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[whisperedfury]

PROMISING YOUNG WOMAN 2020, dir. Emerald Fennell

[whisperedfury]

invrse​:

FOR: @whisperedfury​​ ​WHERE: TARTARUS; ELYSIUM; BASEMENT LAB WHEN: 2130.02; FIRST WEEKEND BACK

He can count the amount of times he’s left the confines of this self-imposed prison since returning home—once to check in with Nyx to make sure they’re on the same page for getting Than clean (a necessity), once because Mino had asked his time for an evening (a distraction), once to return a jacket borrowed to Alecto’s now-empty room (a mistake). Where before, the lab had become a looming creature from beyond, seemingly determined to trap him from the light of day until he’d given all he has to feed the appetites on high, he now willingly tucks himself deeper into its guts. Trying to lose himself in work, trying to work away the loss and guilty conscience.

It hasn’t worked yet, but his other option is to sink, and he can’t afford that when he has to undo what he created. So he keeps the door locked, changing the key anew to make sure only those who need access are allowed in, and he disappears behind a wall of good intentions turned wrong.

The beeping of the lock has him flinching away from the notes he’d been pouring over, turning to the door with wide-eyed alarm. No one should be coming to find him at this hour—what time is it anyway? how long has been down here already?—no one should be able to enter so easy, so who is this? His phone is dead, he has no way to check if he’d left himself a reminder in a more lucid moment, how long has he been here?

The door slides open, near silent. A familiar figure more shade than human slipping through the gap to step into the light. He deflates. Meg. Hesperia. Argus. Another potential mistake in the making. Right.

Wordless, he holds the bottles out to her in an open palm, pills inside rolling innocuously with the motion. Each is no bigger than a child’s thumbnail. One a flat disc of condensed powder giving off a pale lavender cast under the fluorescent lights—mostly harmless, mostly effective, good for when you don’t want to feel so much your skin burns with the air and your brain threatens to rattle out your skull. One an oblong capsule filled with an indiscernible liquid—not as harmless, not as safe, but meant to drag your senses kicking and screaming into the light when you’re this close to being buried in the mire.

He doesn’t hurry her, doesn’t pressure her to take them, simply waits without expectation for the inevitable acceptance he already knows will come.

She hated herself for putting Hypnos in this situation. Absolute fucking hatred, marrow deep and burning, white hot shame on her face.

But she’d hate herself more if they lost someone else. If it was something that she could have prevented, had she only known, had she only connected the very obvious dots in front of her. One could only thrive on fear and fumes and fury for so long, Megara rationalized, and so she crept into Hypnos’ lab late one night - or was it early. 

She had the key, of course, she always did, but it gutted her to see how they flinched at the sounds. To track the darkness under his eyes, the distant way that her darling Hypnos held out the bottle towards her, wordlessly. Megara moved forward from the shadows. One hand swiftly pocketed the bottle while her other arm wrapped around his torso, free hand coming to rest on hollow cheek. She kissed his temple softly, and lingered there - needing the safe affection just as much she thought Hypnos might.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, even though she was sure Nyx and Than and all the others had assured them countless times. If her murmured confession, voice thick which emotion she’d been containing for weeks counted for anything, then she’d repeat this a million times. Megara kissed his forehead once more before pulling back just a bit, still keeping contact.

“We are all adults, old and clever enough to make our own choices.” She brushed back his hair affectionately, and then felt the tiniest echo of guilt over what she would eventually ask of them. “It’s not fair for everyone lean on you, it should be me,” her voice cracked with emotion. “I’m the oldest. It’s my responsibility. And you are not responsible for how we all try to fix what’s been broken. Please don’t ever think that,” she leaned in close again. “I should have better prepared the others, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

“But I need you to do something else for me, please?”

[whisperedfury]

nyxerebvs​:

Nyx moved to sit next to Megara, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t want to be suffocating, but she did want to be there. She remembered how it had felt, the first time. Like her chest had been replaced with a well of loneliness, like she was an island in a dark, vast sea.

She nodded. “Of course it was easy. We trained you well.” And they wouldn’t have given her a difficult job on her first time. It was complicated enough, with the moral hang-ups that might arise in the process. They had no intention of making it any more difficult.

“The hard part is after. Dealing with it. Maybe it won’t be difficult for you. But if it is,” she squeezed Megara’s shoulder. “I know the feeling. I will be here, if you want to talk about it. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll want to take a shower.”

She leaned into the touch, the affection, almost against her will. Megara felt like she should be crying by now, but the tears refused to fall. Maybe that was the part of her that was broken, the part of her that was valued. She tried to contain the trembling.

“Yes,” she nodded softly. Meg wanted to confess that she’d lingered too long, that she’d watched as the initial flood slowed to a trickle, almost letting the pool reach her. Nyx kept speaking, and all she could do was nod because it felt as if she were watching this whole interaction from behind frosted glass. A shower, yes, she needed that. “Will you wait for me? I’ll be quick, I promise,” always the promise, that she wouldn’t take up too much time or space unwanted.

The water was too hot, and left her skin red and raw, but Megara figured that was better than feeling nothing at all. She slipped back into the main sitting aria quietly, almost as if she feared any sort of loud noise would spoil the moment, drive Nyx away.

“Do you think it means something is wrong with me if I don’t feel anything, like at all?”

[whisperedfury]

icarusfclling​:

There’s a hiccup in her composure, a momentary flicker like a holocall from a little too far away, but Icarus hears the words used to be and thinks he understands. Life, work, Chaos, the Fates… eventually, something will force you to give up a thing you would rather keep, perhaps even something you love. He wonders what she loved about dancing, wants to ask, thinks better of it and reaches for his drink instead.

“I’m flattered, if a bit confused as to why you’d prefer my less than thrilling company to…” Icarus trails off into a gesture, glass in hand, indicating the rest of the room. “Nothing important I can understand, but surely there are more interesting drinking companions available. Not, of course, that I’m complaining.”

She gives him her name and he smiles, even when she follows it with a question he’s grown to hate answering, and he buys himself a moment to formulate a reply at the low, low price of further intoxication. “It might be selfish to claim that the pleasure is all mine, but it truly does feel that way.” Bolstered by the alcohol, Icarus turns to face her fully and drapes one arm over the back of the booth — there’s a respectable distance between them still but he’s close enough that, if she wanted to reach out and touch him, she wouldn’t have to reach very far.

“Unfortunately I’ve found that the lines between ‘business’ and ‘pleasure’ and ‘pleasure for business’ tend to get a bit… blurry, in places like this. I suppose that’s sort of the point though, isn’t it? At least that’s what my esteemed colleagues seem to believe.”

He didn’t comment, didn’t press when she said used to with that mournful ache. Perhaps they were as kind as their eyes hinted at, or just rather drunker than she’d originally anticipated. (Back then, she still might have hoped people could be kind, or at least a tiny part of her did. Back then she still had the tiniest spark of hope.)

“Can I tell you a secret?” Megara leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “No one is ever as interesting as they think they are. Particularly those who are quite vocal about just how interesting they think themselves.” Her drink came quicker than anyone else’s would, and she flicked her eyes towards the girl who’d brought it in silent thanks. Megara took a sip and hid her annoyance that it had not, in fact, been made without alcohol by shifting slightly closer to her companion, tucker her feet up under her on the plush seat and leaning into his arm.

“I find myself much more interested in why you don’t think you are particularly thrilling company,” it was light, almost teasing, but there was space left to both answer or ignore, depending on how he felt. Both would tell her something about them. Along with the disparaging way with which he spoke about his colleagues, she was already learning quite a lot about one Icarus Volati.

“In that case, let’s drink to Pleasure and see where we end up.”

[whisperedfury]

alectocarrion​:

with: @whisperedfury​ when: february, 2130 (week one)  where: pontius, kalavria 

Alecto moves quickly through the crowd in an attempt to evade the hearts she left broken in her wake. Voices, familiar and unknown blend together creating an anxiety that ripples across the back of their neck, flicking down their spine. One breath in, one breath out, Alecto finally slips into the stairwell that descends onto the second deck. Bodies move here, too, but with less frequency. There is less to be starstruck about here, Alecto thinks. Then again, she gave little to no care about the wonders Pontius brought to those in the form of their altered technologies. 

It only takes Alecto a moment to recognize Meg. For a moment, she thinks that the other Fury does not see her, or maybe that she does not recognize them, but then she makes eye contact. Swallowing thickly, Alecto averts their gaze. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene, especially only two weeks in. So Alecto leads, knowing that Megara will follow. 

The hallway splits one of three ways, and Alecto favors the left most corridor. They do not look over their shoulder, for that would be too obvious. After turning a corner, and then another, following the mapped floor plan she’d seen on Aphrodite’s tablet, they finally stop. As expected, Meg is behind her. 

“Meg,” Alecto starts, immediately snapping their mouth closed. They can see the anger in the set of their sister’s shoulders – the lines of range, the shadows beneath her eyes. “It’s–” They glance up, then over Meg’s shoulder. “Take two steps in,” Alecto mouthes. Things could have changed in the time that Alecto had viewed the floor plan, so they make an effort to conceal their truth. 

It would have been impossible to not be instantly drawn to Alecto, not when they are this close for the first time. Her sister’s absence ached like a phantom limb, constantly reminding Megara of the utter lack of one half of her heart. She’d long ago carved that traitorous organ from her chest and split it into two, it would be safer, she reasoned, in the possession of those two who she trusted above all else - now they truly might be sisters of blood and not just bond. So when she still felt it beating, closer than it had been in weeks - Megara couldn’t resist.

She hated the anger that swelled up inside her, she hated the way Alecto looked away. She hated that she thought she saw the echo of fear in their eyes. Tracking was second nature, much like spying, and she easily slipped from the crowd and down the halls, close enough to follow but not be seen. Even though she knew the truth, it still felt unreal.

Alecto stopped and said her name. It was too much. The rage in her chest burned out all of the pain, and for the tiniest of moments, Megara lost control. Take two steps in, she would do more than that. The tiny dagger appeared in her hand from seemingly nowhere - disguised as a tube of lipstick, a rather thoughtful gift from Zagreus - and with her forearm, Megara slammed Alecto back several steps and against a wall. A tiny moment of weakness, and before anyone else might notice, the eldest fury broke contact, knife vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“The fuck, Alecto.” She hissed, barely audible. I miss you, I can’t function as part of a trio without a third. “I should have been told.” Why didn’t you trust me? Why wasn’t I good enough? 

[whisperedfury]

where: thanatos’s room, house of hades when: second night back from olympe who: megara & @deathsknife (guest appearances by cerberus & morph the cat)

True to her word, Megara had grown accustomed to the hulking form of Cerberus trailing after her where ever she’d gone the past few days in Tartarus. There was some joke to be made here about clingy-ness and taking after his owner - but she couldn’t make it. Still, the dog’s lumbering presence at her side was a comfort, though he could never quite replace those who she missed. One, seemingly forever, prisoner of their own delusion or anger, lost at sea. The other - well Meg felt as if she were holding her breath until Zagreus returned home safe.

“Hi,” she found Than in the dark, curled up on his side, the only light in the room from the door, reflecting in the eerie glowing eyes of the cat. “I brought you some food,” her voice was soft, the kind she saved only for them. “Chef -”a sharp hiss from the cat as Cerberus pressed too close, attempting to lick Thanatos’ face, drowned out the rest of the name, “made the soup specifically for you, like what we always had when we were sick as kids.” She perched lightly on the edge of the bed, brushing back the hair from their face amidst another warning hiss. Cerberus set his large head on her lap but kept his distance.

“I’m not leaving til you at least try to eat something, no matter what your cat seems to think.”

[whisperedfury]

I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.

Trista Mateer, from “For the One Who Loved My Hands More than Anything Else,” The Dogs I Have Kissed (via deathrattled)

[whisperedfury]

Richard Siken, A Primer for the Small Weird Loves

[whisperedfury]

nyxerebvs​:

Nyx frowned at Megara’s trembling form. It was only reasonable, considering what they had just asked her to do. Still, she struggled with how to respond. If she acknowledged it, there was a chance she would only make Megara feel weak, the last thing she wanted to do. For the moment, all she did was extend a hand to help Megara up.

“Of course I did. I wanted to make sure the job went well. Did it?” She arched an eyebrow. The trembling could be because she was shaken by what she’d done, but she supposed it also could have been because she failed.

She paused. “I am not too busy for you, Megara. Especially not when it comes to situations like this. Situations that I put you in. Understand? Waiting up was no trouble. I want to know that you’re alright.”

She hated herself for this weakness, and then she hated herself even more for how fucking empty she still felt. Could Nyx see it? The hollowness welling up inside her? The not quite dead look in glassy, dark eyes? Or - and Megara couldn’t quite decide how she felt about about this - was that the very reason she’d been granted this task. They knew it would not break her, because how could you break something that was never whole to begin with?

“Yes,” most of the tremor was gone from her voice, and the younger fury accepted the offered hand gratefully. She’d never been one for touch, in that she craved it so deeply she feared it would make her even more of a burden than she already felt she was. Megara stood, crossing over and curing up in the corner of the very same couch Nyx had been waiting on.

“It was easy.” This was not the boast of an arrogant, reckless girl, but rather a whispered confession. “Have you - I mean, have you ever...” She trailed off before finishing that question, instead looking down at her hands as if she could still see blood stains there. “I guess I am just waiting for it to hit me.”

[whisperedfury]

icarusfclling​:

Between the hazy red lighting and the generous expanse of skin on display it’s difficult to keep his eyes focused on her face, but Icarus is looking when her gaze dips to his mouth - it’s brief but deliberate, and when their eyes meet again he can feel his face growing warm. He hasn’t… He’s not accustomed to this sort of social interaction anymore, isn’t sure how to respond, so he simply offers her an honest answer and hopes it doesn’t cost him the chance for further conversation.

“You look like a dancer.” A good one, he thinks, though that might be a little too much honesty for someone he’s just met. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important,” he adds, and that too is the truth. Icarus is well aware that her job likely includes making the club’s patrons feel welcome, that this is probably just another night at work for her, but who is he to question the whims of Chaos that have placed him in her path, or her in his?

“I’m…” Icarus hesitates for half a breath, lets his full name dissolve in his mouth and offers her his hand along with a gentle smile. “I’m Caro.”

You look like a dancer. Her smile faltered for the less than a moment, the space between seconds. It was still a bit fresh, that particular part of her she’d sacrificed in the hope, however foolish, that she might be loved. Megara could not let this specific loss show, not now. Still, when she spoke it was wistful, with only the barest taste of melancholy.

“I used to be one,” Megara still blossomed under the attention, thrilled that they could tell just from looking at her. She laughed lightly, tossing her curls over one shoulder. “No, not at all, there is nothing even remotely important going on elsewhere. Do you mind if I join you for a drink?” Her smiled returned to its full brightness. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the eye of a passing server who knew exactly what to bring her.

“Megara, my friends call me Meg.” A private joke. “Are you here for business or pleasure?” as if she didn’t know exactly who he was and what they did, “Or a bit of both?”

[whisperedfury]

i could see a bloodbath coming | megara 

the magicians 4x13 || ‘vesuvius’ amber sparks || ‘four dancers’, ‘four ballet dancers on stage’ edgar degas / ‘mirrorball’ taylor swift || emil ferris || ‘sharp objects’ gillian flynn || the magicians 4x10 || yves olade || the suicide squad (2021) || mary oliver

[whisperedfury]

[whisperedfury]

The Dark Knight Rises (2012) dir. Christopher Nolan Lady Snowblood (1973) dir. Toshiya Fujita Fast Color (2018) dir. Julia Hart Hanna (2011) dir. Joe Wright Blade Runner 2049 (2017) dir. Denis Villeneuve Interstellar (2014) dir. Christopher Nolan

[whisperedfury]

icarusfclling​:

WHO:  @whisperedfury WHERE:  Tartarus, below the surface WHEN:  October, 2127 WEARING:  charcoal on black on black (x)

Everything’s wilder underground, trust me. Icarus wants to strangle Xanthos for dragging him here, wants to lock himself in his (admittedly, very nice) hotel room and book a return flight to Arcadia instead of Olympe, wants to relinquish his seat in the Quorum and disappear into the hills never to be seen again. It’s been ten months since his mother died. Three months since he began the excruciating process of separating from the man he’d once thought to be the love of his life. He feels empty, unmoored, adrift; a vacation to Gaia’s main hub of decadence and depravity feels wrong in a hundred thousand different ways but here he is walking into a club in the depths of Tartarus anyway. At least the liquor here is stronger, or so his companions keep saying - perhaps with enough alcohol he might actually be able to enjoy this.

By the time he orders a second drink there are only two others still sitting at the table, both of them casting longing glances towards the dancers circulating through the room. Icarus waves off their invitations, tells them to go enjoy themselves, and settles back into the plush seat waiting for the buzz to hit. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he has to open them when he hears a soft chuckle from somewhere to his left. There’s a woman leaning over to set a glass in front of him, already beading with condensation, and Icarus gets a little lost in the fall of her dark curly hair before she tucks it behind her shoulder and fixes him with a smile that makes his head spin. Maybe Xanthos was right about Tartarene alcohol.

“I mean no offense, but you don’t really look like a cocktail waitress.”

I think that table is full of Quorum members. Her dark eyes followed the the direction in which the young, and fairly nervous dancer pointed. Then men at the table in question did have that Look that politicians seemed exceptionally skilled at, and it merited further investigation. With a warm smile. Megara thanked her and then disappeared into the shadows for a closer look. A quick Tala search on one of her burner accounts confirmed this and offered a specific target. His name was Icarus Volati, all mournful eyes and a distant air of tragedy separating him from the others. A way in, she thought, sending other dancers in that direction while wondering what exactly she might get from a consultant for Zeus himself.

Megara watched for a bit longer as each member of his party drifted off, she watched as he leaned back into the plush booth and closes his eyes, taking in as much as she can observe before approaching. Her laugh was soft, with the kind of intimate fondness one would expect from a lover. It had the desired affect, catching his attention - first to the drink, then to her hair, and finally the smile. She lingered for a moment there, holding his gaze before dropping her eyes to his lips and back up again, somehow ending up seated fairly close, not quite touching.

“What do I look like then?” Her words were playful but soft enough to belong just to him.

[whisperedfury]

where: house of hades, tartarus when: late at night, february 2120 who: megara & @nyxerebvs

(tw for murder and messy emotions regarding that so under a cut for safety)

She thought it would have been harder.

Or maybe she hoped it would be. Maybe somewhere in the part of her that was still a bit innocent, a bit hopeful, Megara almost wished it wasn’t as easy as it had been. That wasn’t to say it the whole ordeal had been simple, the eldest fury spent a considerable amount of effort to seek out this particular target. Blackmail, she’d learned, was only truly effective from a position of power. Otherwise it was simply a matter of time.

So once she’d hunted him down, gotten him alone and revealed her true purpose. Once she relished in the surprising rush that came from having a grown man beg for his life, promise her all sorts of things they both knew he could never give. The actual act itself felt...empty. She sat there for a bit (too long, her training nagged) waiting for the rush of emotions, for regret and guilt and remorse and all those other things people were supposed to feel. But it was just hollow.

Perhaps it took time, Megara rationalized as she made her way back, and it would all hit her later tonight, or even in a few days when she least expected it. But then wasn’t that the problem? The way she’d already reasoned away every bit of emotion that could possibly be attached to the act, long before she would ever sink a blade into flesh? For the only place that ever felt like home, the only people who ever looked at her like she mattered, like she was worthy - wouldn’t she do all this again, and worse?

She’d started trembling by the time she reached her familiar door, and it took a few tries to get it open. The lights should have been off - Alecto and Tisiphone occupied with their own tasks or other wise asleep (what time even was it?) but Megara didn’t register this until she’d already shut the door behind her and sank to the floor in an effort to regain control of her body.

“Fucking chaos, Nyx,” she tried to hide the tremor by running a hand through her curls. “You startled me. You didn’t - “ Megara suddenly realized what it meant that she was here, and her words caught in her throat - another emotion she couldn’t quite name. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, I know you’re busy.”

[whisperedfury]

sisyphhean​:

Sisyphus wants to pace. He wants to throw things. Instead he sits back on the bed and scowls. “Stop fucking around, Megara. You know you can’t fuck with me. Any bruise you leave on me is one more I’ve got to explain to my bosses. Another crack in my cover. Gardeners aren’t exactly supposed to be brawling every night.”

He ignores the commentary on his spying skills, his knee-jerk reaction to snipe back, engage in the squabble. Megara, at least, had had her choice; the chance to train for the job, mold herself into the shape needed to excel. To do what came naturally to her, what she was suited for.

The only thing Sisyphus had been trained for was balancing accounts and dealing with unruly drunks; the only thing he was suited for was sleeping in and card tricks. He’d always figured Hades’ assignment was half a drawn-out death sentence anyway, destined as he was to fail, only this way it will look like his own stupid fault when he ends up at the bottom of the ocean in a trash bag. What kind of sick mercy could that be?

He works his jaw, looking at the ceiling. Closes his eyes for a beat as he wills himself to patience. It only brings his rage down somewhere more simmering, toxic, like a garrote uncurling around his neck. “Then again, I’m already damaged goods. Why not add to what Achilles started already, right?” He leans forward, gesturing to his bruised face, then slides to his knees on the floor between them. Looks up at Megara, the pose a mirror of his original interrogation all those months ago; maybe if she had been in the room then, they wouldn’t be having this issue now. “Would that make you feel better? Go ahead, have your turn. Get this tantrum out of your system. So we can move the fuck on.”

`

“Bullshit,” she rolled her eyes. “Just tell them you’ve been out in the woods, trying your luck at the hunt. For those who are unskilled that area can lead to all sorts of accidents.” Her voice took on a new edge to it, a cruel sort of smile playing across her lips as she recalled the blade she’d ‘accidentally’ sent flying in his direction earlier in the week. Megara hoped it would scar.

He dropped to his knees and she became even more delighted, a heady mixture with her rage and violence and fear. What was it about men on their knees before her that made Megara feel like a god? Something to unpack another day, surely, if ever. Sisyphus thought, perhaps, that by giving in and daring her to attack he could reclaim the power here. She knew better, only someone who’d spent their life innately learning the nuances of power dynamics could understand how complex it was. By giving in he thought he might claim it back. Megara smirked, cold and cruel, and took her time getting off of his bed.

“Begging so quickly,” she tutted, as if scolding him. Sisyphus kneeling put him only just below her eye level, but it was distance enough. She made him wait, let the last few taunts linger in the air between them. Long enough to make him think the might have gotten away with it, or long enough to fully send him stressing. Megara opened the delicate pocket knife once more, placing the blade gently under his chin until she tilted his face up to look her in the eyes.

“No, I don’t think I will,” her voice was soft, dangerously so, and the blade pressed just against his throat ensured he maintained eye contact with her. “It’s not a tantrum, sweet Sisy, when you have to face the consequences of your actions.” The blade pressed just a fraction harder, and her other hand gently stroked his face, cold fingers pressing lightly on the bruise simply because they could.”And what is there to move on to? Hmm? You’ve yet to prove your worth, or justify your continued existence.”

“But,” Megara pulled the knife away suddenly, but her other hand remained, fingers tracing the contours of his new face as she spoke. “I’m feeling nice, so perhaps I will impart a few lessons on you.“ She cupped his cheek for one more moment, before pulling away entirely, headed back to the desk. “Lesson number one: lock your shit up and find or develop a fucking code. Maybe it’s plant related because of gardening or whatever. But make up something that you alone know, but looks natural with your belongings.” 

[whisperedfury]

Margo, have you cried yet… for Eliot?