is, in my humble opinion, a crock of shit. Echidna is the Space Denizen because she's the mother of monsters, and Space is connected to fertility seeing as how Space players create the new universe, so all of that makes sense. But Hephaestus is another fundamental Denizen, and in the original mythology he just builds stuff? Maybe Time gives structure to the ever-expansive Space? And what purpose does Yaldabaoth serve? He's supposed to be the Demiurge, the creator of the flawed material world from which the enlightened ones are meant to escape, but he mostly gets assigned to the most battlesome players? When by all means he should be the main antagonist of every SBURB session instead of a chess piece you nerfed into the ground because you threw Care Bears into the Kernelsprite.

I'm going to get yelled at for saying this one but it could just be like how Evangelion invoked biblical concepts and terms by the boatload despite none of the staff really knowing anything about it. Borderline keysmashing, but there's enough there that it can still be read as being deep because the concepts invoked are broad enough. The Players are a group of upstart godlings who have to create a new universe once the old one begins dying, so not only do they have to transcend the old world's order, which is decaying around them as they speak, their final obstacle are beings based off of Greek and Gnostic deities. Deities who, much like the players, are not representations of abstract forces, instead being people, flaws and all, who are not almighty, yet still holding great and terrible power they fail to fully understand or assume responsibility for. The player's role to grow past their precursors with a level of maturity and understanding that the decrepit old gods never could attain. The old system is fundamentally flawed and it can never come back. The only thing you can do is grow, heal, and make a better world for the newer generation, being for them what the old gods could never be for you.

I just came up with that off the cuff but right now some kid is having his mind blown reading this.

[moongothic]

I want to preface this by saying that this is meant to be kind of a shitpost. I just. The thought passed my mind. I laughed at it. Thought about it again, laughed some more and I just had to get it out of my system. So here we are

So when I read the myth of Toyotama Hime I did start to wonder if it could be used as fuel for the Crocodad Fire, the myth being about Toyotama coming from Ryuugyuu Castle to give birth on land etc. And in One Piece, we do have that very castle on Fishman Island. Which isn't surprising or anything, Oda getting inspo/names from various mythologies is nothing new by a long shot, and it's unlikely you could somehow tie Crocodile to Fishman Island through that myth. Like Toyotama coming "from the ocean" could just be turned into "Crocodile coming from the sea as a pirate", doesn't have to be deeper than that

But then I thought

...Do we actually know Crocodile isn't part-merman

Like. You see--

We know half-merfolk-half-humans do keep their fishtails like full-merfolk (see Charlotte Praline), and we know that while mermaids split their tails after 30, mermen never do. So between that and us having The Most Scandalous Feet Pics of Sir Crocodile (from the jailbreak cover story), well, we know he has basic ass human feet, so we know for certain he can't be half-merman

But also

Chimney is 1/4th mermaid. The only mermaid features she inherited from her grandmother were her hair color and her being a "good swimmer". Chimney is part-mermaid, and she has human feet

Like the only thing that could debunk this idea (based on what we know about Chimney) would be if Crocodile was a shit swimmer, but he's a Devil Fruit user so of course he can't fucking swim. So we have literally nothing to prove or debunk the idea.

So like

You've heard of "Crocodile is Whitebeard's bio-son" You've heard of "Crocodile is the missing Kuja Empress" You've even heard of "Crocodile is Xebec's son".

So how about

"Crocodile is 1/4th merman"

Why the fuck not

But the funny thing is

Not only would it weirdly explain why the fuck our beloved Sand Man Who Can't Fucking Swim is named after an animal known for swimming (like OP has weird fucking names, see; Smoker, Baby 5, Monkey D. Dragon, etc. What bugs me about Crocodile is the slightly contradictatory theming, but if he was named "Crocodile" by his merfolk parents, suddenly, it kind of works)

But also like. We know Crocodile fucking Hates the Government. And to be fair, there's plenty of reasons for anyone to hate the World Government, you don't need a personal grudge to hate them.

But if he had merfolk parents (who might be stuck living on the surface because they wouldn't have been able to get their child to Fishman Island without someone essentially delivering him there, 'cause he wouldn't have been able to just SWIM there), then there's a genuinely possibility said parent(s) could've ended up getting caught and turned into slaves. And boy would that give someone A Personal Fucking Grudge Against The Government

But also, due to the in-universe discrimination against merfolk, if Crocodile was part-merman it could mean he could've been harassed for it since a young age, or worse yet, could've become a target for slavers if anybody found out. And somehow, having to hide that part about his heritage would work really well into his trust issues

Not to mention, after escaping Impel Down, Croc and Jinbei have this brief convo (that turns racist) where Croc expresses his surprise over Jinbei being able to summon fish, having thought only merfolk could do that. Of course, Croc being a seasoned pirate and all you could totally expect him to like know about mermaid legends etc, but him having no knowledge about Fishmen is a bit odd. Especially because we know he's been to the New World, so you'd think he must've gone to Fishman Island at least once before? Although, his former Shichibukai Rights probably would've allowed him to cross over the Red Line through Marijois instead of having to pass through Fishman Island, but regardless, it's odd, is it not? But if Crocodile did have merfolk parents whom he got separated from at a young age?? Maybe he learned a thing or two about that side of his family, but never enough?? And then having to hide that side of his heritage could've left him just estranged????

Also IDK if it's worth anything but in the cover stories, we were introduced to our first mermaid Camie at the tail end of Alabasta, while the Miss Goldenweek coverstory ran during Water 7 where we meet Kokoro and Chimney. IDK it's a funny coincidence

I just

Could you fucking imagine

How fucking insane would that be, if Crocodile was part-merman

[whothef]

8 reasons why everybody should be obsessed with The Lighthouse (2019) :

(WARNING : Spoilers, blood)

_____________________________________________

1. The AMAZING cinematography

The decision to film it in full black and white, even though it is said to be just to fit in better with the time period, I also provides an aesthetic complementary to the themes of the film, making those much more present and dramatic, darker, gloomier and more depressing and violent. It also emphasizes the darkness-light dicotomy and it's metaphor to enlightenment and knowledge (light, which is desirable but dangerous at the same time) versus the unknown (darkness, something everyone wants to escape from due to its terrifying nature).

The 1.19:1 aspect ratio resembles the isolation and claustrophobia the two men must feel, stuck together on this island, unable to get away from each other. The box appearing frame can even resemble the island, trapped on both sides by the dark sea.

The montage also makes a fantastic work, as they dive in paranoia in the last part of the film.

_____________________________________________

2. Gay lighthouse keepers.

_____________________________________________

3. The very obvious references to greek mythology.

Ephraim Winslow being Prometheus, the Titan who provided the humanity the secret of fire (representative of humanity's curiosity and triumph over nature > Winslow's curiosity and obsession for the light), and who was punished by Zeus for that matter by chaining him to a rock for all eternity (he is isolated in an island, for all eternity) and by having his liver eaten by an eagle every day (eaten alive by seagulls).

And when Winslow looks into the light, he's thematically seeing everything - the truth, hidden from him the whole time. Like any human, Winslow cannot handle this eternal knowledge and is delivered to his death so that the truth can remain hidden.

The movie announces with this methaphor a classic Lovecraftian message about how men are not meant to know everything.

_____________________________________________

4. Farts.

_____________________________________________

5. Its critique of capitalism.

The story of The Lighthouse can be interpreted as one of class stratification. It goes about discussing class stratification when you have two characters so far removed from what we think of as civilization. The film is ultimately asking us, what is a civilization, when you strip away as much of it as possible? A civilization is a set of relations, in this case one at its utmost limits: one solely between two people. As such, the entire movie we see a microcosmic civilization, made up of two people, and within it a stringent hierarchy and a divide of have and have not, of power and powerlessness, of authority and obedience, of knowledge and ignorance.

Ephraim does all the work, but is denied the light by Wake, who covets it for himself. Indeed, Ephraim's labor is what specifically allows Wake to bathe in the light and never have to labor. Ephraim's connection with Prometheus is interesting because of what it symbolizes: it's not just fire, but the fire itself is a metaphor for forbidden knowledge, knowledge that unlocks the ability to master nature and to carve a separate space out of the natural world. The lighthouse, to this extent, is an emblem of civilization inside a vast expanse of wilderness (the sea). Its light is the light of civilization, and it symbolizes all of its comforts and protections, but also its hierarchical organization, and the separation of the privileges of power from those whose labor provides it.

The Lighthouse is also a literal ivory tower, ivory tower's being symbolically linked to great learning, as well as great comfort, removed from the daily toil of lesser men. This is reinforced by the positions of the two men on the island: Ephraim is down low, in the muck and grime. He is associated with base places and the dirt, constantly lugging black coal, extracted from far off mines, whereas Wake is constantly above him, in the top of the lighthouse, a literal ivory tower, bathed in light and performing essentially no labor, but enjoying the benefits of the labor of those who serve him.

Wake, to reinforce the symbolism of the ivory tower, is also a holy man. The first words we really hear out of him in the film are a prayer to the sea and its god. Also, the book kept by Wake is not just a journal or log. It is a holy book, and inside it is divine law and a record of sins.

Any Marxist critic will tell you that Marx was fantastically ambivalent on the subject of religion. It was both an "opium of the people," one of the few things that could provide the working masses a sense of hope in hopeless times, as well as a useful mechanism of control by the ruling classes.

Perhaps a little too on the nose, Ephraim is sustained by the pursuit of his wages, his one goal and the one thing that can enable him to escape from his past. And Wake uses that against him, like the head of a church holding the threat of excommunication over those beneath him. To add to the connection, Ephraim also confesses his sin to Wake, as one might confess to a priest.

Ultimately, the film depicts a doomed class rebellion, because rather than destroy the lighthouse and the hierarchy it symbolizes, Ephraim instead tries to usurp it for himself and he is destroyed in the attempt.

_____________________________________________

6. Silly men doing silly things.

_____________________________________________

7. The film's treatment of the nebulous line between sex and death.

When Ephraim Winslow reaches the forbidden light, does he experience pain or pleasure? Or maybe he experiences both? Where does the line between these two concepts exist? Sex and death, love and violence, ... what's the difference?

That strange duality has fascinated many thinkers, including Georges Bataille, whose book Erotism: Death and Sensuality outlines the odd relationship between these two aspects of human experience.

According to Bataille, we are, from the very beginning, individuals existing in a state of discontinuity from those around us, that is, a state of isolation and loneliness. Death jerks us out of a tenacious obsession with the lastingness of our discontinuous being. That is, it literally destroys our sense of a singular, separate self. In doing so, it actually affirms our "continuity of being". Or, as literary scholar Nidesh Lawtoo puts it: in death, we go from "separate beings to a common ontological ground of 'Being."

Because we both desire that continuity and fear our inevitable death, we search for continuity elsewhere, specifically, in eroticism. As Bataille put it, "the whole business of eroticism is to destroy the self-contained character of the participators as they are in their normal lives", ie to destroy our discontinuity by uniting intimately with another. In this way, both eroticism and death are about recovering our lost continuity, overcoming our profound sense of separation.

This idea feels very present in The Lighthouse, most apparently when Winslow finally sees the alluring lantern, which has already been thoroughly sexualized. This moment feels in line with Bataille's definition of "the sacred" in that it seems to cause Winslow both divine ecstasy and extreme horror, a phenomenon we also see in Winslow's earlier mastuabautory adventure in the shed, which ends with him on his knees in pain.

According to Bataille, the experience of the erotic, that is, the tearing down of your usual self containment, is rupturous - eroticism is often violent. The link between violence and erotics manifests in the many brawls between Winslow and Wake, when they could just as easily be about to make love as they are about to kill one another, not being able to distinguish between love and violence. Fittingly for this moment, Bataille opined that "Extreme seductiveness is at the boundary of horror", which we certainly see in Winslow's frightened reaction to Wake's embrace.

More subtly, there's the ongoing motif of a post-coital cigarette first seen when Winslow lights up after masturbating to the half-woman half-fish fantasy. Of course, the post-coital cigarette is coyly being repurposed for both sexual and violent encounters - Winslow describes wanting a cigarette after watching, letting, and/or causing his boss to die.

_____________________________________________

8. The last, and the most important one: SpongeBob SquarePants paralelisms.

Winslow is Squidward and Wake is Mr Krabs.

[katebishopofearth]

Flowers At Dusk [an our flag means death fanfic]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Relationships: Blackbonnet Characters: Stede | Ed Rating: T for canon-typical language Other tags: fae AU | fairy tale logic | fae!Ed

|| Prompt from @kronosa113: Maybe Stede has a dream similar to Ed's vision? i.e. Ed's a mythological creature and meets Stede as a merman? ||

I misinterpreted took massive creative liberties with the prompt, and combined it with my niche interest in folklore and an embarrassing amount of research into flower languages and gardening.

i. autumn's turn

Stede had always loved the woods. Ever since he was a little boy, he had felt at home in the hush beneath the trees, the winding paths left by countless feet before his, the sunlight that dappled through the branches. He could spend hours in here, wandering between ancient trees, picking flowers and herbs, following the tracks left by dozens of little creatures that hid themselves from a human presence. Here, he felt like he was worlds away from the village where he lived and its petty troubles – the children who bullied him, the father who looked down on him, and, later, the wife who was constantly disappointed in him.

Oh, he had always been different, ever since he was old enough to understand what that meant. “Head in the clouds”, the village wise woman said when he was a boy – always daydreaming, picking flowers, and trying to befriend the birds and beetles. Never quite understanding the people around him, only sensing the mean-spiritedness behind their snide comments and cruel snickers. The other children were the worst – and children who threw rocks and punches grew up into adults who threw barbed words like fists.

He thought it would be better once he was married and had children of his own – and for a short while, it was. He and Mary never loved one another, that much was clear, but there were far worse people to put up with, and they both loved their children dearly, even if they were little strangers who mystified him. But his hopes of finding someone who understood his immense loneliness and the solace that the forest brought were no more than a daydream. The one time he brought Mary into the woods, shortly after they got married, she had been scared of everything and wanted nothing more than to emerge from the creepy half-light and go home. As for the kids, Mary forbade him from bringing them with him on his walks, claiming that he would forget to keep an eye on them and they would wander off and be eaten by wolves. He had to admit that she had a point. He could never do anything right – not by her, and not by the children.

The woods were his escape from all of that. Among the brambles and bracken, the larks and ladybirds, he could walk until he left behind the weight of all the expectations that he could never live up to. Until all the traces of human civilisation faded, and it seemed as though the forest – ancient, infinite, wise – was all there ever was and all there ever would be.

One cloudy autumn afternoon, when the air began to nip and the leaves started to curl and brown and the trees smelled especially, deliciously crisp, Stede was wandering in the woods, as he tended to do. He followed the footsteps of a fox, then he found a blackberry bush and feasted on its tart fruit. A breeze picked up then, blowing the brittle leaves from the trees, so he let their orange palms beckon him deeper and deeper into the woods. They eventually led him to treasure – a patch of foxgloves, their tiny bells a shade of purple-pink so deep they were almost violet.

It was late in the year for them, but maybe they were late bloomers. Stede reckoned that not every bud made it in time for the summer, and these guys were doing beautifully – they were so vibrant that they almost glowed in the shadowy undergrowth. Stede wished, not for the first time, that he had any kind of artistic talent – or pigments – for capturing their luminosity. Instead, he sat down next to them and tried to imprint their exact hue upon his memory.

He wasn’t very good at that, though, because he soon got distracted by all the other details. Even when his feet were still, his mind was wandering. He noticed the coo of a dove somewhere, the rustling of pampas grass as the breeze ruffled their fluffy stalks, and over there – a shrub of fragrant thyme. Delighted, he plucked a handful of stalks and wrapped them in his handkerchief to take home.

Sprigs of thyme safely bundled and tucked in his pocket, Stede stood up and realised that he was deeper in the forest than he had ever gone before. There was a smell of wildness in the air – here, the human world, with all its silly rules and orderliness and practicalities, was no more than a half-remembered dream. The only law was that of the forest itself. Here, anything was possible.

Dusk was gathering above the canopy, and the light that reached the forest floor was growing dimmer by the minute. He should head home – while it was still light enough for him to find his way back. He walked in the direction that he thought he came from, hoping that it would take him home. He stepped on a twig – its snap preternaturally loudly. He was struck by the sudden realisation that he was just another tiny creature in the wild, vast woods.

“Are you lost?”

The deep voice made Stede jump. He spun around to locate where it came from. Almost missed him – in the shade of a hawthorn tree, almost melting out of the shadows, was the most gorgeous person he had ever seen in his life. He was slender and strong as a young aspen, with silver-and-black hair loose about his shoulders, a sweeping beard, and tattoos that seemed to glow in the gathering gloom.

“Um, I’m –” Stede hesitated. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that mysterious strangers in the woods – mysterious, beautiful, otherworldly strangers – were probably up to no good. On the other hand, he really had only the foggiest of ideas on which direction home was, and not nearly as much light as he would be comfortable with to blunder his way back.

The stranger stepped out of the shadow, into a patch of fading light. His eyes, wide and warm, held Stede captive like a beetle stuck in amber tree sap. “If you’re heading to the human village, it’s that way.” He pointed to Stede’s right. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

Was it a trap? A trick? Stede looked into those gorgeous brown eyes – the colour of a leaf just before a gust of wind plucks it from a branch, the colour of molten honey dripping from a comb – and sensed no malice in them. Unlike the people who lied just to mock him for how easily he gave his trust, or those who took his kindness for foolishness, this man had no trace of falsity. And Stede didn’t really have another option, other than blindly trying to retrace steps that he took over a whole afternoon of not paying attention. So he said, with a flourish of his hand, “Lead the way.”

[continue on AO3]

[ally-holmes]

A deal with Hades | Anders Johnson x OC Fem!Hades (Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Next chapter

Fandom: The Almighty Johnsons

Pairing: Anders Johnson x OC Fem!Hades

Rating: Explicit (for blood and cussing)

Content warnings: free call on mythology and beliefs, swearing and stabbing, blood.

Summary of the chapter: Axl gets stabbed. Anders makes a deal with Hades to keep him alive. 

Word count: 2977

More content in My Fanfic Masterlist | Multifandom

Also avialable on AO3

This work was created to be part of the Deanobingo2023 event by @deanobingo​ It fills the Character Card with Anders Johnson and the General Prompt Card with “Who are you?”

A deal with Hades | Chapter One

Gods had always been known for getting quickly infatuated with mortals. Since the beginning of times, the gods that now mortals thought were only part of ancient myths had felt attraction towards those humans with a life span so short, powerless, and a life full of work and misery at the best of times. How could they live with the uncertainty of not knowing what they were meant to do? What was the purpose of humanity?

This infatuation did, at times, transform into love and even be reciprocated by those mortals. The norm, however, was that the god forced its will upon the mortal. Zeus was a clear example of this despicable behavior. His narcissism and self-importance allowed him to procreate a huge amount of offspring; including the poor Minotaur.

Some gods were too idle in their immortal lives, hence the need to peer at mortals looking for havoc or entertainment. She was never one of those gods. She had a proper job that had to be done daily. Of course, taking care of some parts of the Mediterranean and sharing her realm with others gods made things easier. The Roman Empire helped her trace the borders of her influence among mortals; except for the North of Africa, which belonged to her colleague Anubis.

One might think that with time and the rise of monotheist religions, they ended up being pushed away from the mortal domain. The truth is, that Loki, who had been punished by Odin for a few centuries among humans in Midgard away from the Norse kingdoms who idolized him still, ended up in Jerusalem completely bored. Some ancient gods who were also bored to death, as most mortals were now too busy to pay proper cult to them, befriended this young prankster and… well, with all due respect, they invented Jesus when all the "one God" was not being properly spread. Long story short, they found it incredibly funny if Loki dressed up and started using his magic and illusions on humans, they thought he was the real deal and yeah, the rest is history.

In a very sweet turn of events was this religion the one that ended up chasing the Norse gods to exile.

Unfortunately for humans, the true gods were the ones still holding power but they were seen now as a pagan religion. Fake idols. Most of them dropped everything and turn to their immortal realms, like Mount Olympus, leaving mortals to their own volition. No more help from the gods, no matter how hard they prayed for their harvest or their lives; there was no one there to listen. There were gods that, no matter how offended they had been by the way mortals treated them after all these millennia next to them, still had a job to do for them; especially since the prank that Loki pulled on humanity ended up with massacres in the name of the one and only God. Poor souls, they were hoping for a Heaven, unaware that after mortal life there was nothing else than the netherworld.

She had always been quite fond of her realm although it was full of souls. Sometimes she felt a stroke of pity and decided to allow a bunch of them to go back to the mortal world and live another life. She did it with the ones she liked best. Of course, she fucking hated it when someone tried to escape. Escape where exactly? Those souls belonged to her now and her realm was nice and comfortable for every one of them, bigger than the mortal world. Sure, some souls deserved to be heavily punished, and her employees took their jobs passionately. So what? She was nice. She opened the doors of her palace frequently because she was very fond of guests. Anubis visited every other decade. Maybe she gave the impression of being kind of cold and stern, but people should learn to differentiate between professional and personal life. How many times did she unleash her wrath? Five times. In millennia!! And all those times it was because some stupid and ludicrous mortal tried to take souls that belonged to her. Apart from that, she was quite fair for a god.

It took some time for her to feel comfortable leaving the netherworld. At first, she might've left for a couple of hours, maybe a day or two. Then the lament shrieks from these monotheists that had been scammed became noisy. They gave her a migraine and she loathed migraines. She decided to look for Loki and make him pay. At least for a few centuries of torture; she was certain that Tityus could use some company. However, when she reached Earth she found out that the Norse gods had been chased out of their realm and that they had found a place to hide in New Zealand. The cherry on top was that they were not true gods anymore. They were some energy or force that needed mortal vessels to survive until Odin found Frigg, properly, and transported all of them to Asgard to be their true god selves.

That's where everything went south for her.

New Zealand was amazing! The local gods weren't intimidated by her and understood that she wasn't there to eradicate them. She was just trying to enjoy a few years of vacations, maybe. She was still traveling to the netherworld periodically to take care of things, as well as being on call when a major inconvenience resulted in a traffic jam at the gates of her realm.

Loving law as much as she did, her cover was a law firm. She had always been keen on knowledge, there was nothing that escaped her. It was fun, this pretending to be mortal. She wasn't expecting to meet Anders Johnson and feel the infatuation rushing over her, though.

She wanted him to belong to her. For all eternity.

No matter what the myths said —they were just stories written by mortals with few pieces of truth— she had never been infatuated by a mortal before and no, she had not abducted anyone. She most certainly was not about to start now.

Anders was witty and charming and handsome and smart and ambitious and– He had his defects, of course, but after all her existence she had seen way worst mortals, and do not get her started with the gods! Nonetheless, she wasn't going to do anything about it. She saw him first on his twenty-first birthday, the moment he held the family sword in the air, and BOOM he became Bragi's vessel. His jacket had been ruined, though, and he was very upset about it.

At some point, their paths crossed when she wasn't paying attention. She felt the presence of Heimdallr just before her body crashed with Anders on the street, so he might've been the one to blame. She had been so tempted to accept Anders' flirtatious behavior… but no, she mustn't. What she wanted, as a god, was him; all of him for eternity, and she knew that he was not going to give her that. She helped him with his business, however. As a lawyer, she had pretty influential clients that needed public relations management, and so she provided Anders with them.

Maybe the fact that she didn't budge to Anders' advances made him desire her more. Maybe it was because he could feel her power and was pulled by it. Maybe it was because she was way too smart and well-spoken, too successful to look so young. The exact reason was unknown to her, but in the end, it didn't matter, he kept talking to her and she kept falling and falling for him. Her infatuation became love, caring, worry, devotion… She knew he would never be truly interested in her, and he was still a mortal whose soul would never belong to an ancient god from the Mediterranean when he had been born a Kiwi and was the vessel to a Norse god. It was a forbidden and impossible love. Also unrequited, mind you.

Living surrounded by mortals gave her time to read their romantic novels and watch their romantic comedies. She knew what she was talking about.

So, anyways, the ups and downs in New Zealand led her to be in the bar that belonged to Mike Johnson as the whole family was reunited and enjoying some drinks. The bar had a bunch of mortals enjoying themselves as well. As far as she knew, Axl —Odin's vessel— had suffered from a strong illness that nearly killed them all. There were some sore spots among the brothers, something money-related, but Anders was back after so fucking long being away that she couldn't help the amount of happiness that boiled under her skin. That's her excuse if someone asked her about how it was possible that a true ancient god, one of the most powerful of them all, did not notice the demigod within the crowd.

She approached the bar asking for a drink. Sjöfn's vessel, Michele, was flirting with Mike who was serving drinks. Ty was arguing with Anders and Axl about something that got them laughing. There was also Stacey, Fulla's vessel, sharing some drinks with the oracles Olaf and Ingrid; Baldr, and Snotra respectively. Anders left his brothers to accompany her on the counter.

"You have some parasite on your face," she joked.

Anders caressed his beard, "You don't like it?"

"I like it more than the fact that my clients called me complaining about J: PR closing and forcing them to look for someone else, just to backpedal in the last moment."

"Right. I could say I have an explanation for that, but both of us know that it would be a lie."

"A humongous one."

"So… How about I treat you to dinner as an apology?" He flirted with those beautiful blue eyes fixed on hers.

Pressing her lips together to prevent a smile that came out anyway, she leaned into his personal space, "And give you the chance to lure me into pestering my clients to give you another chance? Hum… What is in there for me?"

He smiled involuntarily. She knew when that happened because Anders tried to sober his expression almost immediately; too afraid of showing what was inside of his well-built facade. He was about to say something else when the long limb of his baby brother hooked his shoulders. Axl gave her a sweet smile and introduced himself. Ty was right behind him too pleased with himself.

They were talking about nonsense when it happened.

Fuck, she should've noticed that there was a demigod within the crowd.

This demigod stabbed Axl right under his ribs. Two stabs on the back before turning him over and stabbing him three more times, throwing him to the grown and stabbing him one last time under the collarbone. All too fast and clinic. With a maniac smile, the demigod locked eyes with her.

The mortals had run away. Ty and Anders assisted his baby brother, trying to stop the bleeding with their hands while Mike did his best to go from the other side of the counter to where the demigod was.

"Odin will be no more." The demigod laughed. Mike tried to get a grab of them but in a blink, they had disappeared.

"I'm calling the ambulance!" yelled Stacey.

"Axl! Axl, don't close your eyes." His brothers were pleading.

Mike was looking at the scene in pure shock unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"The ambulance won't do," she whispered in defeat. Now she could see what the demigod wanted to accomplish, and oh boy, they had succeeded. "His wounds are mortal. Axl will die in a few minutes."

"You don't know that!!" Ty yelled at her. Anders was pressing his brother's abdomen; the blood leaking between his fingers, slick and unstoppable.

"I do know, actually. As with him dying in front of me, I am the one who has to collect his soul. Not only Axl's, but Odin's too as his mortal body is a vessel." The gods looked at her unable to find their words. "We all know what that means for you. The moment his heart stops beating, there would be a big catastrophe and you will all die. Without exception. If you don't want to belong to me, you better start running."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mike blurted out.

"Who are you? Are you Hel again?" Ingrid inquired.

"Something worse, I'm afraid." Her skin started to glow with a bluish tone, her clothes merged into a greek robe in dark blue with shiny silver details, and her hair transformed into flames, also blue. Her eyes were now completely white while looking at the gods in front of her. "Hades is one of my names. And your souls do not belong to me. Technically. If you die in front of me, then you're mine. For eternity. That means that Odin's soul will be collected and deposited in the netherworld that belongs to me. He would never reincarnate again. No more Asgard. This means your extinction."

"Then leave!! If you have to take him if he dies in front of him just leave and–" Ingrid pleaded.

"Mortal wounded is as good as dead. He. Belongs. To. Me." The earth began to tremble. "You are going to die too, I'm afraid, but you still have a shot if you leave. Your own gods would take care of both, your soul and the one of your god. If not, you will belong to me as well."

Using her words as a cue, Michele ran out of the bar as far away from her as she could. Ty shook his head, Axl's one resting on his lap fighting to breathe. The time was running out. Stacey glanced at Olaf and Ingrid in terror, he made them a sign and both women left as well.

"We're not leaving him to die alone," Olaf stated soberer than he had ever been.

The trembling became an earthquake.

"Aïdi," Anders whispered the name for which he knew her. "Hades…" He corrected; pale and sad. It broke her heart. Anders stopped pressing Axl's wounds and got up. His eyes were bloodshot, and wet with tears; his look was determined. "You are known for being a compassionate god of the dead. A fair judge of the living. Only–" he cleaned his cheek from the tears with the sleeve of his shirt. "The only line that cannot be crossed with you is your possessions. And right now there are two souls here that belong to you no matter what. Nobody said they have to be Axl's."

"What are you talking about? He's the one dying!!" Mike spat offended about Anders talking now that everything was lost. Anders just waved him off closing the distance to Hades, looking directly into those white eyes as the most dangerous of the abyss.

"I propose you a deal. An exchange. My souls for Axl's."

That was… unexpected. Hades crocked her head to the side slightly.

"Anders!!" yelled Ty getting out of his stupor.

"If Axl dies we all die, but if I do then they survive, don't they? And no more catastrophe."

Above the voices from the Johnsons furiously complaining about Anders' decision and the chaos and confusion from the second earthquake from outside, she talked just for him. "If you do this, there won't be a way out. You will be mine. You will belong to me for all eternity. That's a lot of time, Anders." She held her hand up, close to his chest, barely touching him. "There's no way back from this."

"I, Anders Johnson, and Bragi's vessel on Earth will belong to you from now to eternity."

With that, said in a solemn voice echoed by Bragi's, Anders closed the distance between him and Hades' hand. The moment she touched him in the chest, the air from his lungs disappeared. A burning sensation, cold and short, stroked his body from head to toe focusing on his chest. He went dizzy losing the balance of his body, but when he blinked she was gone. The earth had stopped trembling and Axl… Axl was still covered in blood, although there was no sign of wounds in his body.

Anders looked at himself, completely dumbfounded to still be alive. Mike dragged him into a strong hug. His hands dug into the muscles of Anders' back. He had been so scared. Anders' knees gave up and neither Mike nor Olaf were able to keep him standing. The blond hovered over Axl, who looked exhausted and yellowish due to the loss of blood. His baby brother gifted him with a sad smile.

"That was kind of cool," Axl whispered.

"Why on Earth did you do that?" Ty questioned with tears in his eyes, still unable to manage the profound sorrow that had surrendered his body. "Anders, why did you do that?"

"What? Did you really expect me to just let us all die?" He laughed showing self-loathing. "Although you better stop saying that 'for once in your life' bullshit, Ty. I fucking saved your life."

"Why are you still alive, though?" Olaf inquired.

He didn't have the answer, not the energy to respond. His dizziness got worse and Anders finally decided to lie down next to a recovering Axl. Some fuzziness and itchiness in his chest made him open the buttons of his shirt; he hissed as his fingers brushed against his skin. Straightening up, supporting his weight on his elbows, Anders looked down to his chest where an ancient mark had appeared in silver ink. He looked up to the others, who frowned in concern.

Whatever the reason why he was still alive did not mean that he did not belong to Aïdi; to Hades. 

To be continued in Chapter Two

[crescentcampbell]

One

Alina Starkov

"Did you apply to this for me?" Alina held up the scholarship letter she'd gotten that afternoon. He was tall, with blue eyes, with a kind of affable charm that made everyone like him from girls, to grandmas, to crotchety uncles. The two of them had grown up at Ana Kuya's orphanage together, before eventually being shipped off to a boarding school thanks to some orphan's fund in Ravka.

They were graduating in a month. Mal had decided to enlist, even though Alina had begged and pleaded with him not to. He thought it was the only way he could get into college. Since then, he'd been bugging her about her future. Alina had no grand plans for herself beyond being able to own her own flat, and put food on the table.

It was hard to think of dreams when you were only trying to survive.

"Dear Miss Starkov,

We're pleased to inform you that you've been accepted to Royal Ravka University…" Mal paused, and let out a whoop before hugging her tightly. "Lina, that's amazing! No, I didn't. Maybe one of your teachers?"

Alina shook her head then took the letter back from him. "No, I haven't said anything about college to anyone. It's odd…it's something to do about studying mythology. Apparently, they saw my art portfolio and liked it."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "You're sketches of those old, Ravkaan myths? The sea whip and the firebird and what was the other one?"

"The Stag," Alina replied. "It's weird. It says I've got a full-ride scholarship to study them, and…it's from The Morozova Foundation. That's why I thought maybe you had something to do with it."

Mal stiffened. Mal had come to the orphanage when he was five, delivered by his mother. She had had the same brown hair and blue eyes as him. The same kind of good looks that made everyone fall in love instantly. Or, maybe she would have, once upon a time. But when Alina saw her bring Mal to the orphanage, she had been sickly, and had had a haunted look in her eyes.

Alina had remembered watching her in the hallway through the crack in the door of Ana Kuya's office. "…I can't escape his father as long as I've got him, and he won't escape being with his father…he's….he's powerful…" she had said.

"Can I ask…"

"I can't say. But…I was a secretary at The Morozova Foundation. I'm sure you've heard the stories."

Ana Kuya flinched. "Yes. I've heard the stories. Of course, we'll take him."

Mal's mother had kissed him on the head, then left the orphanage as if she thought she were being chased by creatures from the shadowlands the Ravkaan Saint of Death took people to. Since then, it had been Alina, and Mal. But there were noticeable differences.

Mal was allowed to go into the city for trips once a year. He had birthdays. His clothes were the finest of everything. Although whenever he got packages, for something like Winter Solstice, or he tossed them into the trash without a word. Alina knew, in her bones, it had something to do with the Morozova's.

They were a powerful family. She saw their pictures often online, or in the magazines at the check stand, or The Ravkaan Times. The resemblance was uncanny between Mal and the Morozova men. Particularly to the Morozova heir, Aleksander. The same sharp features. The same, charming smile.

But the blue eyes were his mothers. All of the Morozova men had eyes the color of grey smoke. The smoke that came with the shadow creatures that took you to your death. Alina remembered seeing them as a child. They'd come for her mother, and her father, and that was how she wound up at the orphanage. They'd lived on the border of Ravka, near the Shu Han. They'd both been stationed there, soldiers.

It had been an easy post. It meant they didn't have to move anywhere. But the shadow creatures…the Volcra…legend had it that was where the entrance to the Saints world was. That they guarded it. So, they were strongest there. Alina vowed she'd never see a Volcra again. They only came, after all, if you had blood on your hands. Any soldier would see them.

So, Alina would never be a soldier.

"You know I don't talk to my family," Mal said, "and I don't ask anything from them, either. Not after what they did to my mother…they left her to die."

"Okay. But I thought I needed to show you. I didn't feel comfortable just taking it, because I don't know why it's been given to me."

Mal sighed. "Honestly, if you were enlisting with me, I'd tell you to say fuck them. But I don't want you ending up on the street. Even if it means taking their hush money."

Alina laughed. "Hush money? What am I hushing about?"

"Me, I suspect," Mal said with a cheeky grin, "you know too much, Starkova. Look, if you want to take it, I won't stop you. Just, be careful. Once you take money from a Morozova, it's like them taking your soul."

Alina laughed. "I think I lost that a long time ago somewhere in between my parents dying and the whole being a poor orphan thing."

"Oh please," he said, "the world could be at it's worst, Lina, and you'd still radiate pure sunshine."

Alina beamed. "I suppose there are worse things to be known for."

"So, you're going to take it?"

She stared at the letter. "I don't know. I mean, I applied for a few other art scholarships and I'm on the waiting lists. I never really saw myself studying mythology. I feel like I'm taking it from someone that might actually want it."

Mal snorted. "Trust me, you aren't. The mythology department is kept alive by the foundation. My great, great, uncle or something started it. He thought all of those myths were the key to a better future for Ravka."

"You don't believe in them?" Alina said. "Why's that so far-fetched? We've got a Saint living in the palace as an advisor to the King, Volcra that steal people away when they die, and we visited the Grisha palace every year at school. You know, those people with magical powers that died out because our government used them as soldiers."

"Trust me, Alina, they didn't die out. They just got smarter at hiding."

She tilted her head to the side. "But you draw the line at magical creatures?"

Mal laughed. "There's got to be a line somewhere, right? I draw the line at giant birds and mystical stags. There's enough weirdness in this world."

"I delight in the weird."

"Of course, you do." He nudged her. "You know, we were supposed to be studying for our finals. If you don't graduate, you can kiss that blood money scholarship goodbye."

"Right." Alina tucked the scholarship letter into her backpack. "Very serious now." They went back to studying.

Alina tried, very hard, not to think of the real reason that she might have gotten that scholarship. Because if Mal knew the truth, she didn't think he'd be so keen on the idea of her going there and then…then she'd be back at square one. Without a plan. Or future.

[floatingmochi]

Thalassa

TW: Child abuse, Domestic Violence, Murder, Violence, Sexual Content

Thalassa (/θəˈlæsə/; Greek: Θάλασσα, translit. Thálassa, lit. "sea"; Attic Greek: Θάλαττα, Thálatta) was the general word for 'sea' and for its divine female personification in Greek mythology.

Eavinary is a continent in the world of Vesela. Vesela is a realm where gods walk freely in different parts of the world. Most of them are found in Eavinary. These gods aren't a lot like you're used to seeing. These gods, while they are immortal, can die just like any other mortal when it comes to being mortally wounded. They can only die from unnatural causes. Among these gods are the more well known ones. Life, Death, Sun, Moon, War, and Disease. They're the most known and the most feared.

The moon goddess is all six year old Aurora looks up to. She's read stories about this goddess, has heard how kind she is and how she could never hurt a soul. It's a good escape when you have a drunkard dad that comes home every night and beats your mother while you hide under your bed. And it goes on like that for the next ten years of their life. But everything changes when they turn fifteen and tragedy like never expected hits. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a little girl in a world full of gods and goddesses was certainly a difficult concept for a six year old to handle, especially when you were surrounded by nothing but bad things and evil people. 

When Aurora was six years old, her mother meant the world to her, she was her knight in shining armor and no one else could convince her otherwise. Her family lived in a relatively small village on the coast of the continent Taemora. Taemora is a sprawling landmass, characterized by its breathtaking diversity of landscapes. Towering mountain ranges, crowned with snow-capped peaks, stretch like the spine of a slumbering giant along the northern border. These mountains are rumored to hide secret valleys, where ancient tribes guard long-lost treasures. Or that's what her mother told her stories about. 

To the west, a vast, untamed wilderness unfolds, a realm of dense forests where colossal trees seem to touch the heavens. Deep within these woods, whispers of sentient flora and elusive forest spirits capture the imagination of daring adventurers.

As you venture eastward, the terrain transforms into a vast expanse of rolling, emerald-green hills, reminiscent of an artist's masterpiece. The plains were home to nomadic tribes who had mastered the art of horsemanship and whose grand caravans traversed the land in an endless dance of life and tradition.  Towards the south, the continent meets the sea with dramatic coastal cliffs that plunge into a crystalline, bioluminescent ocean. Here, hidden coves harbor pirate legends and rare, elusive sea creatures, while vibrant underwater cities of merfolk thrive in harmony with the tides.

Her mother told her all kinds of stories about the gods and where they came from, that no one quite knew, but that she did. "The Aurora Borealis, which dances in the northern skies, is believed to be a bridge between the mortal realm and the land of the gods, where the divine and the earthly converge." The soft voice of her mother echoed in her head, reminding her of how her name came to be. She'd go on and on about how the gods had blessed her mother with her existence, which is how she got her name, that she was the mortal who would unite god and man as one.

As her childhood continued, she lost faith in the gods, each new day a new bruise and the same grumpy brunette man screaming at her mother. The few times she spoke up, she shared a similar bruise to her mothers the next day. It got progressively worse into her preteen years when she started going by the name 'Rory', their mother adored their name and thought it fit them well. Their father was livid, they convinced themselves that he just didn't understand and tried to give him time. But it failed every time. Everyday, one new bruise.

Eventually, they stopped speaking all together to avoid any conflict. From ages eleven to thirteen they were silent, hardly ever spoke unless Arthur wasn't home. Arthur is what they started referring to their father as, they'd referred to him as such since they were ten.

Manipulators often exhibit a range of common signs and behaviors that can help you identify their attempts to control or deceive others.

 There were days where he was okay, the days when he was sober, the days he didn't recall any of his horrible actions and actually acted like a proper dad. One of those days, he tied a piece of pink twine into their hair and braided it down their back. 

Charm and Flattery: Manipulators often begin by showering their targets with excessive charm, compliments, and flattery. They aim to create a sense of trust and admiration.

He'd compliment it, say it was a nice color and that they should change it to look like that some day. That they'd be such a good and strong person one day and even that he was proud of them. It gave them hope.

  "..Dad?" Rory asked, glancing over their shoulder at Arthur as he braided their hair. "Yes sunshine?" He asked, a light hum in his voice. "...Why do you hurt mom?" They asked, bracing themselves for any form of violent action.

Gaslighting: Gaslighting is a form of manipulation where the person tries to make you doubt your own perception of reality. They may deny things they've said or done, making you question your memory or sanity.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, I'd never hurt you or your mother sweetheart" He said, his voice light, almost innocent sounding. "You know that don't you? why don't I make you something to eat, what would you like?" He asked. Rory paused, turning and facing him again. "My friends say that their moms talk about how you hit her with a lot of things because you drink too much" They said.

Isolation: They may try to isolate you from friends and family, making you more dependent on them for emotional support and validation. This isolation can make it easier for them to manipulate you.

    "I don't think these are good friends for you to be hanging around, they're putting this false information in your head, how about I get you more books and you can spend more time reading than trusting liars" Arthur said, going to the kitchen and starting on food, humming as he did so. "..But you hit me too, this bruise is from last week" They said quietly after having followed him into the kitchen, watching him turn to face them and come closer, kneeling in front of them. Manipulative Pity: They might pretend to be in a constant state of distress or crisis, using your sympathy to manipulate you into doing what they want.    "Oh Sunshine, I'm so sorry, I've just been under so much stress recently with trying to get a new job....I don't mean to hurt you" Arthur said, tears forming in his eyes as he started to hug Rory. "I'm so sorry baby, I really didn't mean to, I'm just so stressed and I need to be able to get a job so I can give you and your mother a better life" He said.

And they believed it.

The hope disappeared slowly overtime, disappearing entirely on the evening of their fifteenth birthday.

Rory never got much on their past birthdays, a book here and there, they were always happy with what they got. But every year their mother, Eve, never failed to get them a new birthday outfit. This year it was a pretty knee length powder blue dress with ruffles towards the bottom and they wore their pair of black dress shoes. She did their hair up in a fishtail braid and added a blush pink bow to the end of the braid.

   "Look at you, absolutely gorgeous" Eve spoke, giving their child a kiss on the cheek. The faint purple of a bruise could slightly be seen through the makeup on her face, her ash blonde colored hair draped over her shoulders covering the bruises on her collarbone and neck. Her brown eyes withholding tears in them, breathing out she put a necklace around their neck, a pink seashell with beads on each side on a leather cord. "Perfect, now you're ready" She said. Rory stood from their place at the vanity, following their mother out to the dimly lit living area, seeing a table with a small cake with a singular candle wick in it. It burned brightly, and there was a gift on the table wrapped in paper.

They sat at the table, smiling at their mother as they unwrapped their gift, letting out a soft gasp when it was unwrapped. It was a leather bound book, upon opening it the pages were blank, it was a diary. "Oh...it's beautiful" They said softly. "Thank you mom-" They started, the door slamming open seconds later. The wind from outside blowing out the candle wick on the cake. It was Arthur standing in the doorway, very clearly intoxicated, it very quickly went quiet. 

Abusers may overreact for several reasons, and it's important to note that their behavior is not justified or acceptable. Overreactions are often a manipulation tactic and a form of control. 

    "Did I miss you singing happy birthday?" He asked, his words slurring from the content of alcohol in his body. "No, I was just about to sing" Eve spoke up timidly. Arthur nodded towards her, motioning for her to start before pausing. "Wait, the candle isn't lit, can't you do a single damn thing woman? its a fucking candle for a cake and you can't even light the fucking candle, what the hell is wrong with you? useless bitch" He said. 

"There's no need to overreact Arthur, it's Rory's birthday, I think you need to tell them something" Eve said. "I can react however I damn well please, and I don't need to tell her shit, I created her if anything I should be celebrated" He said. "Them, we talked about this, they don't like us using she or her, please don't disrespect their wishes Arthur...they're fifteen" She said. "Good! then I can go ahead and marry her off so she can stop wasting my time" He scowled. "Over my dead body you will" Eve said, gaining a bit of a back bone for once during the past fifteen years of her marriage. "She's my baby and you are not getting rid of her" She said.

Arthur went silent, sitting on the chair, avoiding eye contact. Eve cut him a piece of cake, bringing over a plate and handing it to him. "You know Eve, you really should be careful with the phrasing of your sentences" He said, grabbing the hand of hers that held the knife and twisting her wrist and grabbing it and stabbing her in the abdomen. After that first motion, he couldn't stop, he had dropped the plate and started stabbing erratically, all over here body. The blood soaking into the wood floor and her struggling to try and crawl away and failing as Arthur stabbed into her spine, stopping her ability to move her legs and she just let out weak cries and screams while reaching for Rory. Her child that stood only a few feet away, eyes wide in shock and unable to make a single noise or move a single inch as they watched their mother being butchered by the man who they used to call their father.

Control and Power: Abusers often seek to maintain control and dominance in their relationships. In some cases, killing or threatening to kill their victims can be seen as the ultimate way to exert power and instill fear.

Running was all they could do. Their heart was pounding loudly in their ears, feeling like it was about to jump out of their chest. Their breathing became shallow and rapid, it began to feel difficult to get air into their lungs, they collapsed to the floor behind their locked bedroom door. The faded echoing of slamming on the door. They felt hot and cold at the same time, and their chest felt like it was squeezing itself harshly, their hands were shaking. They felt nauseous and dizzy. They needed to move, they knew they needed to get out. They needed to run. They didn't know where to go, but they needed to run.

 Panic is often accompanied by an intense and irrational fear that can be triggered by a specific situation, object, thought, or physical sensation. This fear is out of proportion to the actual threat, and the individual may have difficulty explaining or rationalizing it.

They set their sights on the window in their room, they blinked but suddenly they thudded to the grass outside their bedroom window and then they were running. They spread their wings out of their back and tried taking off the ground, jumping, crying, unable to catch their breath. They heard a crash from inside the house and gave up and started running and didn't look back. They couldn't turn back, not now, not ever. Their mother was dead. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Please stay tuned for new chapters every other Sunday on Wattpad. This is a story based on my minecraft lore based SMP called Wisper SMP, streamed on twitch every other week, told from the perspective of the water goddex Rory and things that have happened in their life.