#they watch hades be granted a seat once a year like it's some kind of honor to be seated among the rest of them

[happyk44]

I really prefer the idea that Morpheus and Melinoe were on Kronos's side, not because they wanted more for themselves, but because they wanted more for Hades, for each other, for the underground family they love.

Like, they don't care much for their grandfather, and they already have put together a plot to destroy him, but first Olympus needs to be shattered to the ground. All those annoying heavenly gods who look down on them eviscerated from the earth. Blasted back to the stars and universe that created them. Never to return.

Then the Underworld will finally be free to rise, free to roam, free to exist without scrutiny, without fear. Never to be belittled or pushed aside again.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Perception is Key

Part Two to Hell on Earth

avengers x reader

series masterlist

masterlist

Summary; dread is all you feel as you take up temporary residence in New Asgard. Something big is coming, and you are not the only one that can feel it, but despite that, Thor tries to make you feel safe in his rebuilt kingdom, though all you see is it falling before your knees

Warnings; mentions of death, angst, secrecy

divider by @firefly-graphics

Death, it was a certain doom for all living mechanisms, even Asgard had been demolished by its inevitable demise. Yet here you were, nursing an off handed bottle of ale that came from the gods, whilst you breathed in the salt scent that regarded from the ocean that crashed by. New Asgard, the home of Thor and his brothers in arms, whilst his real sibling was killed by Thanos. It was a shame to see the brave deity in mourning, however, there was nothing that you could do about it. Nothing.

The concept of the end came to all, it was a daunting curse that teased its victims, and pried them into sculpting their own fears of it. But for all the people in the galaxy knew, death could be peaceful; you liked to think that you were the same. A wound cog that did not work for their purpose, a villain that could do some good. And whilst you had never threatened the end of the world, your hereditary abilities sure as hell did. It was another danger to humans and more, thus making you one in regard.

Killing was a route that you didn’t want to take, it was dark, and there was no way back for redemption. Murderers and the bad guys, if they wanted penance, would spend their whole lives trying to make amends for what they did, in exchange for a forgiveness that they would never be granted. And if you did such a thing, as regretting causing exhibitions of death, your father would send for you from the underworld, and have you dragged back down to his bleak halls.

Those heroes would rise, as the ones that you came to know and befriend were brought to bottomless pits of service for Hades, suffering for all eternity as they knelt before the god whom ruled hell. Mother could only prey that he would give up his display of the deceased, he used them like puppets, and it was not a friendly scenic for the next batch of Demi gods that they were planning. You were brilliantly strong, but they would be stronger, as not only would they have the army of warriors behind them, they would be invincible.

Their carriageway into ironic new life, was affecting to you, you could feel it as their existence seared through your veins. There was a war coming, and it was going to be a blood bath, there would be bodies littered on all the planets as they respected their appetites, and they would come for you. It wasn’t silly for you to fear them, they had been around before, it was a rebirth for the ages, a damning revolution that would drain all the breathing from the lungs of species, flushing their external beings into whisperings of blistered remains.

Zagreus and Macaria were coming, pursuing the punishment that was deemed worthy for your scoundrel self, you were nothing more than another revamped version of yourself, raised from the ashes, and taking your overdue time to age. You were supposed to be the cause for the world’s destruction, but they, they would tear every atom down piece by piece, because you were unable to complete your mission of birthright.

Humans, nor other vessels of aspiring and mundane inventions, had the impact of defence to protect themselves from more dominant species. They were simply specks with heart beats in the universe, thumping in their chests as they strived to usher their own planet under the hypocrisy of a dying climate.

“Heimdall once said that Hades had a vision, and he, a seer of all people, couldn’t see how far his faction of thought went. There was no end with his quarrel with the nattering of life, instead, it was competently endless, going on for light years upon light years, straggling the gods into the grand demise. To put it into other words, you are his vision.”

“Well I’m not sure that our Vision back at the compound would be too pleased if I coined his name.” But all joking aside, the air shifted every time that you brought lightness to your words. Continuing, you spoke to Thor, whom had brought you to his evolved demeanour of his homeland, and stole you from the consequences of the violent struggle that you had instinctively conquests upon James Buchanan Barnes. “However, on a more serious note, you are aware of my origin, and the truths that Hades is my father. You know of why he crafted me, but there will be a greater shadow than my foresworn self, and the others need to know of this oncoming riot.”

“We shall tell them, but first; eat.” The god of thunder intended for you to follow through with his kind hearted order, though a heated rumble shook the core of the earth, the energy trembling up your legs. They had been born, sooner than anticipated, and much closer to your break from the ruckus than you had wanted.

“I am not sure we have the time, you felt that cause of apocalyptic foreshadowing, I can tell by the fearful promise on your face. My father will not rest until he has me, a weapon in his hold returned, and to do so, he will tear apart this family, in literal terms, so that I can return to my biological home.”

“Eat.” Thor spoke once more, gulping down the terror that graced his long spanned veins. “If there is to be a fight on earth for the ages, destruction raining down on midguard, then you will need your strength. There is no need to deprive yourself of basic necessities, young warrior.”

Accepting the small loaf from his hand, you watched as the crumbs fled a trail through your palm. Even you appetite was frolicking trauma upon bacteria that swayed in the depths of the bread; the gathered yeast feared you, much like you feared yourself. “I’m going to have to return to the compound, as much as I hate to do so after what I had done, they have to know. And throughout our excursion of informative speech, then they shall have to know of my dreaded secret.”

But what if they already knew?

“A weapon like that...” Steve shook his head as he threw the classified papers onto the desk space he had reserved for his affiliated research. “We have to protect the earth, and if we have to do so from her, then we will have to stretch to any means necessary.” The captain gulped, not pleased as he divulged deeper into this situation with his friend.

Bucky remained shocked from the fleeting threats that had deranged from your form; it was like a curse adorned you, but it turned out, it was just you. Nothing had made you this way, instead, you were born a vigil monster, a daughter of a fraternising god.

“The daughter of Hades... I miss the old days where we believed in one god, and went to church every Sunday morning.” He wasn’t have supposed to have heard Barnes talking, but the figure did as he pressed himself against the wall, his hearing inclined to listen to more.

Peter’s eyes bulged as he was silently affirmed with the truth. He had a web stringing each digression together as he thought of your independence that you had been determined to keep. They were going to tell everyone, swaying their opinions from what they knew, rather than what they did not.

But that made you a legend, a mortal infliction of ancient religion; there must have been more to know. He had to be silent to ensure he didn’t trigger an alert to the super soldier’s enhanced hearing, as the boy that was pursed with a spider bite slipped away, portraying his fawning portrayal of being a vigilante.

His assumed destination that his quiet feet were carrying him too was the library. There’d surely be something useful in the walls of filled shelves, and if there wasn’t, then the internet was a useful friend. As he entered the subjective room for required reading, he saw the Falcon himself, Sam Wilson, seated at a small and solitary table.

Perhaps... no, it’d be wrong to turn him against his close friends... but possibly what was necessary. Peter allowed his doe eyes to scan the various sections. Mythology. Though, all avengers knew that there was some truth to every realistic evolution of belief, though it was usually only a little. But maybe, in your case, there would be more.

Tony had told him there had been an incident, and Peter had believed that Mr Stark was concealing a devise of perception from the rest of the aligned team. It was certainly wrong for him to delve against the ruin of the circumstances, but he was eager to do anyways. Whatever happened must’ve been lined coursing seriousness, and he was afflicted with firm interest to find out what.

Ah, he found something. Adjoined with the abilities he knew that you were capable of, he knew it must have been in regards to you, it just made sense. The spine spoke with integrity, daring anyone to read the biblical novel of fumed remark that raised hell on Earth.

The goddess of invoked, bringer of nightmares and madness, Melinoë.

[cupofteaguk]

i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION 

[pairing] :: jungkook x fem!reader

[genre] :: percy jackson au + angst 

[word count] :: 7.3k 

[note] :: attempted a son of hades!jungkook storyline. vaguely inspired by nico di angelo’s character arc if you’ve read the books (because coughs well this use to be an unpublished nico di angelo fanfic don’t at me LMAO), but you don’t need to remember the character slash be an expert in the story to read this fic! Also this is a friends to lovers fic hidden behind my attempt to write a story of grief. pls enjoy! 

.

When Jungkook is fifteen years old, he arrives at Camp Half Blood with pennies in his pockets, one Kim Taehyung on his back, and monsters on his tail. There are all kinds of creatures that have been following him for weeks—some with wings, some with clubs, but all with the intent of murder in their eyes as they chase Jungkook up the hill. Taehyung had warned him about this happening, that starting this journey would attract lots of unwanted attention from lots of dangerous half-breed monsters. Something to do with Jungkook’s scent, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. 

In the beginning, Jungkook hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t known what Taehyung meant by strange creatures and a camp just for him. Even right now, as he is running as quickly as his legs can take him with his lungs feeling like it’s about to burst—he doesn’t really understand. 

What he does understand is that he has been alone his entire life. With a childhood filled with no father and a frightful mother, Jungkook has grown up spending time by himself in the company of his own thoughts and emotions. With such a strange (and lacking) family dynamic, it exposed him to lots of bullying and snide comments from peers, most commonly seen during school or walks home. The first half of Jungkook’s childhood is defined by this—by the teasing for being different, for failing classes, for being awkward and shy, for never knowing his place. The second half of Jungkook’s childhood is filled with sleeping on the streets, with stealing food at convenience stores, on how he’s been truly alone since he was thirteen. 

That is, until Kim Taehyung corners him at the midnight strike of his fifteenth birthday—which leads the two of them to this current moment. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand much right now. All he knows is that he needs to run. 

As Jungkook approaches the top of the hill, he sees a group of people surrounding an archway. They’re all bundled up in gears of shields and swords, and each of them turn towards the boys as the monster thudding grows louder and Jungkook’s calls become more clear. 

Half of the group near the archway break off, immediately making their way towards Jungkook and Taehyung. There are a few questions thrown here and there, before the main objective is just to make sure the boys get to safety. Taehyung’s weight gets distributed between Jungkook and another person, and together the bigger group makes their way across the hill. They cross a tall pine tree that Jungkook hardly notices, because he’s completely out of breath, wounded across his entire body, with legs that feel like jello. 

Taehyung’s weight shifts entirely to the other person as Jungkook trips and falls to his knees. Quickly, Jungkook whirls around so his butt and his arms are on the ground. With his eyes directed towards the hill, his heart crawls up his throat as he sees the monsters making their way up towards him. His body moves before his mind does, his arms moving him closer towards the archway. 

Someone settles themselves right behind him. “Woah, hey.” Your voice is soft, your hand between his shoulders is comforting. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.” 

“B-But!” Jungkook stammers, pointing shakily towards the creatures now growing closer and closer to everyone. “Those monsters! They’re coming!” 

As soon as he says that, the monsters stop in their path, right next to the pine tree from earlier. Their collection of beady eyes glare angrily down at Jungkook, their screams are hollow cries that press painfully against his ears. This conveyance of frustration continues on for a few seconds, before one by one the monsters turn around and make their way back down the mountain. 

Jungkook’s breathing is frantic, along with his heart rate, as he watches the creatures disappear below the dip. “W-What the hell…?” 

You angle your head toward in order for Jungkook to look at you—you wear an expression of softness, of understanding, and Jungkook momentarily sees stars. 

That, however, could have also been from the excess oxygen in him, and the fact that one of those creatures had landed a swipe to his head. 

You gesture to the pine tree. “You see that tree? That’s Thalia Grace’s tree—a long time ago, she and some of her friends were trying to get here, and Thalia sacrificed herself to ensure her friends could be safe. She was a daughter of Zeus, so he turned her into a tree that would protect the camp. Monsters just like those can’t get in anymore.” 

Jungkook feels the adrenaline fading, along with his ability to follow conversations. Daughter of Zeus? Like, Zeus from those Greek mythologies? The camp? Had this been the place Taehyung told him about? 

It’s all too much to keep up with. Jungkook faints before he can ask his question, in which the last thing he sees is your eyes, concerned and twinkling. He passes the thudding in his heart off as pure and utter exhaustion. 

Jungkook wakes up on top of a white hospital bed a few hours later, head swimming and Taehyung situated at the foot. He offers a cup of something called ambrosia that immediately clears the headache. “Woah, what the fuck?” He asks, holding the cup away from him and staring at it with wide eyes. He looks over at Taehyung. “What is this? My headache went away as soon as I drank this. Also, it tastes like banana milk. Is this a dream?” Without waiting for an answer, Jungkook leans back and takes in his surroundings. He looks to be an infirmary, beds with white sheets along the walls and light shining in through the windows. There’s a few other people lingering about, hovering over occupied beds. 

“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s soft voice pulls his attention back. “We’re in Camp Half Blood. You brought us here.” Taehyung’s smile is sad, but confident. “You brought me back, even though it was my mission to bring you here. Thanks.” 

Jungkook stares. “So… you weren’t lying about the camp. T-This is all real?” 

It is then that Taehyung explains everything to Jungkook. Explains that the Greek gods Jungkook learned about in class are real, and that sometimes they come down from Mount Olympus to mingle with mortals—which is where their demigod children come from. Demigods are part god, and therefore have enhanced physical ability as well as some level of control or skill over the realm of their godly parent. Taehyung goes over this information as slowly and as calmly as possible, but Jungkook still has trouble processing the information. In a way, it makes sense that Jungkook would be in this position. He’s always known he was different, always felt like he could never fully belong in the mortal world he spent so long occupying. He just could never label his feelings with a concrete answer. 

Until now, that is. 

Jungkook decides to ask Taehyung one more question. “Why couldn’t you explain any of this to me on the way over?” 

Taehyung seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “As we kept going, you were attracting more monsters. That’s something that normally doesn’t happen, unless the demigod the creatures are tracking is one that’s insanely powerful. Like, a demigod that’s born from the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades. I read accounts of what happened to us happening to other kids that were born from any one of those three gods. I figured that the less you knew, the better. A demigod who doesn’t know they’re a demigod is a much less serious threat—your scent isn’t as strong as it could be if you know about who you are.” 

Jungkook ponders this. “So my dad could be Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades?” He’s definitely heard of those gods. The ruler of all gods, and his two brothers. 

Taehyung presses his lips together, leaning forward in his seat so his forearms rest on his knees. “Maybe,” He says. “It’s pretty rare, though, so I don’t want to give you an answer only for it to not be true. Only time will tell.” He must see the lost, the confused, the anxious look on Jungkook’s face, because Taehyung takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Hey, JK, cheer up.” The usage of his nickname makes the corner of Jungkook’s lips turn up. “While we wait for your dad to claim you, you can stay with me in my father’s cabin. My dad is Hermes. He’s a patron to travelers, so all campers who come here are welcomed until they’re claimed by their godly parents.” 

Jungkook can only manage a nod at this. He still has many questions, still does not fully understand. With what Taehyung is telling him, Jungkook is not even sure he will belong here, or if he will be ostracized once again for being different amongst the different. 

But he trusts Taehyung—so he’ll follow Taehyung. 

.

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for a week before Taehyung is called for another assignment. It’s due to a prophecy given by the Oracle who lives on the campgrounds—the figure grants quests to campers to undergo a series of dangerous adventures in order to accomplish something for the long term benefit of demigods, the human race, the Greek gods themselves, anything of the sort. 

In the case of Taehyung, he is chosen by fellow camper Kim Namjoon to join him in and travel west and retrieve stolen items from a museum collection. It seems like an easy quest. At least, that’s what Jungkook is told. 

Kim Namjoon is a son of Athena, someone whom Jungkook met a day into his arrival at Camp Half Blood—friendly and smart and answers Jungkook’s questions about mythology with ease. It had been good when Jungkook first met the former, because he had many questions, some of which couldn’t be answered by Taehyung. Namjoon is someone that Jungkook immediately grows a fondness and admiration for—only leaving him that much more confident that the quest will go smoothly. 

“You guys will be okay… right?” Jungkook asks Namjoon, as the latter is shouldering his backpack. He’s not the only person seeing Namjoon and Taehyung off on their quest, but Jungkook had been one of the first people to show up. After all, when your only friend is leaving on an adventure, it tends to bring in the worry and the anxiety. “And you’ll watch Taehyung, won’t you?” 

“Of course I will,” Namjoon reassures, tight smile across his lips but he distracts Jungkook with a hand on his shoulder. “Taehyung and I have been doing quests together for a few years. We got each other’s back.” 

Taehyung slides in next to Namjoon, glancing over at Jungkook with all the care in the world in his eyes. “Hey JK, just promise me you’ll do your best to be comfortable here, okay? Keep trying out those different skills we were working on, okay? Your dad will claim you, I’m sure of it.” 

Jungkook looks down at his fingers, wringing the hands together. “I-I’ll try my best.” 

Namjoon and Taehyung exchange glances, partaking in a silent language exchange, before Taehyung looks back at Jungkook. “I know someone who can help.” 

Taehyung leaves Namjoon with his backpack before stepping away from the group, making his way down the hill back towards the camp grounds. Jungkook follows shortly behind. It’s still early in the morning, most campers are inside their cabins sleeping away the mist, but there’s a small group of campers near the archery grounds. There’s some laughter as a new person steps in to ready the bow and arrow. Jungkook watches as this new archer aims as the target, pulls back the bow, and—! 

“Y/N!” Taehyung calls. 

The person at the archery station flinches, sending the arrow a few centimeters away from the center of the target. You whirl around, and Jungkook’s stomach drops because it’s you—the person who helped him when he more or less crashed into Camp Half Blood. 

You gape, still holding the bow in your arms as your eyes narrow into a glare as you continue to stare straight at Taehyung. “Kim Taehyung! Where are your manners!” You call out. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a quest now?” 

Taehyung slings an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “I need to borrow you for a second, it’s important.” 

You seem to be saying something to one of your friends, because you hand the bow to a friend before walking over to the two boys. 

As soon as you reach your destination, you look at Jungkook and give him a bright-eyed smile of recognition—one that brings him back to the first time he met you, when he saw stars. “Hey!” You exclaim. “I remember you, you came in with Taehyung last week. You looked like you had been through a lot—are you feeling better now?” 

“I-uh…” Jungkook tries to form words. 

“He had some ambrosia, he’s fine,” Taehyung cuts in kindly, sending Jungkook a look he can’t decipher. Taehyung goes on a momentarily rant, explaining that Jungkook would just need someone to help him further adjust to life at camp, as well as help him figure out who his godly parent was. 

Taehyung says a lot of words, but Jungkook isn’t entirely paying attention. His gaze is fixed on you, taking in your easy smile and bright eyes. He can feel his eyes widen and the flush crawl up his cheeks the longer he lets himself look at you—yet, he doesn’t understand what it means. He’s never seen someone like you before, in his years of school and in his years living on the streets. 

“So, I just need you to help him out. Hopefully his dad will claim him before we get back.” 

“That’s something to look forward to,” You reply, sounding genuinely excited for that. You turn your full attention to Jungkook this time and smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to finally meet you!” 

He takes your hand. Fifteen-years-old, and he wears his emotions in his eyes. “I’m Jungkook.” 

.

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for three weeks when he starts getting nightmares. 

Not only that, but it’s the same kind of nightmare—something horribly realistic and chaotic and messy but so painful that Jungkook finds himself waking up with tears dusting itself in his eyes. 

It always starts off the same: Namjoon and Taehyung on their quest. They appear to be in a room of antiques, each boy looking cautiously at the collection around them, with their backs pressed against each other. There is a low hum in his dream, where the voices emit a low frequency and sound like static—like he’s hearing the conversations underwater. Suddenly, a burst comes from above, a shatter of something in the room, a clatter of hollow bangs and clashes, and a yell. His dream always turns blurry after the fight starts, but it always ends the same—Namjoon pulling Taehyung away from a fight. And the latter is badly wounded. 

And Jungkook always wakes up at the sight of Taehyung. And it’s the same question that swirls around in his mind, over and over again. Did Taehyung die on the quest? 

At first, it’s easy for Jungkook to write off the dream as a dream—nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps his subconscious playing tricks on him, playing around with his fears and turning it into videos to play in his brain. But with each passing night, a voice starts to ring in his mind. 

My dear boy. It’s a deep voice, husky and low and full of pitiful sadness, like it can sense the pain that Jungkook is trying to internalize. Don’t you understand? Kim Namjoon let your best friend die. 

There’s something about the voice that is familiar, like he’s heard it before. 

The voice plays in Jungkook’s mind over and over again, like a record, and it shakes him to the core. The potential of what the voice is and what the voice could mean frightens him, and it shows. 

It shows in when Jungkook just outright misses the target with his bow and arrow in the present day. The pair of you are out on the field today, and you’re furrowing your eyebrows together. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jungkook stares at his arrow, somewhere flung off to the side, before his gaze shifts to you. You’re always so sturdy, so concerned, so worried for him. Besides Taehyung, who else cares so much for his safety and wellbeing—? 

He stops, lowering the bow. He wears a serious expression. “Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers. 

You furrow your eyebrows at his tone. “Of course. Is something bothering you? I know your father hasn’t claimed you yet, but the gods can be really busy around this time…” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that.” He steals himself for speaking the words into reality. “I had a dream that Taehyung died, even though Namjoon promised me nothing would happen to him.” He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at his accusation. 

You don’t reply to him at first. You stare at him, eyes conflicted. Jungkook stares back, briefly wondering whether you’ve had the experience of knowing death. He doesn’t voice the question, choosing instead to maintain steady eye contact with your nervous expression. 

“Perhaps it was just a dream, Jungkook,” You say carefully. “Namjoon always keeps his promises. He and Taehyung have been working together on quests for years. And Namjoon is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If they ran into a situation Namjoon thought they wouldn’t be able to handle, he wouldn’t even think to risk the lives of the people he’s with. He won’t let you down.” You’re smiling tightly, clearly trying to keep the tension light but Jungkook suddenly finds that his heart is not in the mood. 

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe in Namjoon. But he knows what his dreams are. And that voice. These are things he cannot ignore no matter how hard he tries. 

But the thing is, his dreams are real—Kim Namjoon does not keep his promise. Jungkook can see this across his face the moment Namjoon returns to camp, alone. 

“Not only did they know we were coming,” Namjoon explains quietly to the camp counselors, late in the night, at a meeting spot reserved for higher ups. “They had taken over the museum a few weeks before we showed up. It was an ambush. I… I couldn’t save Taehyung.” 

No. 

“No!” Jungkook cries out, standing up and making his position known—loitering in the background of the meeting. 

Namjoon meets his gaze from across the gap that separates them. “Jungkook?” 

Jungkook’s head is spinning, his breath coming out in gasps, as he backs up slowly away from the growing crowd of camp counselors. “Y-You promised me!” He accuses loudly, pointing at Namjoon. “You promised nothing would happen to Taehyung! You lied to me!” 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.” Namjoon steps out from amongst the group of counselors, a hand out in front of him as if approaching a frightened animal. “We were overwhelmed. If I could take it back and save him, I would—!” 

“Shut up!” Jungkook cries louder, running his hands through his hair. He should have known, should have known that weight in his gut was a warning and not a feeling. The tears in his eyes make it blurry to see anything to understand anything—because Taehyung is dead, along with his kindness and compassion and the safety he brought. “I hate you, I hate all of you!” 

Suddenly, there’s a rumble in the ground, a shake in the Earth so intense that a hushed silence falls over the crowd. At once, the ground splits open and a roar of fire explodes up from the pit, threatening to drag in anyone who gets closer. There are screams from the campers, from the counselors, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s so angry, so hurt, so lost. He doesn’t hear any of it. 

Until he hears your voice. “Jungkook!” You scream across the gap. 

Jungkook stills upon hearing you, lowering his arms and opening his eyes. Blinking away tears, he feels his heart rate slow back down to a manageable pace. The split in the ground closes before he looks up. He sees the camp counselors up ahead, equal looks of fear and horror across their eyes. 

He turns just enough to see you. You, with your wide eyes, looking confused and upset by what he has just done. And Jungkook feels nothing but disappointment. He has never done anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what it means. 

So he runs away. He runs away from Namjoon and this god forsaken camp that he knows will remind him of Taehyung. 

He runs away from the whispers from campers, a representation to serve that Jungkook will never truly belong here. 

He runs away from you, the only other person he would think to trust from now on. He can’t handle any of this anymore. 

. 

Two weeks after Jungkook runs away from Camp Half Blood, and a shadow of a figure appears to him in the midst of the evening air. It’s a ghost with a dark twisted smile, who calls himself Min Yoongi—a king in a past life, who now resides in the Underworld as a judge for all souls. 

He tells Jungkook that Jungkook is a son of Hades—which explains why he knew about Taehyung’s death, why he split the ground open all those weeks ago. There’s something borderline dangerous about Yoongi’s smile. 

Every fiber and nerve in Jungkook’s body is begging him not to trust this ghost. But, of course, Jungkook doesn’t listen. He stopped listening to things a long time ago. 

Besides, Yoongi soon makes offers that Jungkook cannot escape from. A way to bring Taehyung back, a way to strike revenge upon Kim Namjoon, a way—! 

Jungkook blinks the thoughts away. He had dozed off again, something he’s been doing a lot lately. 

“You should sleep,” Yoongi advises, his voice more of a whisper than anything else. There’s a touch of eerie to him, in his paper white skin and gray eyes. 

Even though Jungkook doesn’t desire sleep, far from it, he settles with listening to the ghost anyways. So he curls up on a makeshift pillow crafted from his beaten down (stolen) leather jacket, and closes his eyes. 

But instead of the previous nights, where he dreams about death and destruction, dreams up different ways Taehyung could have survived, dreams up Namjoon not caring about Taehyung’s death—he dreams of you. 

Dreams about you are such a rarity now, but they always make him feel warm. Content. Almost satisfied. 

In the dream, the pair of you are situated underneath a big tree at the edge of the forest. You’re in the middle of teaching him about Mythomagic—a card game he had immediately developed an interest for—and he realizes he’s dreaming about a memory this time. When he steals a look at you, he sees sunlight curling around your form, lighting up your hair and your eyes. He hears your laughter and sees the crinkle in your eyes. He can feel your happiness and the innocence in the air around you. He remembers the peacefulness, the calming nature of you. 

He misses it—he misses you. 

A cold chill running down his spine startles Jungkook awake as he springs into a sitting position. The fire before him has long since been put out, and Min Yoongi is floating in front of him. The latter wears a sharp look. “You’re dreaming about her again, aren’t you?” 

Jungkook sighs. Good things in his life could only last for so long. He runs a hand through his hair and turns to gather his jacket into his arms. “I thought I asked you to stop peeking into my mind.” 

“You were smiling,” Yoongi observes quietly. 

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook snaps. 

“It must have been a good dream. I couldn’t see the contents of the dream, just the subject.” 

“Stay out of my head!” Jungkook hisses, standing up and sliding his arms into the jacket. 

“You care deeply about her.” 

“What do I have to say to get you to stop talking about her?” Jungkook retorts hotly, feeling his temper rise. It had been a good dream. The best one he’s had all week. 

Yoongi looks at him passively. “Just answer one of my questions,” He settles calmly. 

Jungkook grunts. “Fine. What is it?” 

“Why exactly do you care so much about her? You hardly know her.” 

Jungkook slides his backpack over his shoulder. He ignores the touch of passive aggressiveness in Yoongi’s tone. “She was the only one at camp who went out of their way to make me feel like they actually gave a shit.” 

“She cares more about Namjoon than you,” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “She and Namjoon have been friends for longer. She only talked to you because of Namjoon, after all. And don’t you hate him?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You worry she doesn’t care for you the way you do. Haven’t you wondered why she hasn’t tried looking for you?” 

“Shut up.” 

“She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook explodes, turning towards Yoongi with his arm out in a striking motion. His arm cuts clean through the ghost, and he watches as the pieces wisp away into the air. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Yoongi will be back soon, probably to reprimand him, but mostly to carry on as if this hadn’t happened—to continue asking questions and continue trying to piss Jungkook off. It doesn’t matter. Jungkook could never bring Yoongi any harm. The latter is a ghost, after all. 

There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand. 

. 

Jungkook calls off his deal with Yoongi shortly after the You Incident—in which a series of dreams about you sent Yoongi on an accusatory streak that sent him back to the Underworld where he rightfully belongs. It’s good because he doesn’t want a ghost meddling in his personal business, and his personal feelings. 

It’s bad, however, because Jungkook no longer has an evil ghost by his side that offers up revenge. 

This leaves him to do the next best thing—try and summon Taehyung. 

As a son of Hades, his powers do include communicating with ghosts like Yoongi and cracking holes into the ground, but it also involves the ability to summon deceased souls. All that is required is a pit, some food, and a cantation in Ancient Greek. It’s supposed to be simple, and in a way it is. 

Except when the soul he’s trying to summon doesn’t want to be found, which is exactly how it has gone with Taehyung. He’s tried to get Taehyung’s attention for weeks now, to no luck. And he’s tried everything. 

Jungkook scowls to himself as he takes in the local convenience store to buy the various items he’ll need to attempt another summoning. Animal blood is one of the best tools for this type of power, but animal blood doesn’t exactly like up on shelves in aisles of grocery stores—so Jungkook has settled with fast food meals, chips, or anything cheap he can get his hands on. 

He glares at the lineup of sodas in front of his gaze, trying to focus but he finds his mind wandering against through his memories, picking the ones that are most guaranteed to make him feel like shit. 

His mind settles on a line Yoongi said to him countless times regarding you: She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you. 

His hands shake in his pockets, determined not to believe it, but finding himself pool with doubt nonetheless. 

“Jungkook.” 

He jumps out of his skin at the familiar voice he’s spent the past many months thinking about, as the sensation rings through his body. He experiences brief flashes of emotions he hasn’t undergone in awhile: peace, warmth, hope. He turns on his heel and can’t help the way his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

The months that have passed since his disappearance really does wonders to your face. You look older. You look wary, but well prepared. Most of all, your eyes are still that bright light he remembers more often than he cares to admit. But you also look sad, like the sight of Jungkook is worse than you expected. 

“Jungkook…” You say again, quieter this time. 

You saying his name again brings him back to reality, brings him back to where he is and why he’s here. He doesn’t need you. Like Yoongi said, you’re friends with Namjoon—and Namjoon is the reason why Taehyung is dead. His voice sounds hollow. “What are you doing here?” 

“I should be asking you the same question.” 

His scowl deepens as he settles for a Mountain Dew on the rack. “That’s none of your business.” He catches the hurt that flickers in your eyes, but he turns towards the cashier before he can feel sorry for you. 

You trail after him. “Please don’t shut me out,” You plead gently. You stay behind Jungkook as he pays for his food. “I came here looking for you.” 

“Awfully convenient—but I don’t think you should be wasting your time,” Jungkook grumbles, bounding out of the shop and stopping along the sidewalk. “Why don’t you go back to Namjoon and keep being his best friend and just leave me alone?” 

A sort of realization seems to settle in your eyes, as if you’ve just confirmed something. “I’m not leaving,” You say firmly after a moment. “I’m here by myself, Jungkook. No campers, no Namjoon, it’s just me. I know you’re mad at Namjoon, and you have every right to be upset. I know why you cracked a hole in the ground. I understand all that now. But I really think you should stop blaming Namjoon and hurting yourself. Namjoon didn’t mean to let Taehyung die—!” 

Jungkook whirls around, his eyes a twin set of fire. “Don’t say his name,” He snaps roughly, but falls silent when you don’t even flinch. 

How could he raise his voice at the only person who has gone out of their way to ensure his safety? 

He turns away. He doesn’t apologize, and you don’t ask him to. 

The pair of you don’t say anything for a long moment—Jungkook just makes his way down the sidewalk and you follow along. 

He stops after a moment. He turns himself just enough so you can see his profile. “Fine,” He says, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest when you flash him an appreciative smile. “I’ll let you tag along. But only because I feel bad for snapping at you. I’ve just…” He sighs. “Been going through a lot.” 

You step forward to stand by his side. “We can talk about anything you want to, Jungkook. I’m still your friend.” 

He swallows thickly at your offer, hoping that you don’t notice. If you do, you remain silent. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” 

. 

Two days after you join Jungkook’s travels, you seem to decide he is calm enough for a sensitive question. But you’re sneaky about it. You wait until the night, when both of you are curling around a fire—you in your sleeping bag, and Jungkook with his signature leather jacket makeshift pillow underneath his head.  “Why are you so afraid to talk about Taehyung’s death?” 

He flinches at the mention of Taehyung’s name, knowing that snapping and causing a scene would do nothing to stop you from asking the question over and over again. You had given him a few days, but something about your tone tonight tells him that you won’t take no for an answer. 

Jungkook turns his head to look at you. Your eyes are flickering against the fire. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.” 

You shrug a shoulder. “Sure.” 

He sighs, momentarily stumped. “I’m afraid that if I admit it, or let other people admit it in front of me, it’s true and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.” 

“I don’t think Taehyung would want you to bring him back, Jungkook. He saved Namjoon that day; he sacrificed himself for a reason—!” 

“Okay, my turn,” Jungkook interrupts, refusing to hear any of it. “Why are you here? Really?” 

You are quiet for a second. “I was sent on a quest to come find you,” You reply after a moment. “The oracle told me about a prophecy where you were in danger. It said you had made a deal with Min Yoongi, said you were considering a soul for a soul trade to get Taehyung back. I was scared for you, Jungkook.” You sit up in your sleeping bag, leaning across the space between the two of you. “My turn. Why don’t you want to believe that Taehyung sacrificed himself to save Namjoon?”

“Because why would he do that?” Jungkook retorts back. “Why would he leave behind everything he cared about? Why would he leave me—?” The words choke in the back of his throat as his heart rams painfully against his chest, the underlying reason for his bitterness surfacing up again. He thought he had smashed his grief down far enough where it would never have to see sunlight again. “It’s nothing. I’m not playing this game anymore.” 

You are quiet, watching as Jungkook curls into himself and turns his back to you. “When are you going to start letting me in?” You whisper. “I didn’t accept that quest for no reason, Jungkook, I came because I care about you. I want to help you.” 

I’ve already let you in, far more than I wanted to, Jungkook thinks to himself instead, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. 

“I know that Taehyung would have never wanted to leave you. He cared about you a lot, and saw you as the little brother he never had. You guys deserved more time. You deserved more time to have the family you never got to have. You wanna know the last thing Taehyung said to me, after introducing us to each other all that time ago? He said that you guys only knew each other for a short time, but you were the strongest person Taehyung had known. I know how much Taehyung wanted to be there for you. But he also had other responsibilities.” Your fingers twitch as if you want to reach over and grab onto Jungkook. “Namjoon had been the leader of the quest, he was the main priority. Taehyung had to make the call. He would never have wanted you to take the guilt for a decision he made on his own.” 

Jungkook hesitates, before rolling onto his back. “Why does Namjoon deserve my forgiveness?” 

Finally, he spares a glance at you. You’re still looking at him, gaze sharp over the fire. It distracts Jungkook momentarily, as his mind thinks about how different you are from fire. Fire can be harsh, blunt, unforgiving, and relentless. Like him. 

But you are like the sun—bright, warm, longing. You refuse to give up on him. 

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” You whisper. “Because everyone deserves a second chance.” 

He stares at you. He doesn’t know what longing dances behind his eyes, but you seem to know, because you avert your gaze and grumble something about going to sleep. 

He watches you turn to your side, and he wonders. 

. 

Jungkook has tried to summon Taehyung a grand total of ten times in the weeks prior to his run in with you. Each time is met with failure, because it seems like Taehyung does not want to be summoned which is disappointing and disheartening. To be honest, it makes Jungkook less and less enthusiastic to keep attempting something he cannot guarantee. 

But as you stand next to him over an empty pit the pair of you have spent the last thirty minutes digging up, you take your hand in his. You smile at him, nodding. “It’ll work this time.” 

So Jungkook pours in the Mountain Dew and dumps out the bag of chips he’s acquired into the hole. As he repeats the same cantation he’s said for the past ten times, the food starts bubbling as spirits from the Underworld fight to get a taste of the offering. 

“Show me Taehyung!” Jungkook calls out, although he sounds worried and unsure. 

At once, a spirit with a bright light, brighter than the others around it, shines through. It slides to the front to drink from the food at the bottom of the pit. The figure morphs and forms into Kim Taehyung. 

Despite everything, despite the long hours that Jungkook has committed to summoning Taehyung, the sight of his friend does not fill him with joy. It fills his eyes with tears. 

You notice, you always do. You squeeze his hand, but you also let go of him. “I’ll leave you two.” 

So Taehyung talks. He talks and talks, about his quest, about his sacrifice, about Namjoon, about forgiveness. 

This is something Jungkook has wanted for weeks. Yet, the longer Taehyung talks, the deeper he can feel the rifts of frustration. 

Frustration at Namjoon, for whom everyone is telling Jungkook to forgive. 

Frustration at Taehyung, for leaving him drowning in the sorrows of his own nightmares. For leaving him, even when he wasn’t ready to be left. 

Frustration at you, for always caring about him, even when he’s sure he doesn’t even care about himself anymore. 

When Jungkook releases Taehyung back to the Underworld, he feels like a hollow shell. He simply stands there, in front of the pit that brought forth his best friend. His mind is whirling with questions, with a curiosity. 

You approach him slowly. “Jungkook…” 

“You should go back,” He mutters. 

You actually look shocked at this now. “What?” 

He turns on his heel to address you properly. “Go back to camp.” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words come out like a snap. He tries to reprimand the situation when your face falls just a fraction. “Go back to camp,” He tries again, a little softer this time. He keeps his gaze on you, even when you look up to stare at him. “It’ll be okay. I just need a little bit of time.” 

At this, you nod slowly. You try for a smile. “Come back home, okay?” 

He thinks he knows what you mean, but you disappear before he can ask you. 

. 

He returns to Camp Half Blood after a few days, with his leather jacket and black iron sword. The campers that guard the border part for him like the Red Sea—with the exception of one camper. He’s an older camper, who even in the dark shines brighter than the moon overhead. It’s a son of Apollo quality. It belongs to Jung Hoseok, a camper Jungkook met when he first arrived at camp. Hoseok is like sunshine—he’s always bright and cheerful with a positive disposition. 

Today, despite still having that glint in his eyes, the boy wears a much more solemn expression. Almost as if he’s seen everything that Jungkook has gone through. Or, at the very least, has heard about it. “Hey Jungkook…” Hoseok greets. He doesn’t leave much room for conversation, because he gestures past the archway entrance, down the hill, towards the Big House—the main meeting place for campers, the central point of Camp Half Blood. “She’s waiting for you.” 

He doesn’t need a list of camp names to know who Hoseok is talking about. Jungkook just mumbles his thanks, trying not to draw too much attention to the flush against his cheeks as he follows the pathway down into camp. It’s late, so the grounds are devoid of people, making it easier for Jungkook to step onto the porch of the Big House. 

You’re on the porch, pacing back and forth with your thumb in between your teeth and you look nervous. You’re mumbling something underneath your breath. 

But your ears are just as good as your eyes, because as soon as Jungkook steps on the wood, you’re whirling around to face him. “Jungkook!” You exclaim, approaching him with tentative steps. “Y-You came back.” 

He levels you with a look, feeling a bashfulness overcome him. “You asked me to,” He says. There’s a slight pause. “I told you I needed time to think, and I have. You were right. Everyone deserves a second chance. It wasn’t fair of me to go after Namjoon the way I did.” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

Jungkook continues to stare at you, feeling a fondness overcoming him. “Thanks,” He finally settles with. “For, you know, finding me. For not giving up on me.” He looks down, scratching the back of his neck. “I should probably go find Namjoon and apologize.” 

You wave away his concern. “Namjoon is asleep.” You angle your head towards the oceanside that surrounds the camp. “Want to take a walk with me?” 

So you lead him through the camp, past the cabins of campers, past the archery set, past all that, to finally the beach located along the outskirts of the camp. It’s home to many boat races, surfing adventures, and firework displays. Currently, it’s devoid of activity. Right now there is merely a wooden pier that stretches out into the ocean, one that you and Jungkook walk down before you settle down at the edge. 

You pat the spot next to you, and Jungkook sits down. Since you don’t say anything, he allows himself to stare out at the horizon, and the movement of the ocean. When you still don’t say anything, Jungkook dares himself to look at you. The moonlight is cascading across your features. You look like home. You feel like home. 

You look at him suddenly, and knit your eyebrows. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“Oh, uh, no…” He trails off, forcing himself to look away from you. Should he tell you? Not tell you, but… “Hey Y/N,” Jungkook speaks before he can think otherwise. 

You look at him. “Yes?” 

Jungkook straightens his back a little. “I-I think I should tell you… I didn’t come back just for Namjoon. Actually, I came back to tell you that I, uh, well, I missed you—I mean, hanging out with you—I wanted to be a better person because of you—I mean, not just because of you, but—!” 

You start to smile at that, before you do something unexpected. You lean over and kiss his cheek. 

He feels like his body has just been shocked, the sensation dancing up and down his spine. “W-What was that for?” He’s trying to sound confused, but his nerves immediately start getting the best of him. 

Your smile is still present, but it’s a kind smile that touches your eyes and assures him of his choice to return. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. You still wear your emotions in your eyes. That’s one that hasn’t changed over the past year.” 

He scoffs, but his face feels hot and he’s sure the effect he’s trying to go for is lost anyways. 

[askthedustbowl]

friend of yours

persephone waits at a bar for hades to finish work. the owner is out, so she starts talking to the seventeen-year-old boy at the register while waiting for him to come back.

———

“goodnight, khaila.” persephone called to khaila as she watched her stride out of the six seeds, raising her hand in a wave. khaila waved back with a smile. outside, the sun was setting. the february sky glowed pink and blue, and persephone watched it for a second before closing up the store.

it was too cold for the light jacket she was wearing. hades had told her that he would send her a message at sunset, but when she looked at her phone, there wasn’t any word from him.

oh, well. she needed a drink, anyway.

crossing the street, she set off towards the bar she had seen while walking to work that morning. a sign hung in the window with “REOPENED” scrawled on it in big letters. come to think of it, persephone couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the lights on inside.

warmth greeted her as she opened the door, and she welcomed it by slipping off her jacket. the bar was full of people talking and laughing after work. in the corner, she saw some of her husband’s employees sitting together.

the atmosphere was comforting. it felt like home. persephone smiled to herself as she sat down at one of the barstools.

“he’ll be back in a minute.” a voice from behind the bar said softly. persephone looked up, then to her left. three stools away stood a boy behind the register.

“who will?” she asked.

the boy looked up from a notebook he had been writing in. “mister hermes.” he answered. at persephone’s confused expression, he added, “bartender. he’s just picking something up.”

“ah.” persephone drummed her fingernails on the bar. “that’s okay. i’ll wait.” she looked away, taking in her surroundings. something kept nagging at her, though.

the boy’s eyes looked so sad. sadder than any eyes persephone had ever seen. he seemed...hollow.

“so, what’s your name?” she turned back to him.

the boy didn’t look up from his notebook.

after a few moments, persephone tried again. “kid?” she asked. “what’s your name?”

the boy jumped when he realized she was talking to him, and persephone leaned back in her seat. “didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

he blinked. “orpheus.” he murmured.

“your name is orpheus?”

“yes.” he set down his notebook. “what about you?”

persephone smiled. “i’m persephone.” she almost saw orpheus smile back.

almost.

“nice to meet you,” he said softly. “miss persephone.”

her name sounded sweet in his fragile little voice. persephone felt something bloom in her chest, something kind and affectionate. she looked pointedly at the stool directly in front of him. “mind if i...?”

orpheus shook his head. persephone took her jacket and moved three seats down. “so you work here?”

orpheus nodded. he sat down on a stool beside the register.

persephone tilted her head. “how old are you?”

orpheus started fiddling with his pencil. “seventeen.” he mumbled.

“is that even legal?” persephone asked, raising her eyebrows. “are you even out of high school?”

at the wounded look in orpheus’s eyes, she wished she hadn’t said anything.

“mister hermes is my...” he paused. “my godfather.” orpheus put down his pencil and started playing with the hems of his sweater sleeves.

“you call your godfather mister hermes?” persephone didn’t know what was going on, but she desperately wanted to know this boy. he haunted her. “where are your parents?”

orpheus avoided her gaze. “do you want some water while you wait?”

persephone felt guilty. she shouldn’t have pried. whatever this kid had going on would take more than a casual conversation to explain. he looked kind of lost, so persephone agreed to the water, just to give him something to do. “sure.”

orpheus took a glass and pitcher of ice water from behind the bar. carefully, he began to pour her a glass. persephone watched him do so. his hands shook ever-so-slightly, and he seemed to notice. orpheus stopped halfway and switched hands. persephone couldn’t look away.

finally, he slid the glass across the bar towards her, almost as if he didn’t trust himself hand her the glass himself.

“thanks, kid.” persephone took a sip.

“you’re welcome.” orpheus replied. he clasped his hands together and set them on the bar.

they lapsed into silence while the rest of the bar teemed with life around them. it seemed strangely shameful to keep talking to orpheus after persephone had obviously upset him. luckily, it wasn’t her that broke the silence.

“hey, orpheus!” a man’s voice called from behind her. orpheus looked up, grateful for a distraction.

“mister dionysus.” he said, relieved.

persephone turned. a tall young man walked up to the register and held up his hand for orpheus to give him a high-five. to her surprise, orpheus granted him one, weak as it might be.

“how are you, kiddo? feeling alright?” dionysus spoke to orpheus easily, but there was a note of paternal affection in his voice.

orpheus nodded, smiling sheepishly. “yes, sir.”

“that’s what i like to hear.” dionysus grinned and put some money on the bar. “keep the change, orpheus. tell your godfather i’ll see him tomorrow.” he winked.

orpheus waved halfheartedly. persephone watched him leave.

“friend of yours?”

“i think so.“

persephone smiled. “he’s nice.”

orpheus nodded. “he left early today. usually he’s the last one in here.”

his words prompted persephone to look around. she was one of the only people left in the bar. “what time is it?” she asked.

orpheus glanced at the clock and persephone saw his mouth moving as he assessed the time. “it’s nine-thirty.” he said.

“is your godfather okay?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “it’s been a while.”

orpheus looked around. “you’re right.” he murmured. persephone saw his eyes widen. “he...he should be...” the color drained out of his face. “he...”

“hey, i’m sure he’s okay.” persephone tried to calm him. “traffic is crazy this time of night. people are getting back to their families from bars like this.” she looked at the clock. “he’ll probably be back soon.”

“he’s never late, miss persephone.” orpheus said, fear creeping into his quiet voice. at this point, she was the last person left in the bar. he scanned the place desperately as if he could find his godfather hiding behind a table or underneath a chair. persephone watched as his chest began to rise and fall faster and faster.

“orpheus, hey.” she put a hand on his. “he’ll be back soon. look at me.” orpheus’s wide eyes met hers. persephone had only known him for a few hours, but it felt like he filled a hole in her heart that she didn’t know existed. he was just a kid, and she felt for him. “breathe, sweetheart.”

orpheus heeded her suggestion and took a breath.

“he’ll be back soon.” as soon as the words left persephone’s lips, the door opened and a man that she assumed as hermes rushed inside.

“orpheus.” he exhaled in relief. orpheus looked like he could cry at any minute. hermes quickly let himself behind the bar and hugged orpheus tight. “i’m so sorry, orpheus. traffic was hell. i’m so, so sorry.” he pulled away and cupped orpheus’s cheek. orpheus closed his eyes. after a moment, hermes relaxed and dropped his hand, breathing a sigh. “are you okay?”

persephone looked at the floor, her glass of water, the register, anything to avoid looking at orpheus and his godfather. she was witnessing something she wouldn’t have been privy to under normal circumstances, and she was painfully aware of it.

hermes pressed his lips to orpheus’s forehead. “go upstairs and get into bed, okay? you haven’t stayed up this late in a while.” he hugged orpheus one last time and then let the boy go. once orpheus was out of sight, hermes put his head in his hands.

persephone tried to put on her jacket to leave without making any noise, but the legs of her stool scraped the wood floors as she stood. hermes looked up in alarm.

“oh, gods. i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you—“

persephone shook her head. “no, no, i was just leaving, it’s fine.”

hermes shrugged off his coat and held out his hand. “i’m hermes.”

persephone took it. “persephone.” she said. “you own the place?”

he nodded. “yes, i do.”

“nice place.”

“why, thank you.”

they were dancing around what had just happened, and they both knew it.

finally, persephone spoke up. “is he okay?”

hermes shook his head, a gesture that seemed to be directed more at himself than at persephone. “he’ll be alright.” he turned and adjusted a picture frame on the top shelf behind the bar. persephone couldn’t see all of the photo, but it looked like a woman smiling and waving.

“he’s quite a kid.” persephone said.

hermes turned back to her. “you stayed with him.” it wasn’t a question, but a realization. he offered her a grateful smile. “thank you so much for doing that. you didn’t have to.”

“i didn’t mind at all. he’s...good.” simple as it was, there didn’t seem to be a better descriptor for orpheus. the boy was genuinely good. she saw it in his sad eyes.

“he is.” hermes nodded. “persephone, if you want anything, it’s on the house. i can’t thank you enough for staying with him.”

persephone shook her head. “i couldn’t, really. it’s fine. thank you, though.” her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jacket, and she fished it out. the screen was alight with a text from hades.

running late, my love. is there somewhere you can get a drink while i deal with a mistake my secretary made? send me the address and i’ll pick you up as soon as i can. i don’t want you walking home this late.

her face must have showed her disappointment, because hermes brought out a tall bottle of vermouth. “just picked this up for business purposes, but i think we both need some right now.”

persephone gave in. “agreed.” she accepted the glass that hermes handed her. “thank you.”

hermes took a sip and closed his eyes as he swallowed. persephone nearly downed her glass in a matter of seconds, but held back.

“you’re his godfather?” she asked

hermes nodded. “we live upstairs.”

persephone took a sip of her drink. “convenient.”

he dipped his head in acknowledgement, but persephone could tell there was something else on his mind.

“he lost his mother two months ago.” hermes said gravely. “it’s been difficult.”

persephone felt like she had just been hit in the chest. that explained so much.

“i’m so sorry for your loss.” she reached over the bar to touch hermes’s shoulder. “that must have been terrible.”

“he didn’t take it well.” hermes added, shaking his head slightly.

“i don’t blame him,” persephone replied, her voice dripping with sympathy. “he’s so young.”

“there was a while there where i didn’t think he’d make it, either.” hermes poured himself another drink. “he didn’t leave the house for a month. i had to close the bar.”

persephone nodded.

“that’s why he was so upset when i was late. i can’t believe i did that to him.”

“that wasn’t your fault.” persephone frowned. “you couldn’t control it.”

“i suppose. but he gets this look in his eyes, like he’s lost or something, and it just kills me.” hermes looked at persephone, and she saw his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. he blinked. “i’m sorry. i don’t know why i’m telling you this. we just met.” he chuckled, a sad sound given the circumstances.

“no, it’s okay! really, it’s okay. i can’t remember the last time i had a genuine, human conversation.” she echoed his halfhearted chuckle.

hermes sighed. “i haven’t really talked to anyone about this since the funeral.” he admitted.

“i can only imagine.”

“thank you, persephone. for listening.” he straightened up and closed the vermouth bottle, walking out from behind the bar “please, take what’s left of this. i have a dozen others in the trunk of my car.”

“are you sure?” she eyed the bottle. “it looks expensive. i would hate to hurt business.” hermes smiled at that, and persephone felt an odd sort of pride.

“it’s the least i can do.”

“thank you, hermes.” she took it carefully. “i promise i’ll use it to its fullest potential.”.

“you’d better.” hermes replied easily. before he could say anything else, persephone’s phone buzzed.

“that’s my husband,” she told him. “he’s outside.”

“don’t let me stop you.” hermes held out his hand again, but persephone hugged him instead. he wrapped his arms around her, too.

persephone pulled away and touched his shoulder as she stepped back. “i’ll see you tomorrow night.” she said. hermes smiled and lifted his hand in a wave.

outside, hades greeted her with a kiss. “sorry it’s so late.” he apologized.

persephone looked at him with a newfound appreciation. hearing about poor orpheus’s mother made her realize that each day with her loved ones could be the last. “don’t worry about it, my love.” she said, to hades’s visible relief.

he looked pointedly at the dust bowl, where hermes could be seen in the window, locking up. “a friend of yours?” he asked.

persephone watched hermes disappear into the back room as the lights in the bar shut off.

“i think so.”

[humaudrey]

TheThings is back on their bullshit

(WARNING: LONG RANT AHEAD!!!!)

Anyone know how to delete a YouTube video from someone else's channel (or just their entire channel all together) because...

This

Is SO

I don't even have the words!!!!

Once again, your girl watches one of their videos (several times unfortunately to really analyze this ish) so y'all don't have to and let me tell you, this one is 1,000,000x more infuriating than the one when they belittled Uma to lift Mal and make her better in comparison (link to my post on that here).

I've been recommended this video so many times since the trailers for D3 dropped and when I saw the title, I KNEW I was gonna hate it and low and behold, I DID!

So let's go over their "5 Signs on why Audrey is the real threat", shall we?

#1. Audrey's Outburst

So, their first piece of evidence as to why Audrey's the unfathomable dark force (their exact words) is because of the fact that Audrey yelled no as Ben proposed to Mal, "ruining their beautiful moment". They then explain that it would be "natural for Audrey to be jealous since she is Ben's ex-girlfriend", being perfect okay with the ugly "black, bitter, ex-girlfriend" trope that many have loved to stick onto her in their fanfics (I see y'all 👀), and then compares that moment to when Ben asked Mal to be his date for coronation in D1, stating that she didn't react so strongly before, so why now? EXCUSE ME?! Our girl left the Tourney Field crying that her BOYFRIEND had serenaded another girl with a love song, and not a single person ran after her. She had every reason to be upset then, too. Who's to even say why Audrey's saying no? It could be a terrible misdirect on the trailer's part. The theory that Audrey's possessed is swirling around everywhere, maybe it had already begun to take effect, which is why she's "acting so strangely". D3 hasn't even been released and they're already villainizing her. Figures.

They also use the typical argument that Audrey's into titles and she wants what Mal has, and that she didn't want Chad because he was merely a prince.

She doesn't want Chad because CHAD CHARMING IS A MANIPULATIVE TOOL! Ask Evie! Chad only thinks that being king would get Audrey's attention. You wanna talk about jealousy? Titles? If ant character is jealous of anyone's titles, it's Chad freaking Charming, not Audrey.

#2. The Crown

An obvious piece of evidence is the fact that "Audrey" steals the Queen's crown and Maleficent's scepter from the museum. Whatever, right? They assume that Audrey's faking her slumber when the sleeping spell hits, giving her an alibi. They then have the FREAKING AUDACITY to say that AUDREY, a non magical princess, who has been so anti-magic since D1 (with a grandmother who she loves dearly, that's triggered by the mention of said spells and curses), was the cause of the curse. Their evidence? Well, her family's VERY familiar with it, so it makes sense, right?

NO!!!!

Audrey has NO magic whatsoever!!! Did they forget that? The only reason her family is "so familiar" with the sleeping spell is because THEY ARE VICTIMS OF SAID SLEEPING SPELL!!!! And it's not like she could cast it, because, again, AUDREY HAS NO MAGIC!! If anyone is familiar with a sleeping spell, it's Mal. After all, she almost put Evie under just so she could grab her mother's specter from her.

How dare you take an Innocent family's trauma and turn it around to make them the bad guys?

#3. The Scepter

They continue to say that "Audrey" is to blame for the sleeping spell, rather than Celia, Hades, or Uma because "Audrey" has the specter. And immediately, they suggest that maybe Audrey's not working only. You wanna bet who they hinted Audrey was cooperating with?

If you guessed Uma, you'd be correct. All because Uma's seen laughing in her teaser. WHAT?! So, not only do you attempt to take Audrey's entire character and drag it through the mud, you take ANOTHER black girl's name that you've already tried to ruin and tarnish and say they're working together because they're BITTER?

If they're BITTER, it's ONLY BECAUSE YOUR WHITE, PLAIN, BARNEY COLORED DRAGON FAIRY PRIVILEGED PRINCESS PROSPECT FAVE had treated them HORRIBLY.

They end their third sign with the line "We knew Audrey was a mean girl, but we didn't think she'd stoop so low".

The meanest thing Audrey has ever done INTENTIONALLY, was 1.) Tell Evie that she and her family don't have a royal status in Auradon (to which, she is technically correct) and 2.) Tell Mal that she and Ben wouldn't last because she's "the bad girl infatuation".

Jane should be branded the mean girl because she turns on the one girl that helped her with her rise to popularity (which, granted, was for malicious INTENTIONS and caused EVEN MORE self esteem issues by degrading her).

MAL should be branded the mean girl, if anyone! She's:

Dumped rotten shrimp on her former best friend because she laughed at her

Forced a guy to throw a party since his mother was away, knowing that his abusive mother wouldn't be okay with it

Then locked a girl in a closet full of BEAR TRAPS at said party all because she wasn't invited to her birthday party when they were SIX YEARS OLD

Dumped lye on another former best friend's hair because she DIDN'T WANT TO BE COMPARED TO HER

Told another girl that all she had going for her was her personality, so she needed the wand to make herself pretty

ROOFIED HER SOON TO BE BOYFRIEND INTO DATING HER IN THE FIRST PLACE JUST TO GET A FRONT ROW SEAT AT HIS CORONATION SO SHE COULD STEAL THE WAND

AND TAKES SAID WAND FROM THE GIRL SHE EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATED EARLIER AND POINTS IT DIRECTLY AT AUDREY ALL BECAUSE SHE KNEW THAT MAL WASN'T GOOD FROM THE JUMP

Let's see a video ranking Mal's top five worst moments, huh? There's plenty of those to use for a freaking video.

#4. It's All About Mal (sounds like D3)

They start this point off with: "Audrey has beef with Mal".

AS SHE SHOULD!

They use the fact that Mal stole her boyfriend and her title and their families history with one another, so Audrey has this motivation to ACT OUT AGAINST HER ENTIRE COUNTRY? Not buying it! I won't buy it, especially since both parties seemed to have made amends at the end of D1 when Mal silently curtsies as a lame form of an apology that Audrey gracefully accepts anyway like the future Queen of Auroria would. Audrey's even seen bowing willingly at the end of Set It Off, and is even cheering and dancing with her friends as Mal and Ben share their moment under the fireworks, so clearly, Audrey's not broken up about it in the slightest.

They propose a theory that Audrey's absence in D2 is because she's planning her revenge in Sherwood Forest, and that she doesn't have car troubles because "Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather should be more than capable of handling it, so she's only calling Chad to help her plot her scheme.

Whatever they're smoking, I want it.

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather can't help Audrey with her car troubles because of the MAGIC BAN!! They needed Chad to help with her car.

And I HIGHLY DOUBT that Disney would plan something so carefully since the entire series is branded with plot holes and inconsistencies anyway, so... 🐸☕

#5. Face Off Time

Their final point states that Mal has to face off against the enemy and they use the first teaser of dragon-Mal blowing fire at "Audrey" on top of the castle, and the card at the end that says "betrayal", that Audrey has betrayed all of Auradon. And since Mal only turns into a dragon against SERIOUS ENEMIES LIKE UMA IN D2, Audrey has to be a REAL THREAT.

Thank God they're probably not making a D4, because if they continue this trend of WOC wronged by Mal as the villain, I'd be scared for Evie...

So, in their words, Audrey and Uma, two of the few black girls in the entire franchise who have every God given right not to like/trust Mal, are Mal's MOST SERIOUS rivals, as if Hades doesn't at ALL pose a threat to Auradon. No, Audrey is So mUcH MOre THreATEninG thAN ThE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD, SO SHE MUST BE STOPPED!!!

I see you, TheThings, and if I didn't despise your channel before, I hate it that much more now after enduring 5 minutes of hell with you guys.

AND, TO TOP IT ALL OFF THEY CLEARLY SHOW THEIR BIAS OF MAL OVER AUDREY!!

Like, just say you're racist and GO! Audrey's clearly influenced by some magical being, whether it be Hades (WHO WE SEE DOING SOME KIND OF MAGICAL RITUAL WITH HER AND HIS EMBER IN A TRAILER, BUT I GUESS THEY CHOSE TO IGNORE IT FOR SOME REASON 🐸☕), Dr. Facilier, Celia, or maybe even Maleficent. Your reasons for making Audrey the villain are pathetic, and I wish I could block a YouTube Channel so I would NEVER see another video from your channel ever again.

I'm so sick of how "mean" brown girls are treated in media AND fandoms. Why does Audrey get all of his libel while Mal gets away with EVERYTHING? Why are the Cheryl Blossoms, the Quinn Fabrays, the Kitty Wildes, and every other mean girl that Emma Roberts has ever played are so praised and are instant fan favorites while the Josie McCoys, the Santana Lopezes, and the Brees are seen as the bullies when, at the end of the day, they're both different sides of the same damn coin?

And if you don't see a problem with this, then, newsflash, you are the problem!

So, I end my rant with this:

And a short tag list containing: @amityravenclawelf and @coco-rena because I know these two are looking forward to this!

Have a wonderful day everyone!

And I apologize for the typos but I was HEATED!!

[monikea]

Norma Jeane Baker of Troy

[Disclaimer: this is not a review. I’m not a reviewer and have no idea how to write these; this is just a note to myself that I will be able to read when I’m 60 years old and which I share here, as paper might burn but the Internet never forgets :D]

Norma Jeane Baker of Troy, The Shed, NYC, 12-19 May 2019

New scene

Enter Ben Whishaw as Norma Jeane Baker

I’m not sure what to focus on here – the play or the fact that I FINALLY WENT TO NEW YORK. This past week was so full of, well, everything to me. I always dreamt of leaving Europe for a trip, but only recently managed to save money for that. I have been tremendously sad not to be able to see Ben in ‘The Crucible’, to the point that during the last show I sat on a beach in Spain and couldn’t focus on how lucky I was to be on a beach in Spain – all I wanted was to be in the Walter Kerr Theatre.

The funny thing is, if I were now to choose between ‘The Crucible’ (I saw a recording of it in NY Public Library last week) and NJBoT, I’d choose Norma Jeane without thinking twice. I saw this play 7 times in a row which, I think, speaks for itself.

In the end, I was so lucky as to go to NYC for 10 days with my Ben family, as I like to think of them, people who I know from Ben’s Facebook fan group. I will never take it for granted and it wouldn’t have been the same without them. To go to New York, for over a week, with my best friends, to see Ben Whishaw 7 times in a mind-blowing play – I still don’t know what I did to deserve it. I won’t name them here, as I’m not sure they wish to be mentioned, but one of them kindly offered to host some of us, and I was even more lucky to stay in a real Manhattan flat. In all fairness, this is what made the entire trip possible – or at least what made seeing Ben 7 times in a row from up close possible!

The pace was rather insane. Last time I slept so little was 10 years ago when I went on a summer camp to Portugal, where I was going to sleep at 6am and waking up at 8am to go to work. Just being in New York didn’t allow me to rest. Finally, after so many years of hoping, I was in the city of my dreams, a city where I could name all the buildings and streets without ever being there, just because everyone does know them right? After all, we are being bombarded with images of New York through different movies, series, songs, books. And this place actually does exist and is not just a Hollywood creation. We started every day bright and early (thanks to the time difference it felt like waking up at 12pm) and went off to see the city. Then, every night, we took subway 7 to Hudson Yards to go to The Shed. The only night we didn’t do it was Monday, when there were simply no performances – but trust me I’d have gone if they took place.

That’s enough about Fritz Lang and the city.

The first time we saw the play (12 May) I sat very far, I believe it was the 4th row from the back. Since I then saw it 6 more times, it wasn’t a massive loss, but overall I’d say two things: 1/this play had to be seen from close up, as the lightning was so dim, otherwise you wouldn’t see what happened on the stage and 2/ this play had to be seen multiple times. I truly believe seeing it just once wasn’t enough. It wasn’t like Shakespeare that everyone kind of knows and knows what to expect. I like to compare this play to Hamilton, which is my obsession number 2 (after Ben), where the text is so rich and full of references and innuendos, that it is actually best to come see the show already knowing the lyrics and backstory from listening to the soundtrack. Same happened here, the language or the text worked alongside the actors and I think if you just saw the play once, it wouldn’t make much sense and you’d miss a lot of its beauty. I was already familiar with the story of Marilyn before seeing it (although I did some extra research, read Euripides’ ‘Helen’ etc.), but I heard some people didn’t even know that Marilyn’s real name was Norma Jeane – good luck with that! Anyway, I digress. As we sat very far, I remember I had to lean forward and really strain my eyes to see what was happening. I could barely notice Ben painting his fingernails (it was more that I already heard he was doing it, which made me notice – otherwise it was too dark to see!) or couldn’t get the details of his lingerie or dance. The sound wasn’t bad, but I’d say in this play the visuals are equally important and I completely missed that part. So I spent the first performance pretty much hoping that the next one – where I was supposed to sit closer – would already come.

About 30 minutes after the show has finished, we spotted Ben coming down the escalator. We actually chose deliberately to go on that day (12 May) as that’s when we expected (and weren’t wrong 😉) that he’d win a BAFTA for his performance as Norman Scott (Norma, Norman… his best roles, trust me) in A Very English Scandal. He was alone and about to leave the theatre, but had a while for us – we congratulated him on the BAFTA, to which he just said ‘thank you’ (I’m quite sure he himself got to know about it only minutes beforehand) and then I talked to him about NJBoT, which was the first time that I managed to talk to him about the show at hand. All the previous times I met Ben, I was talking to him about his previous shows or just telling him general thanks. I don’t remember exactly what I said that Sunday, but it surprised me that I managed to say something about Norma. Most importantly, I asked if I can hug him and he just said ‘sure’ and my biggest dream came true and I hugged Ben for a while . He is the sweetest, kindest human being and has so much patience for his fans.

For the second performance, in the end with my friend we decided to exchange seats for even closer ones, as we didn’t want to go through the pain of seeing so little again. Oh Greek gods, what a difference did it make. I finally saw what was happening on stage! On Tuesday it still wasn’t the 1st or 2nd row, so couldn’t see Ben’s face very well, but oh my. I suppose here I will start my general thoughts about the play, irrespective of the day I saw it, as from Wednesday onwards I was sitting pretty much always in the 2nd or 1st row (just once – will get back to that). If I were to describe all remaining 6 performances in detail, this would become a book, not a Tumblr note and not sure anyone would even read it!

This play was everything my poor heart could hope for. Ben finally plays the main role (which is even more prominent since there are only 2 actors on the stage) and there is nothing to take your attention away from him. Renée only emphasizes his powerful presence on stage and in fact one of my impressions after seeing the play and having read it was that they both play the same person. After all, Norma says ‘I am my own chorus’ – and Renée was her chorus. Reflecting her/his thoughts (I will continue using the pronoun ‘his’ as in the text the character is designated as Norma Jeane, but on stage I think Ben played a male playwright, who only gradually becomes Norma), never negating anything, but giving him new ideas, as if they were formed in his brain and took a tangible form as Renée. I think there can be many interpretations here, but I particularly like this one, also because in the text of the play only one character is mentioned – Norma Jeane. Renée’s character isn’t mentioned anywhere in the text and was obviously added just to make it more stage friendly. It was really hard for me to take my eyes away from Ben throughout the play, but when I finally managed to do it, it was amazing to see how they exchanged looks and this interplay of emotions was what made it even more amazing.

The play tells a story of a playwright who creates a replica of Marilyn Monroe out of himself – both visually and mentally. He is mourning her and hires a scribe to write down his stream of consciousness about Norma Jeane. He gradually drops his own male clothes to put on the entire Marilyn attire, which is a beautiful… replica of what was worn back in the 50s (the longline peach corselette and matching panty girdle – not for the faint hearted!) together with Marilyn’s white fluffy mule heels, later on changed to her Seven Year Itch strappy sandals and the iconic white dress (there is an additional layer of white underwear that Ben puts on the girdle); ultimately he wears also the platinum white Marilyn wig. On the mental side, he gradually descends into the depths of Hades and ultimately kills himself, like Marilyn did. In the meantime, he plays ukulele (just like Marilyn), has numerous mental breakdowns, perfectly imitates her delicate dreamy voice (and that of Truman Capote), mocks Arthur Miller’s dimpled white buttocks and dances the entire sequence from ‘The Prince and the Showgirl’ (see here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOkv4jV1-Bo) – more about that dance later on. One remark here – this play spoke so much to me because since I remember I always took style inspiration from my favourite bands and later on actors – even now I proudly wear my black Kanken, inspired by Ben. So yes, I completely understand Ben’s character here. He also adds the breasts, hips and bum padding underneath his lingerie (and moves like a ballerina) and here I must brag, but a kind message to all people who LAUGHED mockingly at it – please go back to primary school and… just stay there. There are two actors, who, in case you don’t realise are real people and laughing off at what they do onstage is just horrible. In case you laughed out of embarrassment, fine, I get that not everyone has to be comfortable with Ben Whishaw applying fake butt under his undies, but for god’s sake, please express it differently than by laughing and commenting. Or laugh internally. Or I don’t know. Good lord. And no, that wasn’t a moment which was supposed to make you laugh, like for example Ben imitating Capote’s voice.

There is this beautiful moment, about 30 mins after the show begins when Ben plays the ukulele and sings ‘I am that Persephone, Who played with her darlings in Sicily, Against a background of social security. Oh what a glorious time we had. Or had we not? They said it was sad. I was born good, grown bad.And isn’t that how it always starts, this myth that ends with the girl ‘grown bad’?, and Renée continues: ‘She’s in a meadow gathering flowers twirling her own small sunny hours’. (I might be a barbarian, but I truly don’t understand people who were like – wow, he dared sing on the same stage as Renée Fleming! – I am a newborn Renée Fleming fan, but come on people. He’s Ben Goddamn Whishaw :D). Suddenly the mood changes dramatically, when everything becomes dark and Ben says in a sinister voice ‘When up rides a man on black horses. Up rides a man in a black hat. Up rides a man with a black letter to deliver’… I don’t know how he does it but in this moment I see Hades in a black robe (yet Ben is still in his peach corset) who came to do something unforgivable. The entire story changes then, when Renée exclaims ‘rape’. ‘Rape is the story of Helen, Persephone, Norma Jeane, Troy’ they continue. Renée then sings ‘War is the context and God is a boy. Oh my darlings, they tell you you’re born with a precious pearl. Truth is, it’s a disaster to be a girl. Up came the black horses and the dark King. And the harsh sunshine was as if it had never been. In the halls of Hades they said I was queen’. That’s what they always say, isn’t it?

She sings it again just at the end of the play when Ben’s Norma Jeane dies and at that point I wasn’t crying, I was ejecting bodily fluids. Apologies to those sitting around me.

Back to Ben’s dance. This play is full of what in Polish I’d call ‘smaczki’ – little flavours that make this play the most tasty dish ever served. Ben’s voice changes, whenever he imitates someone; Renée’s gorgeous singing; the music which was composed uniquely of Renée’s mixed voice; the funny moments, which can so suddenly and unexpectedly turn into the most frightening scene, when in the middle of mocking Arthur of New York and Sparta, a phone rings and everyone is terrified. There’s an enormous amount of language play (language is a third actor on the stage, with gorgeous explanations of the etymology of Greek words – in fact, Ben has an English-Greek dictionary on the desk), there’s Ben playing ukulele and singing, there’s putting on makeup, there’s changing clothes, there’s shouting and throwing things around and then there’s the dance.

My god what Ben can do. WHAT THIS MAN CAN DO. He is so ethereal, lithe, yet with well-toned muscles and he suddenly starts to give this beautiful coy dance, where throughout he hides his face in charming embarrassment and smiles sweetly to Renée. This is one of the moments when I am almost angry that I have to translate my soul, as it would be so much easier to find perfect words for this in Polish, but at least my head is full of them. Writing about this dance (or this play) is anyway as futile as dancing about architecture. Ben looks perfect then, he is just perfection personified. With his little smile, his peach corselette (some other note here on Tumblr said that ‘Ben Whishaw should just exist in this corset’ and yes, he should), his bottle green male pants and the fluffy heels (the connection of the female corselette and the male suit pants is just… send firemen). On top of that, Renée sings like an angel and my brain is so overstimulated from listening to all those language games and being in New York to actually experience it that… (where are the firemen?!)…

But the thing is – and that’s why this play is so amazing – that when you actually find the superhuman power in yourself not to focus on Ben’s dance only, but to also listen to the song they play to it, your brain suddenly registers that something doesn’t fully stick – the music is super cheerful (note: it is not the same music as the one in Marilyn’s video from ‘The Prince and the Showgirl’) – it’s a typical 50s song with blurred voices, but the text is rather morose and it goes like ‘Dirt is matter out of place, matter out of place. A poached egg on your plate at breakfast is not dirt. The poached egg on page 202 of the Greek lexicon in the library of the British Museum is dirt. Dirt is something that has crossed a boundary it ought not to have crossed. Dirt confuses categories and mixes up form’ (I researched a bit and there’s an entire book on this topic, ‘Purity and Danger’ by Mary Douglas, where the main point being analysed is that what is regarded as dirt in a given spot is any matter out of place. What was considered clean in Sparta, wasn’t clean in Troy and vice versa. That’s the gist. Anne Carson I love you.)

Noone cries like Ben Whishaw. It really hurts all parts of my body to watch this. And it is so beautiful to watch Renée being concerned about him and the state he found himself in. One of the most beautiful scenes in the play is when Ben sits down at his desk and Renée very delicately takes his head in her hand and applies the fake eyelashes to his eyes, singing in a way that makes my heart break. There is so much love in this scene and acceptance and will of help and saying: I’m here for you and I will go with you on this journey.

And then suddenly you see he starts to take the pills and swallowing them with the fake theatre champagne and that’s when I start ejecting bodily fluids again. Renée comes back with her ‘Up came the black horses and the dark King. And the harsh sunshine was as if it had never been. In the halls of Hades they said I was queen’.

I suppose this text I wrote now will never be finished as memories and new realisations will keep on coming back to me and that’s where the beauty of this play lies – it’s an endless fishing ground for references and innuendos, interpretations and new things to be understood. But, enough for now.

I talked to Ben 3 more times after the play, on 14, 17 and 19 May. I now barely remember what I said precisely, but on Tuesday I told him how utterly enchanted I am by this play and that it talks about so many important things to me and doesn’t seem strange at all. Sunday was mad, as one can expect after the end of a run, with a long queue of fans (I gave Ben bright red roses, thanked him for the umpteenth time and complimented his new shirt, which he bought on Friday – don’t ask how I know it, I’m just a very careful observer LOL. He is my style guru, so I had to haha). With my friend we even managed to chat to the CEO of The Shed, Alex Poots, who was so amazed that we saw Norma Jeane 7 times, that he took out his iPhone and asked us to record a video where we recommend the show (bit late for that on the last night, but he can rest assured that I will be back!).

But Friday was just something else. Perhaps it was the power of red wine or the fact that Ben was going home alone and not with Mark or friends, but we approached him together with quite a few other fans and I swear to god, we had the funniest ever chat with him. To put it briefly, Ben was surrounded by around 10-15 fans and chatting to us in a very lovely, cheeky way (I love his sense of humour. I love everything about him, but that night it was just too much). Like imagine it. Someone asked him ‘Ben, what is the perfume that you wear?’ and he goes ‘Oh, it’s this, wait, I’ll show you’ and he took the perfume out of his tote bag and demonstrated it to everyone, gaining a round of ‘Awwwwwwww’. I still can’t believe it happened haha. One of my friends asked if he saw and liked Bjork and they chatted a bit about it and then Ben asked us if we did see her too, to which I replied ‘no, because we saw ANOTHER SHOW’. I could see that he was thinking and then suddenly it clicked, but I guess by that time he was perfectly aware that some of us saw it 7 times haha. He also told us ‘Don’t sit again in the first row, I can see you all’ (that’s what I meant when I said I will get back to the issue of sitting in the 1st row :D). Sweet lord. Best week of my life.

Exeunt omnes singing.

[queenofcats17]

The Admiration Of A God

So, @insane-control-room has amazing characters and art, and I find their interpretation of Bertrum especially interesting. I’m very into mythology. And I was talking with Control recently and learned Bertrum’s transition was a fairly recent thing. So I wanted to write something with it

Bertram knew very little about the Norse pantheon. He had had virtually no contact with them in all his many years of existence, and that was the way he’d expected it to stay. After all, the Norse deities moved in a separated circle and were all busy with their own lives and problems. Most of them probably weren't even interested in what went on in the Greek pantheon. However, one day, when he showed up to work, one of them was waiting for him. He entered his work area to find a woman seated at the desk he used for drawing up plans. 

She looked young, maybe 20 at the very most. Upon first glance, he thought perhaps she was an ordinary person. But then he looked closer. Although she was dressed in ordinary clothing, a simple black dress and brown boots, there was something distinctly inhuman about her. Her hair was black, so dark it seemed to swallow up all light. Her skin was pale, as though she’d never been in the sun before. The eyes that wandered about were a shade of green that was most definitely not found in nature. For a moment, he thought she was perhaps from Olympus. But...No. Her presence was unfamiliar to him. Finally, the woman seemed to notice him, standing up and brushing her dress off. 

“I hope you don’t mind my using your desk.” She said, folding her hands in front of her. “I wasn’t sure how long I would be waiting, and Mr. Drew informed me that I should come here to see you.”

“It’s...fine.” Bertram edged over to his desk. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“No.” The woman remained standing, watching him. “I didn’t come because I needed something from you. I came because I wished to see you.” She was honestly a little unsettling if he was being honest. She didn’t seem to blink. 

“I see.” He said slowly. His instinct was to look anywhere but at the woman, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with her. Despite her stoic expression, he could see warmth and understanding in her eyes. That was probably a good sign. 

“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.” The woman smiled ever so slightly. “You must be rather confused. My name is Hel. I’m the Norse goddess of death, a colleague of your uncle, Hades.” She held out her hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bertram tentatively reached out and shook her hand. If she was a colleague of his uncle’s then perhaps he could trust her. Still, he couldn’t fathom why a goddess of death would want to see him.

“You as well, Mr. Piedmont.” She nodded her head in a gesture of respect. After a moment, they both withdrew their hands. 

“You said you came to see me,” Bertram said, sitting down at his desk. “May I ask why? I’m sure you have duties you have to attend to.” 

“I do have duties, yes,” Hel admitted, sitting as well. “But there was a lull and I thought now was a good a time as any to come.”

“But why?”

“I...” Hel’s eyes lowered to where her hands laid in her lap. “I wanted to say that I admire you.” Bertram just stared at her. He was quite certain he had heard her incorrectly.

“Pardon?” 

“I admire you,” Hel repeated, looking up to meet his eyes. 

“I’m...not entirely sure where this came from.” Bertram cleared his throat, beginning to shuffle some papers on his desk. “I’m quite certain we’ve never met. Surely, I’ve done nothing notable enough to draw your attention.”

“I’ve heard about you from Hades. He talks fondly of you.” Hel said. She paused, her cheeks beginning to turn pink. “I realize it might have been a bit...rude of me to show up like this. You’re right, we’ve never met.” She began to play with her hair. “But...I heard about your transition from Hades and I...” She laughed quietly. “I couldn’t help but admire you for that. For putting your own happiness first. For defying your role. I could never be that strong.”

“You think I’m...strong?” Bertram asked, feeling his own cheeks begin to heat up. He paused in shuffling the papers, placing them down.

“Incredibly so.” Hel smiled softly. “There are so few deities who have the strength to do what you have.” Bertram just stared at her. 

“I’m sorry.” She laughed nervously. “Have I gone too far? I don’t interact with many people outside of my wards. Have I...offended...” She trailed off when she saw Bertram’s expression change. He looked as though he was trying to hold back tears. 

“Are you alright?” Hel’s voice was quiet. Her first instinct was to reach out and try to comfort him with her touch. It was what she always did when someone in her family or one of her wards was upset. But she thought better of it. It would have been terribly rude to touch Bertram in such a familiar way.

“I’m...I’m fine.” Bertram cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “I’m fine. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”

“Very well. If you say so.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment or two before Bertram spoke once again. 

“...Thank you.” He whispered. 

“For what?”

“I appreciate your admiration.” Bertram allowed himself to smile. “I...I would be lying if I said that this has been easy. I appreciate that you find what I did to be...positive. Not everyone feels that way.”

“Change can be difficult for many people to process,” Hel said. “Granted, my experience with others rejecting change comes from people begging for me to return their deceased loved ones. Still, I think as long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“I appreciate that you think that way.”

Hel leaned on the desk. “Do you enjoy working here?”

“I...I do.” Bertram said after a moment of thought. “The people here can be rather strange, but I find myself becoming rather protective of them.”

“That sounds nice.” Hel’s expression grew wistful, and Bertram couldn’t help but observe just how young she looked up close. He could also now see the dark circles under her eyes. 

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like, to live as a human.” She admitted, resting her head on her hand. “My father has told me it’s quite nice. Not having the expectations and responsibilities of a god.”

“Have you never tried living among humans?” Bertram asked. He was a little curious about her, admittedly. She was from a different pantheon, after all. Hel’s expression darkened, her lips set in a thin line. She drew back, her hands returning to her lap. 

“I’m...forbidden from doing such things.” She said. 

“Forbidden?” He echoed. Hel nodded, her hands curling into fists. 

“I’m allowed to leave my kingdom, but I cannot live among humans.” Her voice was small, resigned. “I am a child of evil, or so they say.”

“I’m sorry.” Bertram honestly wasn’t sure how to react to this. There was clearly some sort of story behind her words, a story he didn’t know and felt it would be inappropriate to ask about. 

“There’s no need for you to apologize.” Hel took a deep breath, uncurling her hands and smoothing out her dress. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. It’s a long story and I wouldn’t want to drag you into the drama of my pantheon. I’m glad you enjoy working here. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you?” This interaction had started out strange, become touching, and now it was back to strange again. He got the distinct feeling that Hel didn’t talk to a lot of people. Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by Lacie’s arrival. Bertram visibly relaxed when he saw hir enter. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Lacie paused in the doorway, frowning slightly.

“No, not at all.” Bertram couldn’t help but smile upon seeing hir. “This is Hel. She’s a colleague of my uncle’s.” He fully expected Hel to introduce herself to Lacie as she had to him. Instead, Hel just stared at Lacie intently, her brows furrowed ever so slightly. Lacie stared back. 

“Is she...alright?” 

“I’m not sure. Miss Hel? Are you alright?” Bertram asked, gently shaking her shoulder. 

“Have we met before?” Hel asked, standing up. 

“Not as far as I know,” Lacie replied. Hel took a step closer, continuing to study Lacie in a manner that was rather unsettling. Lacie didn’t like things that didn’t blink. It was one of the reasons why she disliked the Bendy animatronic so much. Hel didn’t blink.

“Can I help you?” Lacie instinctively took a step back.

“You remind me very much of my father,” Hel said. She seemed to understand that she was making Lacie uncomfortable and had stopped advancing. But she was still staring. Still not blinking. 

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Lacie raised an eyebrow. 

“It could be.”

Lacie looked over at Bertram, a deadpan look on hir face. Bertram grimaced. 

“Anyway...” Lacie moved away from Hel a bit. “You drew up plans for a new attraction yesterday, right?” 

“I did!” Bertram began sorting through his papers. “Give me a moment. I’m not sure where I put it.” He frowned as he flipped through them. “That’s strange. I could have sworn I had it here.”

“Maybe you gave it to Joey,” Lacie suggested.

“Ah, yes, that’s probably what happened.” Bertram murmured. “I’ll go fetch it.” He left the room before Lacie could stop him. Lacie tensed a bit upon being left alone with Hel. Both of them were silent for a long time. Then Hel smiled apologetically. She had a rather nice smile. 

“I’m sorry. You must think me terribly rude.” 

“Not really,” Lacie said. “You just seem kind of weird.”

“I suppose that should be expected.” Hel extended her hand. “Let’s start over. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Hel. I’m the Norse goddess of death and a colleague of Bertram’s uncle, Hades.”

“Lacie Benton.” Lacie shook her hand. “Nice to meet you too.” She still wasn’t entirely comfortable being in the same room with Hel, but at least Hel seemed to be remembering to blink now. The fact that the woman before hir was a god didn’t really phase hir. Bertram was a demigod, his father was dating Norman. This stuff was pretty much par for the course for hir life at this point.

“Are you and Bertram friends?” Hel asked, withdrawing her hand. 

“Kind of.” Lacie fought to keep hirself from grinning. Oh, she and Bertram were so much more than friends. Hel noticed this reaction. 

“More than friends, then. Lovers perhaps?”

“So, why did you come here, exactly?” Lacie asked, quickly changing the subject. “You’re from a different pantheon, right?” 

“Well, I’d heard a lot about him from Hades,” Hel said. “And...I wanted to tell him how much I admire him for being able to defy his role and put his own happiness first. So many of us...We don’t get to be people. We have to live our lives according to a story written long before we were born.” 

“He is pretty great, isn’t he?” Lacie couldn’t help but smile. 

“He is.” Hel agreed. “And I’m glad he has someone like you to support him. You seem like a lovely person.”

“Thanks.”

“I should probably be going.” Hel glanced down at her wrist. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but there was a bracelet there, made of leather cord and with a black stone in the center. 

“It was lovely meeting you.” She continued, looking back up at Lacie. “I wish both you and Bertram the best.” Then she vanished into the floor. Lacie let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t known she’d been holding in. Hel seemed like a nice enough person, but there was something about her that just put Lacie on edge. Bertram returned a few minutes later and the two of them returned to their normal work routine. Bertram was in rather good spirits, which made Lacie happy to see. Bertram deserved that admiration. He was strong. Strong and kind and clever and Lacie loved him. She was glad she wasn’t the only one.