#(thrashing) out of tartarus my beloved

[spineless-lobster]

I’m having a rough day today and it’s been keeping me afloat tbh

[honestsycrets]

Medusa II: Make Her Sing

❛ summary | After Ragnar cheats on Aslaug, or so she believes, she seeks revenge on Ragnar’s favourite son. Following the myth of Poseidon and Medusa. Sy’s pick.

❛  warnings | non-con in chapter two, revenge, aggression

❛ pairing | poseidon!bjorn x medusa!reader

❛ type | multishot

His world was insanity.

Ivar, god of madness, they called him. Not fit to rule Tartarus, they said. He had snapped, they said. Not fit to rule anything but booze and the rage that burst through his veins. For that, they would pay one by one.

Bjorn would pay.

“What is wrong brother!?” Ivar bellows, his arm thrown around his beautiful wife’s back. “Are you feeling sick?”

It was time for the celebratory event of Athens. Lagrtha sat upon her throne as queen while Ragnar so happened to amble around her, not unnoticed by Aslaug, the great mother. Ivar came with his dark-skinned nymphs bearing the booze and dance to join the gods in Olympus in celebration. Bjorn’s hand was deep in his grouped braids. His headache was growing, and growing, and growing. The figures in front of him waving in his stepmother’s aurelian clouds.

“He should lay down.” Torvi, the mother of his sweet Demeter, guides him to stand up. His feet stagger, sloshing drink over the ivory floors underneath his feet.

“He’s far too drunk for that!” Ivar chortles. “Or perhaps he’s seasick, are you seasick brother?”

“No.” He answers in a gruff voice. “I just… need… need…”

“Get him out of here, he is drunk!” Ivar laughs, bringing his beloved son up to kiss his forehead. “Tell your uncle Baldur, tell him to go.”

“Go!”

Apart from the jovial festivities of the night, no one follows him. No one but his loyal Torvi, guiding him down fluffy cloud and cloud until they hover about a great body of water. She helps him into his chariot. Then her hand extends to the hippocampus that guides his fleet to ensure all was well with them. She comes back to his side.

“Are you going to be alright, Bjorn?” She asks him. Bjorn leans up, grasping the braided side of her head to lay one chaste kiss upon her forehead.

“It’s Ivar.” He sways, fisting his leads. She stares into his piercing blue eyes to find her answer, clouding over. Torvi knows his trickery and source of deceit. She could spot it before it came to a head. Bjorn’s eyes were glazing over.

“Are you sure Ivar has not pricked you?” Torvi asks. Bjorn’s nose scrunches up.

“Why would he if we relieved him of Tartarus?” Bjorn asks. “He can be as loose and free as he wants.”

“Because we gave Hel to Harald,” Torvi says. “Do you not think that embarrassed him?”

“You know nothing about my brothers, Torvi.” Bjorn flicks his wrists, commanding the hippocampi with an ethereal slap. “Prósō!”

Hooves thrash the smooth surface of still waters and carry the god across the seas. His triton jabs the ocean and causes violent waves to stir over one another. The ocean cries out, waves folding one over another and slapping the grainy shore.

Bjorn was upset with something-- or someone. You knew upon the relentless waters that were coming down upon Athens. For five straight days, rainwater coursed the streets, spilling over even to your temple where you and the temple priestesses desperately swept away the water from extinguishing the lamps.

“He is angry!” A priestess of blonde hair calls out to you, chasing baskets from down the steps where they were flowing. The wind made child’s toys of you all, tossing you one way and then another. You grasp the weaved rim of your basket, tugging it back within the temple where water was cast out enough that a thin layer formed under your feet.

“I know he is angry!” You call back to her, bouncing off the golden pillars of the temple you called home. “But what can be done?!”

“Speak to him, Medusa!” She responds together with the cries of the other priestesses there. “The crops and children are drowning in this water! It won’t cease!”

You come to an amphora, draining your skirt of the excess water that clung to your skin like a second skin. The crops were drowning-- there would be no food for harvest if this rain continued in the way it had. You had to talk to him but you fear his reaction.

What was the source of his rage?

Seven days pass. Two since your voice rippled through the waters, reached him under the seas where he sat upon his throne listening to wretched flutes tainted with illusion. Your voice, moans, beg his most basic of instincts to react. His hands flex around his triton, curling with pesky ivy even under the seas.

“Bjorn!”

Make it stop.

“Bjorn!”

Incensed, Bjorn throws his shaved head back, hissing in vehement rage. He wretches his Triton back, whirling it through a pillar coated in strange sea creatures. Fine, he thinks-- if this was what you wanted, the god could give it to you. His mother, after all, couldn’t. She was only a woman. The waters stilled, draining back out to the sea.

Priestesses were all away, save you, his mother’s beloved princess with skin as smooth as his still waters. Your long hair was unbound as you put out the temple fires, finished with a day of desperate sacrifice to the Goddess of Wisdom. However, most were begging for a dought at Poseidon’s, some came for knowledge in how to handle this flood. Others had come to grieve.

Your skin is chill to the touch, covered in the salt of the sea as earlier you had been the one to sweep away the water that might damage the temple floors while the others helped with soiled baskets and remnants of sacrifice. You loosen the leather strap binding your hair, running your fingers past salt licked strands of hair. Tying it on the strap of your dress, you pull the sodden fabric about your legs up, coming to the last of the lamps that needed to be put out. A distant caw of a bird stops you, followed by the appearance of a sudden shady figure. Outlined by the pearly sun behind him, you almost don’t recognize him if but for the eyes like a fine jewel.

“Bjorn.” You stop from putting out the last lamp and pull up your skirts, slapping your smooth skin as you pull it up from your legs. You step up, then stop, realizing that Bjorn hasn’t said anything at all.

“Bjorn?”

He remains unmoved in speech but takes a step forward. One harsh one that forms cracks under his steps. Cracks pierce through the ivory floors. You quickly find the realization that this isn’t the Bjorn you knew. His shaved head a sudden change, but none so different as his unkempt features that match the hate in his eyes.

“Why do you keep calling me?” He hisses.

“I--”

“You keep calling me!” This time a bellow that causes the temple to quake. Frenzied footsteps of other priestesses become scarce.

“I did-- I didn’t mean to anger you.” You say meekly and it only serves to enrage him further. “The floods were drowning the crop.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you…” You begin, eyes darting around as if attempting to make sense of it. When you look back up, it's to Bjorn’s large hand closing around your throat. A pathetic squeak slips free of your lips. Bjorn rips your dress free off your shoulder, then the other, staring at your exposed breasts.

“What are you doing! I don’t understand!”

“Of course you fucking understand.” Bjorn rips your dress the rest of the way down your stomach and hips. It pools around your toes. The god’s hand crosses your wet waist to savor the exposed skin that he’s so often desired, despite how you shake in the cool air before him.

“Did you think I didn’t hear you?” He hisses, twisting you around and forcing you to cling onto the pillar before you. His wrap falls from his hips and when he again takes your hips, you feel the tip of his hardened flesh seeking your unused hole.

“Please--” The word is stretched when he plunges his cock into your hole, pounding his hips just as quickly as he got in. The god’s size is thick, claiming and filling your sex with every pounding thrust that he makes. Your breath is tight as you cling onto the pillar, ignoring the fact that your blood spills down his cock in a way that even a virgin wouldn’t bleed. Then, moments later, turning your head to face the statue of Lagertha that sits proudly. You swear you see her leering eyes, shifting from the sight of your bodies to raise her shield.

Rejecting you. Rejecting the madness of Bjorn’s union.

You slump over the column.

The god wakes out of his weeklong slumber upon the ivory tile. Underneath him, stained blood. On top of him to his startle is your ruined body, your hair glistens over the tile in streams. He jolts up, globs of his cum ooze over his flaccid cock and in his horror, he puts everything that has happened together.

“You’ve deflowered her in my temple.” His mother’s woven sandals are beside him. Bjorn’s gaze snaps up to her, desperate in nature. Lagertha’s voice churns hateful quick. “She’s ruined.”

Bjorn looks down to your bruised body. Last night is a blur. Not just last night, but the entirety of the week. He reaches for his wrap and stands up to bind it in its proper place.

“She’s not ruined.” Bjorn insists. “It is only virginity.”

“This is my temple!” Lagertha clangs her spear upon the ivory floors. The gorgon upon the floor doesn’t move, but between them, there is an understanding. If Lagertha had done the same to Bjorn’s temples, there would be a punishment to any of her lovers. The same should go for you.

“This was not her fault.”

“It was,” Lagertha says. “Unless you take the blame?”

Bjorn says nothing as he looks down to your crumbled body upon the floor. None... because there was none for him to take. As a privileged god, he had no one to answer to. He’s convinced that this was not his fault. It couldn’t be his fault… right? He did not remember it.

But he knew he did it. The memories-- they flood in. He recalls your body squeezing him, tight as the virgin you were. You weren’t conscious, but like some animal, he pumped himself into you in the dead of night. Like an animal contaminated by the desire that he kept so controlled, finally unleashed.

“No.”

Rapist.

“I did not think so. Go then.” Lagertha sneers. Then she jerks her head to the side. “I’ll deal with my priestess.”

Was his mother going to hurt her? Likely. Lagertha’s wrath was well known throughout. Bjorn’s hand forms a fist as he thumps out of her temple. His steps crack the earth outside of the temple, early morning screams ripping through his mother’s beloved Athens. The lord of the sea pounds forward, going back into the sea from which he came. In the cloud above, the youngest of the sons of Ragnar reclines on a fluffy cloud, his legs bound.

“Athens is screaming.” He cackles.

Bjorn’s wet tears churn the sea. Boats rip onto the shore and see their deaths in the spiky rock. He looks to his fox-like mother, whose hair is thrown over one shoulder by a line of beautiful lotus. She leans into her favourite son, kissing his precious cheekbone. When you run free of the temple, hair hissing, Aslaug speaks.

“And so is Medusa.”

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[gxldencity]

[S] The Charlatan: Attend a Pumpkin Party

The Halloween fic. 

This image seems more appropriate now.

I’ll just escort myself out.

tagging my enablers: @turians​ and @tavum​. 

This is going on the main tag. You all are gonna suffer with me a s my enablers encouraged this garbage. 

–

Tartarus hardly celebrated any festivities but tonight the club was a venue for a Halloween party-the first ever in Andromeda. Reyes declined the invitation. Halloween wasn’t a holiday he celebrated as a child. As an adult, he spent every 31st of October-not Halloween-preparing flowers with his mother for their dead relatives. 

And he had work to do. Kadara was always in need of fixing.

But Kian insisted or rather, he hauled him out of his private room to take his mind off work and enjoy the festivities. The Pathfinder was attending, and if the Pathfinder was there, Jean would be right behind.

They hadn’t seen each other in months.

So here he was, dressed as a smuggler from one of those old sci fi movies he saw once or twice. The outfit was the only one he found in the closet which looked tasteful.

The club was packed, more than the usual weekday night on Tartarus. Most of the Port would rather spend their night in Kralla’s song or at their homes. The slums were still dangerous at night even with the change of leadership. Tonight was different. Half of Kadara was here for the Halloween party.

Reyes sent a quick message to Jean. 

To: Jean Ryder

From: Reyes Vidal

Heard the Pathfinder was invited to the Halloween party at Tartarus. You coming along?

-R

To: Reyes Vidal

From: Jean Ryder

Yeah, we’re here. I’m with Gabby, if you wanna come find me. Look for her, she’s pretty damn obvious.

-Jean

In the mass of bodies thrashing on the dance floor, Reyes didn’t spot her or Jean anywhere. He waded through them, bumping onto ghouls and vampires, and one of the Pathfinder’s squad mates. 

Liam…Kosta was it? He was dressed in all blue: shirt, pajamas and a long hood which stretched all the way to the floor. The only non-blue item he wore was a pair of yellow shoes.

“If you’re looking for Jean, he’s that way with the Pathfinder,” Kosta said, pointing his thumb at the bar. He assessed Reyes’ costume, looking up and down at his form.

“I assume you’re Han.”

Reyes shrugged. “It was the only thing I could find. And you are?”

Kosta parted his lips but before he said anything, their angaran crew mate ran to him. He held a pair of horns which resembled a candy corn. 

“Do I have to wear these all night, Liam?” The angara asked. His usual blue rofjin was now black aside from the cobalt zodiac sign-Scorpio?-on his lapel.  

“Yes, you do Jaal,” Kosta placed the horns back on his head. “It’s part of your costume.”

The angara grumbled, “you humans and your strange holidays.”

Reyes slipped away from the two and made his way to the bar.

The Pathfinder was sat on a stool with Nyx and her twin. Her bright orange outfit glowed under the neon lights of the club. A stylized sun was on the centre of her chest, and her blonde hair was fastened with a gold headband. Beside her, Nyx wore the same candy corn horns like the angara. However, she didn’t wear any face paint. A green zodiac sign-Virgo?-was painted on her carapace.

And Jean was draped in red: shirt, a cape, the gear symbol on his chest, and pajamas? And sunglasses, he wore sunglasses.  With the sunglasses on, Jean looked different. Before, he was a nerd and now, he was a nerd trying to look cool with sunglasses.

“Are you supposed to be a knight?” Reyes asked. He sat on the stool next to Jean, and order his usual.

“No, I’m not” Jean said, “And what are you? A knock off version of yourself? You are a smuggler.”

Gabriela and Nyx laughed. Reyes frowned, he didn’t intend to be here and the closet was lacking in tasteful costumes. 

“I’m not the one wearing pajamas,” he shot back.

That earned him a scowl. Nevertheless, Jean was handsome. Different from his “just-got-out-of-bed” look Reyes was accustomed to for months. He might not be a knight but the costume suited him-a knight in pajamas. His knight in soft…armour.

“So…” Reyes began, “what are you all supposed to be?”

Both twins glanced at each other, waiting who would explain what the fuck they were supposed to be. Other than themselves in colourful sleepwear. 

Finally, Jean broke the silence. “We’re uh characters from…a…”

“A classic novel!” Gabriela piped in. “One of Jean’s favourites.”

She winked at her twin. “In fact, everyone on the Tempest is dressed as characters from this…” She paused, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Classic novel”

And it was true.  The human members of the Tempest Crew wore brightly coloured outfits similar to Gabriela and Jean’s. Each one had a different symbol on their outfits. Kosta he saw earlier. Their scientist now joined him on the dance floor. Her costume was a black dress with a white spiral on her chest. She wore a pair of glittering red shoes and…dog ears. 

Their engineer was playing poker at a table across from the bar. From under the table, Reyes noted that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Or he was but he didn’t consider tight spandex as pants. They were yellow like the rest of his outfit. 

Only Harper wore something different. She traded the colourful outfits for a sleek white dress and a pink scarf.

Meanwhile, the alien crew wore candy corn horns of various shapes. Some wore face paint, others didn’t. Yet they all wore similar costumes-a black costume, plain aside from a zodiac sign printed on their outfits.

Not only the Tempest crew, the club was filled with people dressed in similar costumes. A number of them were dressed as Jean’s character, he assumed. Some of them wore a different outfit from Jean’s knight costume.

The Halloween party had a theme. A theme Reyes missed due to his last minute decision to attend. A theme Jean didn’t tell him in advance nor asked him if he wanted to coordinate costumes.

Or this was a beloved novel Kadara loved. He wasn’t even aware Jean was into literature, or reading anything other than scientific documents.

The music in the club changed to an upbeat song. 

“I love this song!” Gabriela said, and she hopped off the bar stool, dragging Nyx with her to the dance floor.  

Now they were alone, Reyes asked. “So why didn’t you tell me before?”

“That we were coordinating costumes?”Jean quirked an eyebrow. “Thought you might not like it once you find out who you’re going as.”

“I’m not that difficult to please.”

“No seriously, if we were going to coordinate, you are going as him.” Jean tapped a key on his Omni tool. A holo of a grey skinned boy flashed from his Omni tool. The boy had candy corn horns and a black shirt with a zodiac sign the colour of his skin.

“I admit I don’t fancy covering myself in gray paint.” Reyes admitted. The paint would be hell to take off, and he had to return as the Charlatan the next day. “But I could wear the horns and the shirt.”

Jean laughed. “He’s not your type. Too angry.” He gestured at his costume. “This is more your type.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this is your type?” Reyes bumped his elbow into Jean’s arm. 

The song changed to a ballad, an old pop tune from the 21st century. The momentum slowed on the dance floor as patrons found a partner to dance with or retired to the bar.  Jean hopped off his stool. He bowed; his cape bounced when he lowered his upper body.

The gesture reminded Reyes of their dance in his private room.

“Want me to be your knight this evening?” Jean asked, offering his hand.

Reyes took it, and allowed Jean to lead him to the floor. “I thought you weren’t dressed as a knight.”

“He isn’t. But I can be one for you.”

A flush of heat burned in his cheeks. Reyes was glad the lights were dim so Jean didn’t see what he did to him.

Of course, Jean still couldn’t dance. Reyes was amazed he didn’t step on Reyes’ feet nor his cape in his poor attempt at leading him.  so Jean couldn’t see Of course, Jean still couldn’t dance. He was amazed Jean hadn’t stepped on Reyes’ feet nor his cape in his poor attempt at leading him.

They bumped into Gabriela and Nyx. Gabriela made a face at her brother who scrunched his face in return. She was about to make another gesture but Nyx whispered something in her ear. She blushed then Nyx led her away from the dance floor.

They were alone. Jean pulled him close until Reyes could leaned his head on Jean’s shoulder. Reyes missed this, missed being so close to him he felt his heartbeat on his chest. 

Tomorrow, they would part. And tomorrow, Reyes would look up at the stars and wonder if he would ever come back. 

Reyes pulled back, enough that he could look at his face. He slipped those stupid sunglasses off. They hid his eyes. 

When Jean didn’t complain, Reyes titled his head and pressed their lips together. Jean didn’t attempt to pull back, and say they were out in the open. He missed this, missed them too with the way his lips glided over his or how he wrapped his arms around him.

The song had ended when they broke, breathless and yearning for more. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Reyes linked their hands.

Jean nodded, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah.”