#if you know me and gilgamesh you know why

[gilgil-machine]

I wish some people never had access to internet at all...

TW assault, TW r*pe

[yurious-george]

thinking about how solanum described how the universe would end for her school project :) and her teacher comforted her by saying she wouldn’t be around to witness it :) and then at the end of the game :) she does anyway :)

[tamamonomaes]

As someone who wants to fuck gil I just want to let you guys know that even I wouldn't fuck light yagami. Know your limits.

[softquietsteadylove]

For the Thenamesh doctor AU. There is this patient (adult or kid) who has a mental breakdown and nobody can calm him down. So Thena calls Gil and ask him if he can give it a try :)

Maybe you can put a soft moment in the end?

"Gil?"

"Hey Honey," he grins at her, dropping his sandwich and wiping off his hands. He frowns at the look on her face. "What's wrong?"

Thena nods her head for him to come with her, which he does in an instant. "Husband of a patient in surgery. He's utterly beside himself and no one can get him to calm down."

"No one?"

"Not even Ajak," Thena pauses and looks up at him before they cross into the waiting room, "not even Sersi."

This is bad. Gil looks through the window of the swinging door and back to her. "And you think I can help?"

Thena shrugs one shoulder and looks up at him. He can't be sure, but he swears she's trying to look extra cute. "Well, you're the best at calming patients on the way here."

"That's-" he pauses, looking down as she rubs the zipper of his hoodie between her thumb and finger.

"I always find your company very soothing."

Dammit. She has to know how cute she is--she just has to! Gil sighs, "I'll try."

He pushes through the door and walks over to the man with his whole head in his hands, weeping and gasping for air. Sersi is beside him, speaking softly in that gentle accent of hers. But if not even she - the GP known for being as gentle as a butterfly - can calm him down, Gil really doesn't know what he's supposed to be able to do.

Thena must have told Sersi she was going for him specifically, though, because Sersi catches his eye and nods him over.

"Gil, this is Mister Wells. He's waiting for his wife to get out of an emergency bypass."

"Hi there," Gil begins gently, sitting in the seat Sersi vacates for him as she returns to her work. He leans forward in hopes of getting a look at the poor guy. "I'm a paramedic here at the hospital. Your wife is in surgery?"

The man mumbles something, still holding his head in his hands and now pulling faintly at his hair.

"Listen, I know you've been told a million times that we're doing everything we can, but," Gil pauses. It's true, sure. But that doesn't mean anything to this poor man. This poor bastard who is beside himself, sitting out here, unable to do anything. "But I guess I can't really promise you anything, huh?"

The absolutely haggard man finally pulls his head up and looks at Gil. At the very least, he definitely heard what he said, because he looks nothing short of aghast. "They sent you to comfort me?"

"I know," Gil shrugs, his hands in his hoodie pockets as he moves. "But my...someone asked me to come and talk to you. So I did."

His eyes run over Gil critically, "and what makes you so special?"

"Well, nothing, I guess," Gil purses his lips momentarily. "I'm not even a doctor, so I'm not really obliged to have any bedside manner or anything."

"I'll say."

"But," Gil pauses, his smile fading. "A few weeks ago...I guess I found myself in a situation a little like this. Nothing quite as serious, but...sure did scare me."

The older man finally looks at Gil--really looks at him. He sits up just a little, looking somewhat more like a human and less like a broken shell of a man. "Yeah?"

Gil nods, still haunted by the sight of Thena under that car. "Have nightmares about it and everything."

Mister Wells thinks for a second, sidestepping the question of what actually happened. "How'd you get through it?--the wondering, I mean. How'd you get through the...the what ifs?"

Gil takes a deep breath, thinking about the feeling of Thena's freezing cold hand in his and how she had let just a few tears slip out. "I...I guess I couldn't really get all the way there. I couldn't fully imagine what my life would be like without her."

Tears come to the poor man's eyes as he starts to curl up again. "I-I don't know-! I don't know what I'll do without her!"

Gil just pats the man's shoulder, letting him cry. He's sure that's all he would be capable of if Thena...

He had said those exact words to her; he had told her that nothing would happen to her, because he was there. But he didn't actually have that power to guarantee that. He would have put his very life on the line to do so, but sometimes things just don't work out that way.

It is true: he has had nightmares. Dreams of walking into the hospital and feeling something wasn't right. Looking for someone he can't name and yet whose absence he feels like a hole in his chest. He's had dreams of her dying in his arms, under that car, in the rain, and the cold, and him trying to help her entirely in vain.

"I can't tell you either," Gil offers, rather lamely, if he's being honest. Which he is. "But I can tell you that she'd tell you she loves you."

He looks at Gil again. "What?"

"She would tell you she loves you," Gil can guarantee. "And I'm sure she wouldn't want you out here tearing out the rest of your hair over it."

Wells gives Gil a look, which only encourages him.

"Look, I don't know what I'd do without Thena either," he professes entirely truthfully, hand - out of his pocket - to his heart. "But while she was in her surgery, I thought about all the things I love about her."

Finally - at long fucking last - the guy smiles a little.

Gil smiles too. "I thought about her laugh, about what jokes make her smile and which ones make her slap me on the arm."

Wells almost chuckles at that one.

"I thought about how I would tell her how beautiful she is, and how I can't imagine a single day without her."

The greying man nods, tears in his eyes, a smile on his face. Gil has finally found the right chord to strike.

"I thought about all the time we've had, all my favourite things about her," Gil sits back again, "and then, just like that, she was out. She was right in front of me again."

Wells sniffles a little, blinking away the last of his tears. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Gil nods. "And I guess I should promise that it'll happen for you too."

Wells shrugs. He knows just as well as Gil does that there's no such guarantee.

"But," Gil shifts uncomfortably. He hasn't let himself think about this much since it happened. Why would he? "But if she...if she hadn't..."

Wells doesn't press him.

Gil leaves the statement as it is, but looks up and smiles at him as best he can. "I think I'd just keep thinking all that stuff. I would think about her every second, of every minute, until the day I die."

Both men nod, a level of understanding passing between them that far exceeds any well wishes or empty promises. Gil has offered what he can, and nothing more.

Wells extends his hand, which Gil shakes firmly. "Thank you."

Gil raises his brows, "I don't know if I can say I'm happy to help, but I'm glad I got to talk to you."

"I-"

"Mister Wells?"

Gil stands with him as Eros comes into view. He's not Gil's favourite of their co-workers, but the guy knows his way around a heart.

The Brit pulls off his mask to give the man a smile, "your wife has pulled through rather beautifully, sir. She'll be back in her room by the time you get up there, then I'll come see you about the plan moving forward."

Gil catches Wells before he can collapse to the floor in relief. Gil tries to keep the completely boneless man upright and nods to the surgeon, "thanks, man."

Eros offers Gil a stiff nod and leaves.

"Hey," Gil gets Wells back in his chair and pats his back. "Hey, it's okay. Everything worked out."

He nods, at least, his head in his hands again, although at least the tears are happy this time.

"Come on, you've gotta get hydrated," Gil pats his shoulder, offering his arm to help the man to go see his wife (and any water coolers they can find along the way).

"Th-Thank you," he pats Gil's arm as they shuffle along in elation.

Gil smiles at the man, happy he can go tell Thena all the good news. And finish his sandwich. "I'm happy I could help, sir."

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Terry Pratchett about fantasy ❤

Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Terry: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.

Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

[yandere-romanticaa]

"You know..." he trailed off, his voice gruff but cool. Two fingers danced across the countertop as you chopped the potatoes sloppily, as you were still not quite adept with handling a knife.

He continues. "... You would be a really nagging wife, did anyone ever tell you that?"

A scoff escapes you but even so, you chop. It's a little hard trying to focus on cooking all the while this idiot keeps trying to rile you up like crazy. Why was he even here, who even invited him? Yeah, he was popular around town and it wasn't uncommon for him to hop from place to place, regardless of what it may be. Be it someone's house, a bar, a club, a gaming center, it honestly didn't matter.

It just freaked you out how he was slowly morphing into the shadow you never wished to have.

"Is that so?" You ask him sarcastically, your face schooled into an unreadable expression. The smell of delicious spices enveloped the whole kitchen and it made you even hungrier. You were going to kill your friend for allowing this god awful fiend inside here. Refusing to turn to him, you still probed him.

"Don't marry me then, I never asked for your opinion to begin with."

He's stunned for a millisecond before regaining his composure, a booming laugh soon reverberated across the entire room. He clutched his chest a little, as if you had just told him the funniest joke in the whole wide world.

In a way, it was.

He, despite his bravado, wouldn't mind having such crummy a wife by his side.

He was living the good life and nothing could stop him. But there was just something about you, something that would always make him take a step back and think. It was so cute how you were trying to concentrate on making a tasty meal for himself, of course he was going to steal a little later.

He adored your cooking, even if it could get sloppy at times.

The "you'd be a bad/annoying/nagging wife" thing started off as something to humor him, and to piss you off naturally. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than to see a scowl on your face and just straight up ruin your day. It was exhilarating to watch the light in your eyes crumble the moment he took a breath of air which came from your direction, let alone actually come to you.

It didn't hit him that he was actively interested in you.

He never even realized just how many of your dumb little habits he had picked up on, just how many times he had to stop himself from doing more than he already did because he didn't want to give you the wrong idea.

He doesn't like you, he thinks you're a fool. Plain and simple, just like that.

It doesn't matter that his heart beats so much faster at the mere thought of you, it doesn't matter that he started to fantasize how you would look like if you were his actual wife.... To come home to you, in your soft embrace as a meal was ready for him...

No matter. He'll trick, tease and steal from you as much as he possibly can.

🎀 Gilgamesh (Fate), Bakugo Katsuki, Dabi, Hawks (BNHA), Gojo Satoru (JJK), Guren Ichinose (Seraph of the End), Ayato Sakamaki, Laito Sakamaki (Diabolik Lovers), Satori Tendo (Haikyuu!), Aalto (Wuthering Waves)

[jessicalprice]

I think the thing that most Christian atheists who are rebelling against authoritarian Christian backgrounds don't get is why Jews remain Jewish.

Like, I get it, you engaged in your practices because you were told that God would punish you if you didn't, because you're told you're supposed to fear God.

(Incidentally, we don't even use the same language about this. The term that gets translated in most English bibles as "fear" is, like many classical Hebrew words, a lot more multivalent than the English term, and has more of a connotation of "awe." (See, for example, the Gilgamesh dream sequence: "Why am I trembling? No god passed this way." A god is something in whose wake one trembles.) It's what one feels when one is faced with something bigger than oneself, something overwhelming. For some people that may be fear of being harmed. For others it may be wonder or even ecstasy, standing outside oneself.)

But in 2023, Jews have the option (and, indeed, still the cultural pressure) to completely abandon Judaism. Very easily. We can, in fact, do it quite passively. If we're not actively trying to engage with it, it will very much drift away from us.

And it's not fear of divine punishment keeping most of us engaged.

The thing is, if you proved to me tomorrow that God doesn't exist, I'm not sure anything about my life or my practice would change. (I'm already agnostic, so *shrug*. I don't believe in a God-person. Sometimes I believe in a unity to reality, a life and a direction to it. Sometimes I don't. I just don't have the arrogance to think I understand definitively the way the universe does or doesn't work.) I still would celebrate Shabbat, I still wouldn't eat pork, I still would have a mezuzah on my doorway.

I do all that stuff because I'm Jewish, not because I think God will get mad if I don't. I do all that stuff because it's part of a cultural system that I see as wise and life-giving and therapeutic and worth maintaining.

And the thing is, the cultural system that Christian antitheists want us to assimilate into, under the guise of "getting rid of religion", is very much a white Protestant culture. It's not culturally neutral. It has practices, and it has a particular worldview, and it has cultural norms that are just as irrational as any other culture's.

It's also very telling that Christian antitheists purport to be harmed by Jews continuing to be Jewish. Why? We don't impose our norms on anyone else, and we overwhelmingly vote (and organize, and engage in activism) against the imposition of Christian "religious" norms, such as the curtailing of reproductive freedom, blue laws, etc.

So you're only "harmed" by our continued existence in the same way Christians purport to be harmed by it: by claiming that the very existence of a group that doesn't share your worldview and practices is somehow an act of oppression against you.

Which is, you know, white supremacist logic.

You're still upholding the logic of Jesus's genocidal, colonial Great Commission even though you supposedly don't believe in the god that ordered it anymore.

That's gotta be one of the saddest things I encounter among my fellow humans.

You took down all the crosses in the church of your mind and chucked them out the window, but you still refuse to step foot outside the church building, contenting yourself with claiming it's not a church, and firing out the windows at the synagogue and mosque down the road, the same way you used to.

[babyrdie]

ALERT OF HADES II SPOILER

Okaaaayyy....seeing a considerable number of people act shocked at how Odysseus is in Hades II and think it's something against Odysseus, and now I'm wondering if they actually paid attention in the first game…I know everyone talks a lot about Hades' art, but I didn't think that was because it was the only thing you guys were really paying attention to.

It makes sense to be disappointed that the characters weren't treated the way a fan would have liked (for example, I'm not a fan of Hades, but I don't really like the idea of him in the game although I understand why he's the way he is), but I think it's weird to be that surprised by it or treat it like it's personal. Hades never fully followed the myths. They didn't do this because they haven't read Homer or because they don't like Penelope or hate Odysseus…it's simply because they don't follow the myths authentically. They don't specifically have anything against Odysseus or Penelope, it's just the way they do things. If this were the first game, I would understand this being unexpected… but it's the second game, we already know that they won't faithfully follow the myths because they didn't do that in Hades I.

I'll admit that I also didn't expect what was done with Penelope and Odysseus, but it's not really such a "wow! I could never imagine!" when it comes to Supergiant (I'm playing the technical test, for context). And I hoped they would already be together without relationship conflicts, because I really wasn't looking forward to a repeat of Nyx and Chaos, Patroclus and Achilles, Orpheus and Eurydice. I know most people wanted this, but I think it would be lazy to repeat this and I'm still hoping to not have this quest, whether with Odypen or other characters. And yet, even if I didn't expect it, I don't think it's as unexpected for Supergiant as some are making it seem.

Examples:

Melinoe and Zagreus are children of Persephone and Hades, and in mythology they aren't children of Hades.

Zagreus and Dionysus aren't the same person. The game makes humans believe that they're because the two played a prank on Orpheus, which made him invent a song with that story. Clearly a joke on the Orphic hymns.

Theseus is proud to be a demigod, but Poseidon denies that he's his father. Clearly a joke with the different versions of Theseus' birth, in which some he is Poseidon's demigod and others he's mortal.

Persephone is the daughter of Demeter and a mortal, not Zeus. For that reason, she and her children bleed red rather than gold.

Persephone isn't actually kidnapped by Hades. The kidnapping was an act that went wrong. Yeah, Odysseus wasn't the first character to have his non-con and dub-con aspect erased.

Achilles has a different personality than in myths. The game explains this as him maturing in the afterlife.

Patroclus is distant instead of communicative as in the myths, also explained by post-death events.

Asterius (Minotaur) is much more humanized than in the myths and he and Theseus are best friends.

There is a character heavily implied to be Medusa (Dusa) and she definitely doesn't behave like a monster.

Sisyphus is a kind and helpful guy, which is explained in the game with him having regretted his actions after his years of punishment.

Artemis and Callisto are on good terms even though they ended tragically in mythology.

Hades has a much more difficult personality to deal with than in mythology.

Thanatos, Megaera (one of the furies) and Zagreus are in a romantic relationship, which definitely doesn't exist in the myths.

The last aspects of the weapons to be unlocked do not even make reference to Greece, but to other figures. For example, the Twin Fists have the "aspect of Gilgamesh", a figure who is definitely not Greek.

Aphrodite says "You do know that I'm married, don't you love? I forgive you if you didn't. For my husband, he's always... busy with his work. I'm grateful that you are there for me to talk to" about Hephaesthus...her husband, she says. Hephaestus and Aphrodite are often divorced in mythology, including in Homer. And it's not because it wasn't yet at the time they got divorced, after all the Trojan War had already happened and they were already divorced at that time.

Also, they clearly don't use Homer as their only guide, so I don't know why you guys are saying "but Homer!" Patrochilles is there and not really canon in the Homeric tradition, but in Classical Greece they were considered a couple in certain sources (Aeschylus mainly). They use the name Asterius for the Minotaur (something Pausanias mentions, for example) although it wasn't the most common, they play with the various versions of Theseus' lineage, they reference Orphic hymns, etc. Like…it's really VERY obvious they took inspiration of more than one source.

On the Supergiant website, part of the Hades presentation is "Greek myth comes from stories of ancient gods and heroes filtered through new points of view; we’re excited to share ours." This already makes it more than evident that certain aspects were purposefully changed. It wasn't a surprise even before Hades I was released, for anyone who bothered to read it.

On Twitter, Kasavin (Creative Director) has already said that "it is a concerted effort over time, although Hesiod and Homer were very significant among the many authors we explored", which makes it clear that they don't focus on a specific source, although he recognizes that Homer and Hesiod are very influential.

In an interview available at Rock Paper Shotgun, he even said that he read more than one translation of the Odyssey and cites other sources like Diodorus Siculus.

Also, Odysseus cheating Penelope isn't even a modern invention, there were already versions of this in the Bibliotheca of Pseudo-Apollodorus (I'm talking about Callidice). And giving an unpopular opinion here: while I agree that Calypso in The Odyssey is undeniably an SA situation, Circe is more debatable than you guys like to make it out to be, it isn't undeniably. Both the interpretation that there was SA and the interpretation that there was no SA are valid, because the text itself doesn't make it explicit as it does with Calypso. In Circe's case, not necessarily not making it a relationship with SA makes it something that deviant from the myths.

Again because I don't want to be misinterpreted: what I'm taking issue with here isn't the disappointment in how Odysseus was portrayed. This is valid! I'm questioning the idea that this was done because they don't know about the myths or that it was something specific to Odysseus and Penelope. They know the myths, they just purposefully choose not to be completely authentic. They have nothing specific to Odysseus and Penelope, which is precisely why they aren't exempt from the changes they also made to other characters. They are no more special than Persephone, Hades, Zagreus, Melinoe (to name a few who had changes), that's why they receive the same treatment (that is, being changed).

I would never recommend Hades to someone who wanted complete authenticity to the myths. I wouldn't do that because I KNOW that's not the game's purpose. I thought everyone else knew too. You don't go to a vegetarian restaurant that you knew was vegetarian because you had eaten there before and be surprised because they don't have real meat dishes, be serious.

Edit (01/05): guys, you're talking about Epic, but I admit that I've never even heard that musical and I'm not part of the fandom. So I don't really know if Epic has an influence on that mindset 🤔and also my reblog develops a little more what I think based on Hades I if anyone is interested in theories for the narrative.

[redheadspark]

Can you write that Druig x Fem!eternal!reader have a fighting training moment, he tease her little bit during that so...😏 just fluff

A/N - Hey! Sorry for taking so long, I had to finish my prompt session! This was amazing to write, thanks for requesting this, anon!

Soft

Summary - Druig knows how to talk, but you know how to fight.

Warnings - Some teasing and some fluff :)

“Again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, do it again,”

You eyed him as he was making fists at his sides, his icy blue eyes were watching you like a predator who was eyeing his game.  To him, he probably thought this was a game, which made sense since he was the one who wanted to spar with you and learn how to fight.  Properly fight, in his words.  

But for him to ask you?  That threw you off since you knew you weren’t the best fighter amongst all the Eternals.  That was left to Thena, she made fighting look so easy and almost like a dance.  Even Gilgamesh was better at fighting than you were, with his brute strength he would knock a boulder back as if it were a flower petal.

Druig was no fighter, being the mind reader of you all he stayed out of the physical fights against the Deviants.  He could control a crowd of humans instantly with a simple gaze, so there was no real need for him to get his hands dirty.  

But he was intrigued and wanted to learn, which is what brought him to you one afternoon on the Domo before you were going to go on patrol with Gilgamesh.

“You just wanna….learn?” You asked him, seeing him fold his hands behind his back and simply give you his signature smirk and a shrug.

“Better to prepare myself in case it’s needed,” He replied smoothly, you giving him a suspicious look.  Druig was always mysterious to those around him, whether he tried to be or not.  There was always something hidden within him that no one could pinpoint, and this was one of those instances.  You looked from him to Gilgamesh, who simply shrugged and chuckled as you looked back at Druig.

“Why me?” You asked, seeing him smirk at you as his eyes drilled into yours.

“I heard you’re an excellent teacher,” he smoothly replied.  Gilgamesh snickered behind you, and you felt the tips of your ears burning.  Something in your mind was telling you that he was playing games with you, wanting to get a rise out of you and make you sweat.  He was always like this with the others, with you, when it came to his own amusement.  Snide remarks, and jokes under the breath, but they were all harmless in a way.  Yet this time, just in the way he said it and in how he was observing you for your reaction, you didn’t feel like giving him the light of day.

“Fine,” You replied shortly, seeing him grin widely in return.  

“Fine,” he echoed.  But you were already thinking of a great way to teach him how to fight.

By breaking him.

“Druig, I’m not gonna keep going if you’re on the verge of breaking an arm,” you advised him as he was souring off again, his feet planted on the ground and the adrenaline still seeping through his skin.  You could see it, his energy draining him with every round you two were doing.  It was making you want to ease and pull back a bit, but the other times you tried he was pushing you to not hold back with him.  From the very start, he wanted you to be hard with him, which surprised you when you both met up together in one of the smaller rooms in the Domo that was turned into a makeshift training room.

“I don’t want easy, understand?”

“You sure you wanna request that?”

“Yes. Don’t hold back with me,”

“I can do It,” he said to you, but even his voice sounded out of breath with his hair plastered to his head.  You rolled your shoulders, feeling some of the strain yourself since you both were sparring rather hard this day.  It was getting hard for you to find a good spot to pin him down, he was a faster learner and was picking up on questions and punches quickly.  Compared to the very beginning, you would be throwing him over your shoulder within two moves or knocking him off his feet with a swipe of your leg.  He wasn’t quick or light on his feet, he mostly had lead feet and slow hands.  

But if there was one thing Druig would never do, was quit.  

He took every beating and every defeat, his skin would be covered in bruises and his muscles would scream out in strain as the days rolled by.  But he would always show up, you think that he would fold after the first week or two.  Not that you had no faith in him, you did to a certain point.  But Druig was never a fighter by nature, and for him to go against his nature didn’t seem like him at all.  

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying I won’t.” You changed your wording, though now he was giving you an inquisitive look while you placed your hands on your hips.

“Sounds like you’re going soft on me,” he teased to which you raised a brow.

“This coming from you who is about to collapse in exhaustion,” You countered back, though he cracked a big grin.  You knew this was part of his game, using his words as a weapon to try his opponent off.  He did it with Ikaris so many times, along with Sprite when those two would get in a spat.  But now he was trying it with you, and you were trying your best to not let it show.

“You would like to see that, wouldn’t you?” He hummed, maybe hoping that you would smile.  But it was only giving your more adrenaline, to wipe the smirk off his face and to make him eat his words.  He saw your fists at your sides getting tighter and tighter, your legs locking in, and your eyes training in on him.

“Fine, we’ll go one more round,” You replied shortly, Druig’s smirk getting a bit bigger.  Perhaps he thought he got the best rise out of you and was going to win this little game he liked to play. But then again, he must not have known the side of you that you rarely showed the others, only in the heat of battle.  

“You know, softness does look good on you,” He said lightly.  You felt the lick of adrenaline come back over you again from his words, which were trying to shoot you like darts and trying to penetrate you.  But all you wanted to do at this point was shut him up, to somewhat put him in his place with how he was treating you.  There was no doubt you two were friends, but he also knew how to use his words to make himself feel superior.  It worked on Ikaris, on Sprite, and now he was trying to work it on you.

No. Not gonna happen

You made it across the room in a few strides, dodging the first punch he threw out with ease, and threw one back.  The sparring was brutal now, both of you going swiftly and with ease as punches and kicks were being thrown left and right.  Neither one of you were holding back, some cheap shots to the jaw or to the ribs and you dodging everything he gave you.  You did the same with him, noticing how quick he was now and simply not just trying to avoid a punch. 

But he got you in a good enough hold with both of your arms, his own arms wrapped around yours tightly as he was pressed against your side.  You tried to shrug it off one or twice, but he had some strength against him now as he chuckled right against you, almost in your ear.  His body heat longing for yours, his sweat mingling with yours, and simply being this close was enough to make you almost forget the position you were in.  The kind of intimacy that you had with the others being on the ship for so long together, you all had a connection of family and of leaning on one another.  

But this, this was different, this felt like a different kind of intimacy that you never felt before. The kind to make your heart beat a bit faster, to make your head a bit lighter, and that sense of safety being close to him.  But it was odd since he was always there, from the moment you all came to Earth.  Yet now, it felt like a shift.

“I like seeing this side of you, you know,” he said against your ear, making you almost shiver as you were still trapped in his hold, “And to think I got you all soft too,”

You glared.  That did it.

Pivoting with your leg, you pushed it up to be parallel to your body, then pushed Druig a bit to have your foot hit him square in the head as a distract him.  It worked, his grip on your arms loosening slightly but enough to have you move.  Throwing your leg back down as he stumbled from being kicked between the eyes, you know him back with your body and turn to back him.  You knocked him off his feet with your leg within a millisecond, seeing him fall on his back and you perched over him.  Grabbing his arm to pin it down with one hand and the other hand on his neck, right on a pulse point where you knew was his weak spot.

It all happened so quickly, one minute he had you pinned against him and the next he was pinned beneath you on the ground.  But something inside of you snapped, something animalistic and that wanted to prove that you weren’t going to be swayed by him.  You knew your own strength, your own worth when it came to being in a fight, and your ability.  But the way Druig was looking up at you, pinned to the ground and having no way of getting out of it, you saw something in his eyes.  There wasn’t hate, nor was there rage that you won at his own game.

Shock?  Astonishment?  What was it?

“Am I soft now?” You asked, your hand on his neck still soft enough to let him breathe but there was still a grip to keep him in control.  He gulped, you feeling it along your fingers as his blue eyes were searching yours.  Now he was hard to read, which was bothering you now since you felt like you went too far in both kicking him in the head and slamming him to the ground.  But then again, he was keeping his eyes on you.  No longer was he looking at you like some prize, there was another way he was looking at you.  Yet you couldn’t pinpoint it.

“No,” He gasped, not in pain, but out of breath.  Slowly, you were moving your hand away from his neck, right where you were feeling his pulse dancing against his skin and along your fingers.  This was a new sense of intimacy neither of you ever experienced with one another before, and it was fresh and raw and new.  Something inside of you was frightened by this, but it also felt….right. 

You released his arm and his neck, moving quickly to go back up on your feet and holding your hand out for him to grasp.  He was still sprawled on the floor, frozen like he was stuck against the ground, and had his eyes still on you in amazement.  You surprised him plenty of times in sparring sessions, yet this didn’t look like a surprise.  It looked like he was….having an out-of-body movement.

“We’re done for the today, okay?” You asked gently, seeing him finally move his arm up to grasp your hand.  You hoisted him up, seeing him nod his head and still silent as you smiled.  The mood was still tense amongst the pair of you, but it was better than how it was a moment before when you two were tangled in each other’s arms.  

“Come on, let’s get some food,” You said to him, seeing him smile in return for the first time.  It made you feel better to see him smile, not to see him scowl or seem angry with how you handled him. But then again he did ask for you not to hold back, to not reserve your strength to him.  You walked on, thinking he was behind you as you were feeling rather flushed from what just occurred.

You didn’t realize that you left Druig there, speechless with one of his hands reaching up to touch his neck where your fingers were.  You didn’t realize that his mind was turning and wandering to new thoughts, and new feelings.  

You especially didn’t realize that he was suddenly enraptured with you.

The End.

Tagging - @a-lumos-in-the-nox @botanicalbarnes @virtueassassin @saradika @heartofwritiing @pemberlyy @heliosphere8 @reader6898

[honestsycrets]

Amor y Respeto II: Corazón [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

chapter I: mi alma

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x reader

❛ type | continuation of one shot.

❛ summary | you're trying to forget miguel with hobie's help on the field. but miguel isn't quite ready to let go.

❛ tags | jealousy, latina reader, slightly nsfw (only nudity), spanish is not translated, some mention of blood and wounds, violence, some paranoia, miguel is not pleased, an attempt was made at british slang, some creative liberties.

❛ sy’s notes | gif credit to aehanse. a little reference to gilgamesh with a golden bull in this chapter because i wanted a simple anomaly and for some reason a golden bull just makes me giggle a bit.

Miguel only left Nueva York for very important reasons. Very important reasons usually entailed a little stress relief at the end of a very stressful day. Very important reasons like your gentle fingertips running over his sweaty chest. Very important reasons like your plush lips wrapped around his--

“No chance,” Lyla chittered in his ear. “There’s the whole ‘I don’t love you’ thing. And that kiss?” 

A headache was brewing: everything twinkled, glistened, and refracted light.

“I was there, Lyla. Could do without the reminder.” 

“Really because--” 

“I can fix it,” Miguel growled, clawing past the tall buildings rife with beautiful flowers. It was your favorite time of year. The perfect time to go to the balcony and wait for him to follow behind, to pick off the yellow pollen that dusted his burnt umber hair.

When he finally breached your plant-filled balcony, the window was open despite his warnings to keep it closed. You loved the light and drew the blinds open day by day to let in the bright light of the day. In contrast, he could have done without the bright light streaming in during his early morning visits. That wasn’t wholly the issue. The issue was anyone who wanted to watch you sleep in your love-rustled sheets could. He could.

Miguel’s hands hooked on his slender hips. He glanced at the offensive presence of a singular powdery pink rose in a vividly graffitied cup that he hadn’t given you. He didn't need to guess to know who had. As your shorthair cat trotted into your bedroom, he realized that the rest of the apartment was empty. He wouldn’t be mewing at him if you were singing in the kitchen and making cookies that he shouldn’t eat. It's little, you would guilt him and squish a bite-sized morsel in his mouth. 

Miguel jerked his head to the side and threw a look at Lyla. She threw up her hands in response. They came to the same conclusion. “The roof?” 

There wasn't a worse time to climb the last few floors of your apartment. Light battered his senses as the sun crested past the rooftops of your city and emitted pastel crystal hues. Soon, the night would fall on your busy city and cloak it in darkness. In the darkness, problems always arose.

"Se dice-- never mind, it's a pastellio," you brushed off the small chunks of crystal that nipped at your forearms and picked a chunk up off of a paper-thin napkin. The crumbly remnants held their own memories. Memories of your fingers sealing pastry dough over a cool picadillo, arguing about the quality of HQ cafeteria’s empanadas all by yourself despite knowing that he liked them. They didn’t taste the same lately.

“Tastes like a meat pie,” Hobie waggled a crusty corner. “Must be a meat pie.” 

You brought the rim of an opaque brown glass bottle to your lips. The malt drink coursed down your throat slowly, leaving your throat cool and refreshed. Just the way you wanted to feel after a long day of work. “If that’s a meat pie, this is beer.” 

Hobie-- Miguel sneered. There had some alternative, impure reason he was here. Maybe it was to piss him off, to distract him from the work really at hand. If that was it, he lamented, he was doing a good job. Why else would he be here?

“A kiddy beer,” he flicked over one of his empty beer bottles. “Listen. You coming to see the concert?” 

“Whose?” 

“Mines, who else?” he answered. “Gwen’ll be there.” 

“It’s not really my scene, Hobie,” you said. “Don't you think I’m a bit old for that sort of thing?” 

“Old?” Hobie chirped after you. You swayed under the force of his playful punch to your shoulder and returned one to his willowy arm. Your eyes turned back to the crystalized sun dipping beneath the horizon. He sucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. “Letting that muppet shoot his cum in ya is the only thing that’s gonna make you old. Complicit. You wanna be complicit?” 

“¡Fo! Gross, stop,” you dropped your drink to the side and flopped back onto the unforgiving concrete roof. But he had a point, your palm migrated over your belly. His spunk was probably still wiggling around in your stomach. Miguel simpered in the shadows.

“You never see these autocrats for who they are," he lamented.

“It has nothing to do with… Hobie. Hobie, my love isn’t politic--”

“Everything is political.” 

“Hobie, I take care of him-- them,” you motioned to your city, glittering in the fading sunlight. “For love and laughter. That’s what we all deserve. Love and laughter. Miguel wants it too, he’s just,” Incapable or unwilling, you suppressed. “Complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Hobie spat out as though it offended him. “It ain't complicated to me. He don’t love you. Half the time he don’t even like you.” 

“But I love him.” 

“His love? It ain’t enough.” 

“It matters to me.” 

A low growl emanated from his deep chest. It was enough to cause your heads to wrack around in his direction. Miguel steeled his body against the wall he dangled from, shielded in the dark crystally shadows of a mural.

“Should we--” you stared at the wall, eyes narrowing.

Fuck.

“Ain’t nothing to be worried about. Probably a rat— a big rat,” Hobie lurched over your body. His long and lanky arms caged your body beneath him. It was a universe apart from Miguel’s well-corded arms, broad and strong. Arms that, at the moment, Miguel used not to spring off the wall.

“It’s his muscles.”

“¡Ay cállate! Why is it always his muscles?” You ruptured into laughter and reached up to push him away by his thick wicks. You crawled out from underneath Hobie and stretched out your arms behind your back. Tension unwound from Miguel with an exhale of stale air from his lungs.

“You got a type,” Hobie lazed his elbow over his knee. 

“You don’t know any of my exes, Hobie,” you swept up your trash and covered your head with your rebozo-like cowl. At that exact moment, your watch blared. “And you ain’t know mine, either.”

“Vente, Corazón. I have a call.”

Corazón?

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Hobie hopped up and adjusted his guitar, slouching off his shoulder. 

“Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to,” you took a step to the edge of the rooftop. You turned your hands up. “C'mon, I’ll even make you cookies.” 

Make him cookies. You would change out of your blood-smattered outfit into a little slip to make Hobie, a man that you knew he had a very poor opinion of, cookies. A man that was reckless in life, reckless in HQ, and would not take orders that didn’t benefit his perception of the world. His breathing hitched, heavy and sharp, to keep his rage in check. If you respected him, you would never invite Hobie anywhere near your apartment. Especially not at night. What were you thinking? 

“That your way of keeping me for the night?” Hobie asked. “Think I’ll get lucky?”

“Is it working?” 

You looked Hobie over once, starting at his boots and ending at Hobie’s pierced lip. Your lips budded in a terrible smile. A look that Miguel did not like, not at all. You turned and stepped off the building, out of his field of vision. Hobie followed soon after.

The sun faded far past the horizon, cloaking Miguel in solitary indigo darkness. His fingers teased the ochre face of his watch-- he had things to do.

You didn’t need backup. 

You crawled out of the rubble of one of your favorite flower shops. Bits of lavender crystal embedded in your arm drew blood down your arm. As of late, it felt as though you couldn’t do anything right. Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life and fixed the amateur mistakes you were making day by day without mentioning your incompetence. He was good to you.

This time was different. You recognized this anomaly from another time, but not another place. It was here, at the intersection of Cereza and Trini, that months ago that Miguel and you-- No, you did not need backup. You didn’t need him.

The thick, muscular leg of the stupid bull stormed by. The thing was comically obnoxious. Just as obnoxious as the ache in your chest every morning when you woke up alone in your bed with Miguel visiting… not even once in the past few days. You wondered if he even thought of you.

“Miss Spider lady, are you okay?” a little girl with thick brown pom-pom puff hair and the warmest caramel eyes asked. Usually, she sold singular flowers at the cash register of her parent’s shop. You hated to think what hardship would come to them because of your inadequacy. If you could control your emotions, as Miguel rang true, this never would have happened.

“Si, si, Zaniah,” your head spun with the pain radiating from your side. You broke something, and of course, it wasn’t healing. You blamed him. Your feet stumbled forward in a line. You didn’t want to see the headlines of this one. Most spiders dealt with villains worth the name, villains with prowess. You? A shiny fucking bull from heaven. “No te preocupes, go, go.” 

“Mami, mami!” the little girl shrieked and bolted, her flowy purple cape dissipated as she disappeared into the back. You felt bad for the mother that would have to deal with that for the next few days as you broke into a run, flexing your wrist for webbing. 

If you could just-- trip the damn thing. Then, somehow, with enough time you could… oh, you didn’t know, bind its legs? Or bind its legs first then tip? But where would you even tip without casualties? Maybe, if you were lucky, you could lure it to the river-- but that was on the outskirts of town. You were running out of time. You had to deal with it. Had to. What would that little girl think? What would Miguel think? 

“You sure you don’t need backup?” Lyla asked, her gilded frame bending at the waist. "Because you look like you need backup."

“Si,” you hissed. “I am sure, Lyla. I don’t need anyone. And I especially don't need Miguel. I got this.” 

Your red boots connected with its fuzzy back. Its great, golden chain skid across the concrete floor, emitting an awful hissing noise. You seized its collar and jammed your heels into its back to try and force the thing to heel. It wasn’t. Despite your strength, you weren’t strong enough to do it on your own. The pressure on the side of your rib cage was becoming immense. Breathing became a chore. 

“No you don’t,” she sang. 

It was moments later that the bull howled pitifully. It slid on its side, crunching old cars and taking out rusty street lamps under its thick muscle. Despite digging your heels in, the damn thing whirled you off like a children’s dreidel. The force of the impact thrust you off its back and into a rusty tow truck. The pain burned low in your back. Hobie: to the rescue again. At some point, you were going to have to give him something better than cookies.

“Get up,” rasped your backup, cloaked in vast dark blue and red. Not Hobie, then. Your hazy eyes were playing tricks on you. You heaved out rattly breaths as you obeyed, or tried to obey the dumb big man in your life.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Heavy and hard, your limbs fought the attempt to move. Before you could complain a minute further about how fucking infuriating it was to have him run to your aid, your world eclipsed into the darkness. 

You woke up with a pulsing headache and the very unwelcome sight of Jess. Through her yellowy glasses, you recognized her colorful kaleidoscope of emotions: annoyance, derision, and eventually… relief. It wasn’t the infirmary. The bed was too comfortable for that. You quickly realized that you were in his room with nothing but one of his annoying tech bandages mummified to your chest. You knew from that alone that you were in for it-- if not for her face becoming increasingly more stoic. They should have been siblings.

“You needed backup,” her arms encircled her belly. “Didn’t you?” 

Your eyes fell to the soft sheets that tickled your skin. Breathing was still hard, harder with the anxiety of knowing a lecture was headed your way. You couldn’t lie to Jess. Tears pricked your cheeks and you tried to steel your heart from them.

It was impossible. His room overwhelmed you: from his rich scent that perfumed the sheets you laid on to the air you breathed. He was close by. That alone was more stress than you could handle.

“I know Jess. I needed backup. Pero, the anomaly, it was-- I thought I could handle it.” 

“Pero nothing,” she held a gloved hand up. “Girl, I don’t need your excuses.” 

“But I’ve called Hobie too much this week.” 

“Is Hobie the only one here? You could have called me. Or-- and I’m just being crazy here. Miguel? Your man?” she rolled her head toward the back of the room. She must not have heard. You followed her gaze to where he stood, his uniform flopped unceremoniously about his waist. Your heart strummed and skipped a beat. With her words, Miguel turned his eyes up from the wound at his waist-- to your eyes. They pierced your heart in the darkness. He would have come.

“You know what? I’ll just leave you two alone.” 

“No, no, no Jess, por favor--” She left without another word. Punishment in its own right. Your hand approached your chest, covering your cleavage from his sight. His hand swayed over the pad to lock the door shut. 

Your head dropped back on his flat pillows. Whether it was the bundles of discomfort at his presence or actual shots of pain, the awkward silence was growing increasingly too much for you to handle. He brought you here, into his bed, for a reason you couldn’t understand. You both were done. Finished. Miguel didn’t seem to think so.

“You act as if I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Maybe, he had seen you naked before. He had no right to anymore. You opened your eyes to look at him, noting the strong scent of sweat permeating his skin and the warm sheen that dusted his chest. You had your increased senses to thank for that. You swallowed air in forceful gulps and burrowed painful shockwaves in your chest. If nothing else, you could at least swallow pain with some honor.

Everything that Miguel did had a purpose. You couldn’t help but eye the way his thumbs looped around his waistband to draw his pants lower, freeing his swarthy skin from indigo fabric. Your eyes fell on his flaccid cock that sat on a tuffet of his thick black pubic hair, chased the curve sight of his shapely ass, and settled on his strong rideable thighs. It was the least egregious sight to stare at. He slipped the suit over his shoulder, raising his brown brows in unison. 

“And as if you haven’t seen me naked before, either.” 

“It… it’s been a while.” Your eyes darted past his figure to the door. You were sure it was locked.

"Has it really?" Miguel threw out as he disappeared into his bathroom. For a moment, you debated running. Your heart ached with the knowledge that he would just come to find you. He left knowing that you would not disobey him because, after everything, you respected his wishes. 

What Miguel's wishes were today was up for debate. The only thing you were sure of was the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets, the steam that emanated from the bath, and his lofty figure swaying in the distance. The warm certainty that filled your body knowing that he would come back to bed. Because that’s what Miguel did when you were hurt: he paid attention. 

He came back into the room nude, ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel. You couldn’t convince yourself to act as if you were asleep. His presence shattered any illusion of ignoring him, even with the expressionless way he considered you tonight. He was utterly intolerable.

After an eternity boxed in with your thoughts, reality came as Miguel, a smooth wall of muscle, clambered into the bed. The bed shifted under Miguel’s weight. Just as you predicted, the warmth of his chest was against your slight back and his large palm was flat against your stomach. 

You broke up with him for a reason, you broke up with him for a reason— Miguel didn’t seem to care about those delicate details. He caressed your neck with his nose. His lips dragged over your unmarked skin. As certain as a clock was to click, your body became slick with anticipation. You knew he could tell. 

You were weak. Weak out there. Weak in here. Weak everywhere.

“You smell… different.”

“Miguel, por favor,” you breathed, thready and thin. “It’s just Hobie.”

“Hobie?” he growled. Miguel’s hand encompassed the large space of your belly. Your legs shifted as Miguel held you a little firmer. You expected his hand to move lower, but he didn’t.

“Hm. Why would it be Hobie?” he asked, his voice dripping dangerously low. “Is there something I should know, Corazón?”

“No, I, no,” you stammered. He knew. Though you said the words, they felt cut off from what you were saying. As though the threat of his rejection took over all the confidence in your world. "You were watching?"

You turned in his arms to face him. His forehead creased in disapproval. You opted to press your forehead against his, running your nose against his, breath puffing his lips.

"You thought I wouldn't," he said. His eyes spun with sharpness, searching your face for evidence of the truth. As though he were asking if you’d been unfaithful despite the breakup. Your face was always pitifully easy to read. Even with the breakup, he could read your intentions as clearly as the words on his lab screens.

"I didn't think you cared."

You were used to a Miguel who crept into your bedside window, slunk into your bed, and woke you up from your slumber with the weight of his body between your legs. A Miguel that only had time for brief moments of pleasure and successful results. This Miguel was different.

"You know I do."

And there it was. He pushed himself free of the bed in search of pants. You watched him pull them over his ass before he flopped into the one chair in the middle of his room, head in his hand. Lyla, he rumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite hear. Your senses were dull, something you equated to the exhaustion and sleepiness that threatened to overtake you at any given moment. 

“Something is different. And it isn’t him,” he sneered. 

You missed the warmth of his body against yours. The ginger way he touched you just moments before. After days of being without his touch, you missed the simple things. Like the way he touched you. The way he focused on you alone in a room full of others. You hated yourself for craving it. You made a choice. Why couldn’t you stick with it? 

“What did I do wrong now?” Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth. It was the very cottonmouth you feared you would have when telling Miguel about Gwen and Miles. Your mind was too hazy to rationalize what you possibly could have done this time. Miguel would always be an impenetrable castle, one you could admire from afar but never enter. 

“Nothing!” He snapped. You recoiled from the shrill in his voice. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, easing his tone down to a murmur. He threw you a small, bittersweet glance. Almost a smile. “Muñeca, you did nothing wrong. Get some rest.” 

He sat there a moment longer. A frown grew on his lips as Miguel stood up and walked toward the door. After one, two, then three attempts to open the door, his closed fist slammed a hole into the siding. It finally whirled open and allowed him to exit. It left you in the sea of silence that was his dark room. You never liked waking up in his room alone. It was bare, too bare, for anyone to live in. You worried that his mind was just like that.

“Lyla? Lyla, I want to go home.” 

It was a long time-- too long-- before she answered. “You should sleep.” 

And though she advised that, it was a restless night.

[avelera]

Weird thought but like... if Dream can appear as any species and does for what those species expect, one would think he'd have had animal lovers over the year. I don't mean in like a bestiality sense just like... there's gotta be a nice cat somewhere that thinks the all-black Maine Coon with the shining eyes is neat.

But then I thought about it, and I could come up with an explanation why not, along the lines of "it's doom for mortals to love the Endless" and Nada's instant knowledge that loving an Endless is bad news. Like it catches her by surprise and she's distraught when she realizes what Dream really is and that she'd missed it.

So I'm sort of thinking... animals just know. They know the Endless are bad news. Like the entire universe knows. To animals, they smell strange, they're clearly "other", they're something else wearing your face. They might be kind, they're not immediately dangerous to you most of the time, but you don't mate with them any more than you would a rock carved to look like a member of your species (I know, I know, some animals are that dumb but bear with me).

What you need in order to have a living being fall in love with an entity like the Endless is to actually be further removed from the natural world. As part of an early human civilization, Nada was dismayed and angry with herself that she didn't realize Dream was Endless sooner. Like this is knowledge that normally one should have. And this is y'know, within 4k years of Gilgamesh, because the dates Neil uses are a bit silly, but there is a major thread in Gilgamesh of what is lost when humanity left nature for civilization that's sort of reflected in Nada's dismay. Like this is a tool humanity once had, this instant recognition of the Endless, that has since been dulled by the complexities of civilization. Normally they'd listen to that inner voice and just know.

You have to be a little perverse to fall for the Endless. You have to be attracted to the idea of your own doom or able to rationalize it. You have to be able to fall in love with things, with things that aren't your species that might even be a predator to your species. You need to be removed from nature and the cycles of survival. You need to be out of touch with that inner voice that says, "That is not one of us."

Which is why Killlalla's civilization was advanced enough for her to date Dream, for example. But for the most part it is only humans and humanoid divinities that are removed enough from survival to consider it.

On a more humorous note, what this translates to is a house cat taking one look at Hob Gadling and going, "Y'all motherfuckers are insane. Do you know what the hell that thing is??"

[canmom]

reading Herbert Mason's translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh, as you do!

I went with Mason's translation after I saw it quoted here and there and seemed pretty solidly written - but it isn't precisely right to call it a translation, more a retelling of the story as Mason understands it. so it's not a line by line translation, and some major parts of it are presumably interpolations or paraphrases.

i knew the broad outline of the story but it's fascinating to put it in context, and discover parts of the story i hadn't heard about. for example, i didn't realise the concept of droit du seigneur was part of this story - I'd thought that was basically a goofy myth about the medieval period, but here in the oldest surviving written story, it's just a thing the mythological king Gilgamesh does. though the exact translation seems a little contentious - Mason writes:

As king, Gilgamesh was a tyrant to his people.

He demanded, from an old birthright,

The privilege of sleeping with their brides

Before the husbands were permitted

But Wikipedia quotes a different translation by Stephen Mitchell which says:

He is king, he does whatever he wants... takes the girl from her mother and uses her, the warrior's daughter, the young man's bride.

The general thrust is similar in both cases, but the details of the custom are different. I don't have Mitchell's translation so I can't find how he describes the moment Enkidu arrives to interfere with Gilgamesh doing one of these kingly rapes (like let's not beat around the bush here, it's a different social context and whatever but you can't possibly say no to the demigod king).

Moving on...

Viewed with modern eyes, the transition between the first chapter and the second is kind of abrupt. We've got this great establishing story for Gilgamesh and Enkidu having a rather homoerotic fight and becoming best bros, but then we abruptly skip forward to Gilgamesh declaring that they're going to go fight a monster called Humbaba, and Enkidu is all like, no, that guy is way too high level, you'll die! Modern writing advice would hold that you'd want to spend some time building up Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship 'on screen' here, and perhaps foreshadow the existence of Humbaba a bit sooner to build up the threat a bit - but then I'm not carving this into stone tablets, I can afford to be a little bit roundabout, and who knows what's been lost? (scholars of the Epic probably have some idea lol)

The word used for Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship is 'friend'. This feels like it's probably a bit of a lossy translation to me - would lover/boyfriend be projecting too much? I obviously don't know the nuances of Sumerian that well, so maybe this is the best available word, but their relationship has a lot of physicality and a lot of affection.

The woman who goes to Enkidu in the wild and has a bunch of sex until he becomes civilised is described here as a 'prostitute'. My understanding was that she belongs to a religious role here, harimtu, that's usually translated as 'sacred prostitution' but apparently this identity is contested, and also she has a name, Shamhat? I don't know why Mason doesn't use her name. Shamhat has a pretty big role in changing Enkidu and convincing him to come meet Gilgamesh, but her own motivation isn't really explored.

Still, I don't want to come off as only complaining. Whether they originate in the Epic or with Mason, I'm enjoying a lot of the poetic turns of phrase in this version - the style is just the right level of minimal - simple appropriate words, but effective for that. Mason writes in verse, but doesn't rhyme - I'm not really familiar enough with meter to say more than that. There are a lot of fairly short, declarative sentences, mixed up with an occasional much longer metaphor across multiple lines. I think you could fairly easily delete the line breaks and just have prose, but having them makes it flow in an interesting way, like waves? Poetry is not my bailiwick so I'm probably describing some fairly basic facets of the medium, but it's interesting to observe.

I'll add more when I've read a bit more, I'll be in this train a while...

[hikarimiyanaga]

Healing A Broken Heart (Part 1)

Summary :

You and Wanda are in love. At least you thought so. During a particularly bad fight, she tells you that if she had a choice, she wouldn't be with you.

And that, in your thousands years of life, is the most painful thing you've ever heard that was said to you.

PS. This was inspired by that one reddit post and it snowballed from there.

-

You drink another shot. For the past few weeks and so, this is the only thing you've done during the nights. Drink.

As if it could make you forget. Forget the pain. Forget the memories. Forget Wanda.

But it couldn't, it was only for the night for you still remember everything the day after.

You really hated being a semi-eternal.

You were created to be with the other eternals but there was something wrong with you. You didn't have any powers.

Still, Arishem sent you along with Ajak and the others as a reporter.

You had the immortality and physique but nothing else.

Still, Sersei, Makkari, Sprite, Kingo, Phastos, Thena, Ajak, Druig and Gilgamesh were family.

So you did exactly what you were sent to do. Report. Until you and the others' rebellion years ago. Now THAT, that was a fun time.

But that? Being a hero? Something you're not? It was all in the past.

You just wanted peace. When the whole Westview happened. Ajak sent you, said something about knowledge in magic.

And so you helped. Both Wanda and Agatha.

Wanda stayed with you along with the darkhold and Agatha went with her coven.

You made sure that she made the first move. And if she never truly liked you then it was also fine. But she did. She kissed you that one night and you kissed her back.

You'd cook for her. Teach her more about her own magic. And she'd love you. She'd make you laugh. She'd make you feel peace.

It stayed like that. For Five years. You were both in love or so you thought.

She was getting impatient. You can tell. You knew that your method was slow. But it was also the safest. So that she can travel freely. Did you know that she would leave you for her boys? Of course, she will. And you'd understand. Those twins were her kids. Hers. And you-

Well, you didn't even know what you are to her.

And during the fight with her, you confirmed it. She was just with you because you knew the safest way. Because you had a way.

And so you left her. And left her notes, you weren't cruel as to leave her without knowledge on getting back with her kids.

And so here you were. In a random bar somewhere in the US. Where you stopped counting your drinks and stopped caring about yourself.

If anyone needed help then you would be there in a heartbeat, helping once again. But for now? You need to forget.

"Ah. Here you are. I knew it." You hear Sersei say as she sits besides you. She and Makkari have been trying to find you when they went to visit Wanda a week ago and you weren't there. Sersei quickly texted Makkari as you drink again.

"Why are you trying to find me, dear changer?" All of the eternals had nicknames from you.

"We were worried. What happened?" You chuckle at that.

"Just that-" You don't finish when someone hugs you from behind. You laugh as you turn and hug Makkari. "Hi, fast one. Sorry that you couldn't reach me."

"It's okay. Why are you here though?" Makkari asks and you sigh.

"Not here. Shall we go on a walk?" You pay for your tab and leave the bar with them.

You all get seated at a park and you look ahead.

"We got into a fight." Makkari raises an eyebrow at Sersei. A fight? That was it? "And she told me that if she had a choice then she wouldn't be with me." That made them both flinch. They knew your insecurities better than anyone else. The two of them were your closest confidants after all. "So I left. Don't worry about it, though, I made sure to leave her notes. And if she did become the Scarlet Witch and destroyed everything again then-" You inhale at that. "Then I'll help stop her."

"But Wanda was-" you shake your head at Sersei. Just hearing her name is enough to make you cry. You wipe away your tears.

"I need some time alone. Call me in the emergency phone if any of you need help." You stand then smile sadly at them. They both just watched as you leave.

-

6 months. It's been half a year since you saw Wanda. But by God did she get even more beautiful. You were helping Peter Parker's mess and making sure that Strange didn't do that fucking spell again. You really hated that spell, for fuck's sake.

You sigh in relief as everything ends and no one needed to forget him.

"This is why I don't mess with memories." Sersi, Druig and Makkari turns to you. "It's too messy."

"Really? I thought you of all people would want to do it." Druig says and you hum.

"It would make it easier, that's for sure." Wanda flinches at your statement. She was near enough to hear but far enough to not get spotted. Did you want to forget her? "But what the brain cannot remember, the heart and soul will surely do." Wanda was sure now. She approaches the eternals and you realize her presence, you quickly go to Makkari and tell her to take you home.

"But-" Makkari tries to argue but you shake her.

"Just this once! I swear, okay? Please, Makkari. I can't. My heart can't." You get teary eyed and Makkari turns to Sersei. They turn to Wanda who was going to call you.

"Just this once." You nod at her and Makkari quickly leaves the battlefield with you intact. She stops at your current house in New Zealand. You sigh in relief and hug her tight.

"Thank you." You kiss her forehead. "I owe you one." Makkari nods and leaves you alone. You get inside and start to pack. You just know that either Makkari or Sersei will snitch on you. You don't blame them, though, you know that Wanda has been persistent on seeing you and wanting to know where you are.

You didn't know why she wanted to see you.

You don't know want to know.

But if you had to take a guess then maybe she'll break it off for real. You wipe away your tears again. The partying and drinking for the past 6 months has done nothing good for you.

It just made you forget temporarily.

You look at your things. It was only one suitcase, the benefits of having too much money. You hum.

Time to go there then.

-

Another 6 months has passed by. This time, you knew it. You have peace.

Well, you did still have nightmares. Your insecurities are still there. But at least here, you were truly alone. No expectations. No betrayals. Just you.

Not even Sersei or Makkari knew where you were. You didn't want the risk. You just can't run into the source of your heartache.

Or so you thought. Because your phone rings. The emergency one.

"Hello?" You ask and it was Sersei who answers.

"We need help! Or rather your friend, Strange needs help!" You hum as you ready yourself.

-

"What do you mean?? She can travel the multiverse????? FREELY?????" You ask and Stephen nods. "Whoa. Holy shit. You do know this makes you like the singular only person in the multiverse that can do that. Like damn." Sersei raises an eyebrow at you.

"You're an eternal."

"Semi! But yeah, I might be the only one. Nice! The name's Y/N! We have no last names." America looks at Stephen who nods at her.

"I'm America. America Chavez."

"Nice to meet you! So why am I here?"

"She needs help."

"Some monsters have been chasing me all throughout the multiverse and-" You hum. You get your phone out and call Agatha. You stop America and they all look at you.

"Agatha. The darkhold is not being overused is it??"

"Nope. Wanda is learning it slowly. Just like you taught her. Why?"

"Just checking." You hang up and hum. "Has there been any portal sightings like the one from multiverses?" Stephen shakes his head at you.

"Through every universe, right?" America nods. "You don't need me. You need Wanda."

"You sure?"

"Yes. She can travel the multiverse too. Just not as freely as America. We should go to her."

"We? Are you ready to see her?" Sersei's question makes you flinch.

"Not really but-" you look at America. "A kid needs help so-"

"Got it. Let's go then." Stephen says and you nod.

-

'Oh. She hasn't moved. At all.' You thought to yourself as you look at the house you lived in a year ago. Stephen knocks on the door and you step back as Wanda opens the door.

"Oh. Strange. How unusual-"

"We need your help. Y/N says that you-"

"Y/N!? Have you been in contact with her?? Not even Makkari or Sers-"

"That's because they're snitches." You walk up the familiar steps and smile sadly at her. "Hi, Wanda."

"Y/N. Y-you're here." She says and becomes teary-eyed.

"Yeah. We need your help."

-

"I'll get us some teas." You nod absentmindedly as you look around, everything was the way you left it. It felt like you've never left at all. The books were in the arrangement you did. The pictures and decorations were never removed. You smile a little at the pictures.

There were five on display.

One with you and the eternals.

One with Wanda and her brother Pietro.

One with you, Wanda, and everyone, as many as the frame could fit.

One with you and Wanda just hugging and smiling at each other.

One with Wanda and Vision.

"Whoa! This is you, right, Y/N??" America asks as she looks closely at the pictures, you didn't even notice her standing from the couch.

"Yeah. It's her. She lived here before." Wanda answers for you as she serves the tea. You hum, agreeing with her as you get your cup.

"So you know magic??" America tilts her head at you as she sits besides you again.

"Know, yes. Use? No." America tilts her head again so you chuckle. "I only know spells, uses, and stuff like that. I couldn't do it even if my life depended on it. Ask Sersei sometime, she knows how many times I tried to see if I ever had some sort of power." America hums.

"And you never discovered any?" You shake your head.

"Nope." You smile at her as you sip your tea. Oh shit. Did she-? You look at Wanda and she smiles at you.

"It's your favorite." She confirms and you sigh. "So, what did you three come here for? What can I do to help?"

"First, of all are you halfway through the darkhold?" You ask and Stephen glares at you.

"Uh. Yes. I am. I think I am." You hum.

"Can you call it and I can check?" Wanda nods and calls the darkhold to her hand, Stephen scoffs at you and you glare at him.

"Look away, for fuck's sake. A child's safety is on the line!" He grumbles as he leaves the house and America was about to follow him when you stop her. "Stay here for a minute. I need to confirm-" You open the darkhold and hum. "Yep. Halfway through. You can travel with America now."

"What?" Wanda asks and you hum.

"So, the predicament is this. America is being chased around by monsters. Darkhold monsters and so I have reason to believe that one of your variations is chasing her. Possibly, to either get her power or use her. I am not sure. So I need you to travel with America. With Stephen too and solve this."

"What? How?"

"By defeating the other you."

"WHAT!? HOW!?" You hum at her question.

"Simply put, you'll need to introduce a variation of me."

"You?" You nod and grin at her.

"You know the phrase, 'every me loves every you'?" Wanda nods at you. "I have reason to believe that is happening between us. Not everyone gets their shit together or end up together or even meet but still. Every variation of me will love every variation of you."

"How are you so sure-"

"Phastos made a device. I used it like a thousand times. Trust me in this. I-" your phone rings, effectively cutting you off. You look at it and see Phastos's name. "Speak of the eternal." You answer it. "Wait. You caught one??????" You hum. "Okay. Okay. I got it." You nod. "Yeah. I still have it." You nod again. "Got it. We'll be there." You hang up and look at Wanda. "Change of plans. We're going somewhere." You hold out your hand to her and she accepts it. That makes you smile, at least she isn't allergic to your touch. "Come on, America. Time to meet my family." You grin then go outside where Stephen was waiting. "Stephen, open the portal to Wakanda!" Stephen nods and does as you say.

"It's a good thing that you have Thena, huh?" You grin at him, agreeing with him.

-

You look at the monster then at Phastos then at Thena and Gilgamesh.

"You guys are seriously amazing. Thank you." You took out a pair of glasses from your pocket and toss it to Phastos. "As I said."

"Have you used it at all for the past year?" Phastos asked and you blush.

"Only a thousand more times." You scratch your neck. "One of the reasons why I never get bored."

"I'm just relieved you haven't decided to get Phastos to make you a multiverse traveling machine." Ajak says and you smile sadly at her.

"I had what they had. Mine was just the saddest attempt." You look at the ground knowing that most of the people there are looking at you.

"Done!" Phastos exclaims and you smile, relieved that the attention is off you. "So, this will hopefully will let us know which universe this creature is from and the glasses will guide us there."

"You mean them?" You point to Stephen, America and Wanda.

"What? You're not coming??" America asks as she gets your hand.

"Sorry, kid. I'll only slow you guys down." You ruffle her hair. You look at Wanda then smile at her. "Try to keep this kid safe. She's pretty unique. And she'll be able to help you too."

"Got it! Universe 567. That's where the monsters are from."

"Good. Here's how the glasses work." You begin instructing the three of them and making sure they knew what to do.

Wanda is to make sure that the traveling of the group is safe and sound, she can fight off the multidimensional monsters.

Stephen is to make sure to locate your variant.

America is to make the group travel freely.

You wave them goodbye and smile as they leave. You collapse to the ground and Makkari is by your side immediately.

"I'm okay. Just really-" you let the tears out and sob.

The dam finally breaking through. You don't know if you'll ever get over Wanda.

-

It took them a week to find you.

Turns out you were a pretty badass Black Widow in Universe 567. You were trained alongside Natasha so the two of you were like siblings.

567 you tried to refuse first but when she saw the monster firsthand, she finally relented and agreed.

Meeting 567 Wanda was chaos. She tried and tried to resist both her variant, Stephen and 567 you but when the avengers arrived, it was a done deal. 567 Wanda was captured and stopped. 567 you fought for her rehabilitation though, stating that you won't ever forgive yourself if you let another one fall to that deep abyss. 567 You promised to help her, to take care of her and teach her how to be compassionate again. As they were leaving Universe 567, Wanda couldn't help but smile as 567 you helps 567 Wanda to her feet.

It looks like your and hers 567 variants will be okay.

-

You were back in your old tattered hut in the Philippines. The peaceful home you've been at for the past half a year.

You hear your phone rings and hum.

"Yeah?" You answer it.

"They're back! Should I tell Makkari to get you?" Phastos asks and you sigh.

"No need. I had my time here already. Do you think Sersei has room in her apartment? I'd rather just room with her and Sprite."

"I'll ask her. So you're done avoiding her?" You laugh at that.

"Never. I'll be there." You hang up and look around. "Goodbye, peace." You leave and never look back.

PS.

Posting this since it's sitting in my draft. Not finished yet but wanted to get it out.

[finisnihil]

Analysis with Penacony spoilers ahead, read at your own behest

I love Acheron so so much and one of the main reasons is how human she tries to be. She‘s trying so hard to stay human, to be human.

She’s killed people the blood debt is a burden she carries. She only sees the world in black, white, and red, but she gets lost easily and guides strangers home and she thanks you for trusting her even though you don’t have to and she protects a little boy from the mafia and she mourns your friend with you even though she didn’t know her because she knows you’re hurting and she helps you calm down after you watched your friend die horribly and she stays with you and looks after you and tells you to stay level headed and she apologies for being held back from protecting those you love because she isn’t human anymore and then she does one of the most human thing of all and blesses the soul and mourns her with you, guides her home like she did with you. Acheron is gentle like a psychopomp, like Death. She cries blood but it’s still crying.

Onto the allusion, the name Acheron comes from the river Acheron, one of the five rivers of the Underworld in Greek mythology. The Acheron is the River of Woe/Pain/Lost Souls. The River Cocytus (River of Wailing/Lamentation) and River Phlegethon (River of Magma) both flow into the River Acheron and the River Styx (River of Oaths/Border to the Underworld/Makes one invulnerable if they bathe in it) stems from the Acheron. The final river is the River Lethe which causes forgetfulness when bathed in or drunk from and usually used by the souls of the dead to be reborn. These allusions fit Acheron well, as she cries blood which is fitting for one named after the River of Woe. Her difficulty to hold onto memories is also reminiscent of the Lethe, especially now that we know she’s an Emanator. She was technically “reborn” as when she became one.

Building off this, she fulfills the role of a psychopomp. In folklore and mythology psychopomp are entities that guide souls of the dead, such a Thanatos in Greek mythology who is the personification of peaceful death (Who Seele has allusions to but that’s another analysis). Aventurine associates Acheron with the Finality a few times and we see her act like a psychopomp when she does things like “take us home” when we first meet her and she mentions guiding again when she sends Firefly off. She gets lost in the waking world but never seems to in the Dreamscape.

Building even more off this allusion, in Greek mythology the twin brother of Thanatos is Hypnos, the personification of sleep. Sleep and death are often tied together even outside of Greek mythology, like the Epic of Gilgamesh where Gilgamesh is literally told he can’t think about conquering death when he can’t even conquer sleep.

This all leads me to a theory about why Acheron said she had no choice in whether to draw her blade. She wanted to but she had no choice in the matter. We’ve seen her draw her blade twice so far in the story and it was to wake the Trailblazer and to fight Sam. If Acheron is an agent of the Finality maybe her blade can’t be drawn because it can only be used against those dying or dead or not living? We know Firefly was dying and we know she has a weird connection with Sam. The weird “Death” monster also seemed to target Firefly. I think Acheron couldn’t draw her sword against the “Death” because she is also an agent of Death and cannot attack one of her own, but she can use it against Firefly because Firefly is dying and it would be seen as a final severing of the soul from life or as “harvesting” the soul. Of course I could be completely and utterly wrong I’m literally just making an analysis based on allusions and motifs but still I think it’s interesting. Plus Aventurine calls Acheron and Sam enemies and Sam uses fire, an element typically seen as representing life.

Pulling a little bit away, Acheron sees the world in black, white, and red. The red is fleeting according to her and it reappears when a choice is made. If Acheron is a psychopomp this makes sense, she would mostly see the world as the living and the dead and the red could be a tie to the idea of the red string of fate, as we know destiny is a major theme of HSR’s story. When we make choices that change the direction of fate, we interact with the red strings of fate. This could be another reason she’s at odds with the Stellaron Hunters, they adhere strongly to the idea of destiny but to death destiny would have a different meaning. Her sword has an eye and is adorned with red which is where the majority of the color in her design is centered, going back to my theory around her sword it could represent how it cuts strings of fate and the eye matches the one on the “Death” nightmare.

We also know she apparently hijacked the Ever-Flame Mansion party to come here, maybe because she sensed there would be a lot of death here and came to collect the souls?

Finally, I would like to reiterate I do not play HI3 this is just something I’ve noticed, so correct me if I’m wrong:

She seems to be a Raiden Mei Expy and I know nothing of that character but I did notice when she says “Do you remember me?” there’s the answer of no and yes, and she akins us to a dear friend she had. We, the protagonist, fulfill the same role in this game Kiana (I think that’s the HI3 protag) does in HI3 and I’m vaguely aware Raiden Mei and Kiana have some sort of relationship in HI3. This asking if we remember her could be two things to me: Either she’s asking if we remember her as we have faced death before or she’s asking if we the player remember her from HI3, which she may have an awareness of if she is a personification of death and that may link her to knowledge of the Imaginary Tree as trees seem to be associated with death in HSR when you remember Yaoshi is associated with trees as well and the fruit of their tree on the Xianzhou gives immortality, where if Luocha is an Emanator he would have that tree motif too and we know he has tree motifs because he’s an Expy of Otto who did interact with what I think was the Imaginary Tree and that carried over when Luocha was given the element of Imaginary (Of course I had to talk about Luocha who do you think I am)

Anyways there’s so so much more but this post is already really really long and probably incomprehensible so if I think of any more I’ll make like a part II post anyways thanks for reading this far if you did and feel free to add discussion, mwah!

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part One

This is really for the benefit of my mother and sister, who are both diehard Lord of the Rings fans, but who don’t want to read The Silmarillion. My mother remembers picking it up with the expectation that it was another LotR book, and being disappointed that it read more like a history textbook than an actual novel. That’s because it’s not a novel, it’s a mythological epic along the same lines as the Homeric epics or the Epic of Gilgamesh, that tells the history of the first age of Tolkien’s world. It occurred to me that I am exactly the type of person Tolkien wrote The Silmarillion for — a person who knows folklore well enough to appreciate what he was trying to do, and recognize the conventions that he uses. I’m a person who went and applied to Yale’s graduate program in medieval studies (and got in!) just so that I could use the historical, cultural, and literary background of the Middle Ages to inform my own fiction. So, forgive me for saying it, but who’s better equipped to appreciate The Silmarillion than me? And it’s not as long as I thought, with only about 400 pages, which feels really doable after having read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. So, I’m going to paraphrase the whole of The Silmarillion, for all those who want all the juicy Tolkien lore but don’t want to read it themselves.

Before I get into it, here’s a bit of background, for those less versed in Tolkien lore: The Silmarillion is Tolkien’s magnum opus, which he spent his entire life working on and never properly finished. It could be called a “prequel” to The Lord of the Rings, but that would be misleading. It’s intended to be an original mythology for England, from before recorded history. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are both small episodes from this enormous mythological cycle, and neither is really all that significant in the overall story of Tolkien’s world (which is probably why they actually got finished, and published). The Silmarillion and The Hobbit were originally meant to be completely separate projects, which is why they differ so much stylistically, but Tolkien eventually decided to combine them into the same world. The Lord of the Rings fully integrates the world of The Hobbit and that of The Silmarillion, with copious callbacks to both. (The reason Tolkien wrote it at all is because his publisher wanted a Hobbit sequel and not whatever weird thing The Silmarillion was.) The Silmarillion was not actually published until after Tolkien’s death (because he was never ready to officially declare it finished), and it was edited together by his son Christopher.

Christopher had to do a lot of reworking in order to make the narratives more fluid and consistent with everything Tolkien had written about the world. In that way, The Silmarllion kind of does resemble the ancient epics that it emulates — it’s cobbled together out of its existing material, with many pieces missing or compensated for. Christopher writes,

It became clear to me that to attempt to present, within the covers of a single book, the diversity of the materials — to show The Silmarillion as in truth a continuing and evolving creation extending over more than half a century — would in fact lead only to the confusion and the submerging of what is essential.

Like any mythology, The Silmarillion is fundamentally organic, so what Christopher did is the equivalent of taking a bunch of Ancient Greek primary sources and cobbling them together into something like Ovid’s Metamorphoses: A coherent narrative that arranges all the basic stories from the mythology in chronological order, making it much more comprehensible, but also stripping away all of its inconsistency and nuance. That actually makes it more authentic. The fact that one person was able to produce anything close to the complexity of an entire oral tradition is extraordinary.

I’m not going in blind. I have a general idea of what The Silmarillion is about, and I’m familiar with general Tolkien lore through osmosis (mostly thanks to Quora). I’m interested to see if my initial impressions hold up, how much of what I know about wider Tolkien lore actually comes from this book. I know the Fall of Numenor’s in it. Is Beren and Luthien’s whole romance in it, or is that only in the Unfinished Tales? What about Elendil and the formation of the half-elven line that would eventually end with Aragorn? What about Annatar? I guess I’ll find out.

Ainulindalë: The Music of the Ainur In which Melkor learns that it’s really disrespectful to deliberately sing the wrong thing during a choral concert.

In the beginning there was God, whom Tolkien calls Eru or Ilúvatar. Ilúvatar creates beings called the Ainur, which are sort of like gods and sort of like angels, and tells them to sing for him. Initially, each Ainu only comprehends the part of Ilúvatar that it represents, but eventually they start to understand each other, and gradually they start to understand Ilúvatar’s big vision of the universe. They start to harmonize, and their singing creates the world. I’m only a few paragraphs in, and it’s already so beautiful I could cry.

The Music of the Ainur by Jef Murray

The first thing I’m reminded of is the Platonic (and Kabbalistic) idea of emanation — God creates higher beings that are manifestations of his thoughts, and then the higher beings create the physical world, which is a manifestation of their thoughts. Magic in general follows this same pattern of manifesting one’s ideas in physical reality. There’s so much more I could say about that, but this is meant to be a summary and not a theological dissertation. I’m betting it’s not a coincidence, though.

The Ainur are made of Ilúvatar’s ideas, and all of them express Ilúvatar’s ideas through their singing. But — oh no! — one of the Ainur comes up with some ideas of his own, and decides to sing about his own ideas in order to glorify himself. If you hadn’t guessed already, Melkor is this universe’s Satan. Just like Lucifer, Melkor is one of the most powerful and glorious of the Ainur, and he’s a Special-Chosen-One-Magical-Girl because he has a little bit of each of the other Ainur’s powers (i.e. he shares in all of their divine domains). Melkor introduces some discordant notes into his singing, which introduces imperfection to the universe.

Ainulindalë by Paontaur

Most of the Ainur who are in Melkor’s choral section are like, “who the hell is singing off-key?” But some of them like his melody better than Ilúvatar’s, and start singing along with him. This makes matters worse. Ilúvatar simply smiles and starts conducting a new song that’s similar to the first one, but a little different, to accommodate the discordant notes. Melkor and his choir start singing louder in response, and the entire universe becomes the equivalent of a gorgeous violin concerto and a heavy metal riff playing at the same time, each at full volume. To get an idea of what this might sound like, I listened to “The Cloud Atlas Sextet” and the guitar solo from “Seven Nation Army” at the same time, and… it kinda worked, in a weird way, but it definitely sounded like the two songs were competing with each other. Not easy to endure for long, so, a good portion of the Ainur stop singing.

Ilúvatar lifts his other hand, and another song starts up, interweaving with the first. One is slow and sorrowful, the other is loud and abrasive, and together they drown out Melkor’s evil guitar riff. Raising both hands, Ilúvatar ends the music in a single chord that is deeper than the abyss and higher than the sky.

Eru Ilúvatar by Elveo

Ilúvatar addresses the Ainur, telling them that they will now see the things that were created with their music. To Melkor, he says, “If you try to change my music, you’ll find that you’ve actually made my music even better in ways that you can’t even conceive of. Everything you do is going to serve me anyway, so go ahead and try!” So, we get an answer to the Problem of Evil right off the bat. Discord is allowed to exist because, in a roundabout way, it improves the things around it. Every story needs a villain to be interesting, and Melkor is the villain of the story that Ilúvatar is telling.

Melkor feels ashamed, and then resentful. Ilúvatar gives the Ainur the ability to see (when before they were only able to hear), and shows them a vision of the world they made with their singing: Arda. Each recognizes the part of Arda that it personally sang into existence. They see some of the past, present, and future, and they also see things that they hadn’t conceived of. One of these things is a vision of the “Children of Ilúvatar,” the races of Elves and Men. Ilúvatar brought them into existence with the third song (the bombastic-sounding one), and the Ainur didn’t have any part in creating them. Most of the Ainur immediately love the people, and understand more of the mind of Ilúvatar through watching them.

Melkor and his followers, most of which are the most mighty of the Ainur, focus all their attention on Arda (as opposed to anything else in the universe). Melkor convinces himself that his goal is to help the Children of Ilúvatar in by putting the world in order, but yeah… sure, buddy. His real goal is to subdue all the Children of Ilúvatar to his own will instead of that of Ilúvatar.

The rest of the Ainur are very impressed by Arda, and especially by the sea, which contains the distant echo of the Music (which is why all the Children of Ilúvatar feel called by it). The Ainur that sang the water into being is called Ulmo (no, not Elmo), and of all the Ainur, Ilúvatar taught him the most about music. Each of the other Ainur was given a different concept to comprehend and sing into existence. The air and wind was created by Manwë, who is the noblest of the Ainu. The earth was created by Aulë, who’s almost as skilled as Melkor, but his sense of pride is in making beautiful things, instead of in himself.

Ilúvatar shows Ulmo that, although Melkor tried his best to destroy the idea of Water through his singing, all he did was make it even cooler in the manifest world. Melkor created Cold to freeze the water, but all that did was create beautiful snowflakes and whirls of frost, which Ulmo never even conceived of. Melkor created Heat to evaporate the water, but all that did was create the beautiful clouds and the music of rain falling. The clouds have the double benefit of bringing Ulmo closer to his friend Manwë (it probably says something about me that I read “thy friend, whom thou lovest” and immediately thought, SHIIIP!).

So, therefore, everything Melkor does to screw up Ilúvatar’s creation ends up improving it in the long run, and that’s why Ilúvatar allows Melkor to exist.

Arda does not actually exist yet, it only exists as an idea that has been described in the singing. So, Ilúvatar formally begins the manifestation of Arda with an epic Let There Be Light moment: “Eä! Let these things Be!” A light appears, and the light is the whole of the universe.

Many of the Ainur choose to remain with Ilúvatar, but a certain number of them descended into the manifest universe, Eä. Making this choice requires them to give up a significant amount of their power and ability for as long as Eä exists. That’s what being alive and in the manifest world does — it shoves you down into a smaller version of yourself and limits the things that you can do. (The Wizards experience this same thing, but on an even smaller scale.) The Ainur that decided to go to Eä are called the Valar, and they function mostly like gods and goddesses.

The Valar are disappointed to discover that the world doesn’t actually exist yet. The singing just conceived of it as an idea, and Ilúvatar kickstarted its manifestation, but now the Valar have to actually build it. So, they begin to painstakingly shape the primordial matter of Eä into Arda, the world as we know it. Manwë, Ulmo, and Aulë do most of the work, but Melkor is there too. Melkor is that guy who doesn’t actually help with the group project, but then takes credit for the whole thing once it’s done. While the other three are building the world, he offers unhelpful suggestions and changes things to make it suit his own vision. When Arda is young and covered in fire, Melkor figuratively plants a little flag on it and names it Melkor-land. Manwë, who was the lead singer of the second melody that Ilúvatar created in response to Melkor, is really pissed off and brings a host of other spirits down to Arda to kick Melkor out. No one gets to claim credit for a group project that everyone else worked on! Melkor goes off into a corner to sulk, and leaves Arda alone… for the time being.

The rest of the Valar give themselves physical forms. Because they’re all excited for the arrival of the Children of Ilúvatar, they base their appearances on the Elves and Men. Their humanlike forms, gender, and so forth are about as inconsequential to them as our clothing is to us, and they don’t always bother to “wear” their humanoid forms. Melkor sees them walking around on Arda in these beautiful forms that emulate the people and the elements of the world itself, and is even more resentful than ever. So, he gives himself his own physical form, and because he’s motivated by spite, his form is dark and scary instead of bright and beautiful. He appears as something like an ice-capped volcano, all fire and ice, striding through the sea.

What follows is the first war between the Valar and Melkor. The Elves don’t know very much about this, so, little of it is recorded. What we know is that Melkor went around and petulantly undid whatever the Valar were trying to do, like your annoying sibling who keeps knocking down your tower of blocks every time you finish building it. Whatever the Valar tried to make, Melkor would destroy. If the Valar made a valley, Melkor inverted it into a mountain range. If they carved out an ocean, Melkor “spilled” it. Everything in the world is therefore corrupted or somehow altered by Melkor, instead of matching the Valar’s original idea for it, but in the end the group project is finished and it comes close enough.

Music of Ainur by breath-art

Valaquenta: Account of the Valar and Maiar according to the lore of the Eldar In which we’re introduced to the T̶w̶e̶l̶v̶e̶ ̶O̶l̶y̶m̶p̶i̶a̶n̶s̶ Kings and Queens of the Valar, and the Maiar.

This is what every fantasy writer wishes they could do — just exposit on the lore of their gods! I wish I could explain all about my fictional gods and how cool they are at the start of my novels, but I’m not Tolkien. Maybe someday I’ll be famous enough that someone will buy a book like this one that consists of nothing but lore.

Now, imagine that you’re opening the D’Aulaires’ Book of Elven Myths, and reading about the great elven gods (or more specifically, the gods as the Elves know them).

Valar by @phobso

As I usually do with pantheons of gods, allow me to introduce you to the pantheon of Arda! These are the Kings and Queens of the Valar, and there are seven of each:·

Manwë: The god of the sky and wind. He’s the High King of the Gods, just like Zeus. He has the epithet Súlimo, “breather.” Manwë sort of replaced Melkor as the Ainur who best understands Ilúvatar (making him roughly equivalent to the Archangel Michael, if Melkor is Satan).

Varda: The goddess of stars and light, Manwe’s wife. She lives with him in a tower on top of the tallest mountain (Taniquetil), and Being with each other improves their perception, so that they can see and hear everything. Varda hated Melkor before everyone else hated Melkor, and thought he was an asshole even before the Music was sung. The Elves call her Elbereth, and she’s their most important goddess.

Ulmo: The god of water, all water. He spends most of his time in the depths of the ocean, so he doesn’t see the rest of the Valar much and doesn’t bother to take on a human form most of the time. When he does, it is terrifying to see his gigantic form rise out of the waves and hear his voice, which is as deep as the ocean. Despite having disengaged from the other gods, he still loves the Elves and Men. He keeps tabs on them through all the freshwater rivers, lakes, springs, and fountains. Sometimes he wanders on shore in disguise and plays horns made of white shells, which fill whoever hears them with a longing for the sea (like Legolas).

Aulë: The god of rock and metal, precious stones, mountains, smithing, craftsmanship, and terrain. Aulë is the most similar to Melkor in temperament, because both wanted to make things of their own and have others praise them for it. It was mostly Aulë’s job to fix whatever Melkor broke during the creation of Arda, so he hates Melkor as much as anyone else. Melkor, meanwhile, lost his ability to create anything of his own — he can only corrupt or destroy things that others have made, so he especially envies Aulë.

Yavanna: The goddess of nature and agriculture, Aulë’s wife. She usually appears as a woman in a green dress, but sometimes she appears as a Tree of Life who connects the groundwater with the sky. She has the epithet Kementári, “queen of the earth.”

The Fëanturi: The masters of spirits, two brothers who rule over Death and Sleep. They’re called Mandos and Lorién, but these aren’t their actual names—they’re the names of the places they live. Their actual names are Námo and Irmo. (I’m not really sure why they were introduced to us by the names of their domains, but linguistics is weird, and Tolkien fully replicated its weirdness.)

Namó/Mandos: The god of the dead, who lives in the Halls of Mandos, in the far west of Valinor He forgets nothing, knows everything, and knows the fates of everyone. It’s his job to pass judgement upon the beings that live in Arda after they die (or… whatever the elves have instead of death? A sort of purgatory), and he works under Manwë’s authority.

Irmo/Lórien: is the god of dreams, who lives in the gardens of Lórien (now you know where the name “Lothlórien” comes from). The Valar often take breaks in the heavenly world of Lórien whenever Arda becomes too much from them.

Vairë: “The Weaver,” the goddess of history, who records all of time in her webs. She’s Namó’s wife, and lives in Mandos with him.

Estë: The goddess of sleep and healing. Like her husband, she is gentle, refreshing, and not at all like Morpheus.

Nienna: The goddess of sorrow and grief. She mourns incessantly for everything Melkor has ever done, and everything that was hurt or lost as a result. On the slightly brighter side, she’s also the goddess of compassion and hope. She lives even further west than Mandos, and the spirits trapped in Mandos supplicate her for her wisdom. She is Namó and Irmo’s sister.

Tulkas: The god of strength and heroism, who came to Arda specifically to help the other Valar fight Melkor. His epithet is Astaldo, “the valiant.” He has long golden hair and a golden beard, doesn’t need a horse because he can outrun everything, and mostly just punches stuff.

Nessa: The goddess of speed, Tulkas’ wife. She likes running and dancing, and deer follow her everywhere she goes.

Oromë: The god of the hunt and Nessa’s brother. He prefers to stalk around Middle-earth, hunting Melkor’s minions, rather than to live in Valinor with the other Valar. His horse’s name is Nahar. He has the epithet Aldaron or Tauron, “Lord of Forests.” He has a magic hunter’s horn that sounds like the sun rising or like lightning.

Vána: The goddess of youth and flowers, Yavanna’s younger sister and Oromë’s wife.

The influence from the Olympians is obvious, but this little section hints at a lot more depth and complexity in each of these beings (well, the male ones, and about half of the female ones). I’m really interested to see how they develop from here.

In addition to the Valar, there are spirits called the Maiar, which are “of the same order as the Valar but of less degree.” I suppose that means that they’re also Ainur? It’s hard to tell, but regardless, they’re the direct underlings of the Valar and they act as intermediaries, so, we could call them lower-ranking angels. There isn’t any specified number of Maiar, and most of them don’t have names. A handful of them do:

Ilmarë: Varda’s lady-in-waiting.

Eonwë: The herald of Manwë.

Ossë: One of Ulmo’s underlings, the spirit of stormy and choppy seas, who lives near the coasts of the ocean.

Uinen: Ossë’s wife, the spirit of calm seas, who protects marine life. Sailors pray to her to calm the waves, and her hair spreads throughout all the waters. Numenoreans in particular worshipped her. Ossë very nearly joined Melkor, but Uinen prevented this.

Melian: A handmaiden of both Vána and Estë, who lives in Lórien and tends the trees there. She’ll be important in Quenta Silmarillion.

Olorin: Another Maia who lives in Lórien, but he spent a lot of time with Nienna, who taught him compassion and patience. This made him the wisest of the Maiar. He’s not important to this story, but he is important to another story that you already know…

Then of course, there’s Melkor. His name means “who arises in might,” but because he’s evil, he doesn’t deserve to have this name. Instead, the Elves called him Morgoth, which sounds a lot scarier. Because he has some of the powers of all the other Ainur, he can affect all of their creations, but because he’s evil, he can’t do anything with them other than distort and corrupt them. Because he’s arrogant, spiteful, and fixated on ruling the world, this is all he ever does.

Melkor also has Maiar servants among his followers, whom he turned evil; they became fiery demons that the elves call “Valaraukar,” but that we know better as Balrogs. Most of Morgoth’s Maiar don’t have names either, but one of them does. His name is Mairon, which means “admirable,” “excellent,” or “precious.” He was originally one of Aulë’s Maiar, but left his service to join Morgoth, becoming only slightly less evil than Morgoth himself. The Elves decided that he also didn’t deserve his name, and called him Gorthaur the Cruel, or else a name that means (roughly) “abhorred” or “vile” — Sauron.

More to come!

[nomisong]

3000-1000 bc dash simulator:

🐈‍⬛ indenile

another day another ship to build

#amenmose speaks

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🐓 xiangirlie4real Follow

who up burying their porcelain to confuse future archeologists and force them to admit that legendary history is real?

10,760 notes

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💎 lapis-lazulii Follow

in light of the whole "gay representation in the epic of gilgamesh" thing here's a friendly reminder that gilgamesh isn't good representation because he's a literal war criminal

#tw epic of gilgamesh

6,992 notes

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🏺 philosofujoshi Follow

new nsfw achilles/patroclus wip fresco guys......... 🫣

Keep reading

🐏 indusvalleygirl

AAAAAAAAA EUMELIA THIS IS SO GOOD!!!

#mutual art #nsfw #i demand everyone follow eumelia NOW

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🫐 gatherer25

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#dude my stomach hurts so bad rn #i'm in a new area and the vegetation is different here and ugh #idk why my band expects me to try new shit for them every time like #and i feel guilty saying no but i also don't know how to assert myself and i #fully acknowledge that. but like idk i'm just tired and there's no sources of water here #sorry if this is rambly i'm just frustrated #mine #d0n't r3b-log

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🍞 canongilkidu Follow

gilkidu moodboard

#gilkidu #eog

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🐏 indusvalleygirl

"home alone 2: lost in mohenjo-daro" who tf gets lost in mohenjo-daro it's a grid system motherfucker

#my post

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🧅 lambstewfan90 Follow

ok the lack of critical thinking skills on this website is fucking off the tablets like. the epic of gilgamesh is like 100 years old. you can't view it through a modern lens of "representation." like some of you guys are like 25 whole years old aren't you supposed to be dead

🧅 lambstewfan90 Follow

anyway stream ir-nanna's epic of gilgamesh lecture/analysis made for the 80th anniversary of the release of its first tablet

#epic of gilgamesh #save

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🫛 theharappanfarmer Follow

call me the indus valley the way i'm fertile and moist

🌽 maizedandconfused

come on now

🏃 hunterer Follow

this is why i'm anti-agriculture

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☀️ cunteiform Follow

i was hanging out with my cousin ea-nasir today and i made him some barley stew and he tried to send it back like it was a tavern???

🐐 xian-herder Follow

wait.... THE ea-nasir??

🍓 gaytherer Follow

holy shit is your cousin ea-nasir

☀️ cunteiform Follow

how the fuck do you guys know my cousin

☀️ cunteiform Follow

oh i see. me and nanni should unionize.

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🌽 maizedandconfused

ok wait wtf do they do when they like subtract 5 from 5 for example in greece if there's no zero in their number system??

#original #hashtag just bathing thoughts

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