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mask131 · 7 months ago

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The myth of Apollo (1)

Loose translation of the article “Antique Apollo: Shadow and Light” (Apollon Antique: Ombre et Lumière), from the “Dictionary of Literary Myths” under the direction of Pierre Brunel.

THE ANTIQUE APOLLO: SHADOW AND LIGHT

In her “Nouvelle Mythologie de la Jeunesse” (New Mythology for Youth), wrote for the French school students under the rule of Charles X, madame Tardieu-Denesle tells the story of how Jupiter charged Apollo with the mission of spreading light throughout the universe: as such, every morning the god climbs in the Sun Chariot to ride through the sky until night. These poor students were such misinformed and taught to confuse two very different gods: Apollo and Helios. But miss Tardieu-Denesle can be easily forgiven, because the confusion between the two deities has been existing since a very long time…

When we want to associate the name “Apollo” with ideas, we associate him with “light”, “harmony” or “balance (equilibrium)”. Apollo means to us the Athens of Pericles, the sunrays descending upon the Acropolis, the “sôphrosunè”, this wisdom made of moderation and whose principles had been engraved on the façade of the temple of Delphi. We usually oppose (and Nietzsche greatly helped reinforced this antithesis) Apollo’s serenity with the barbaric drunkenness of Dionysos. The idea of Apollo as a god of light and harmony existed as early as Antiquity, but it does not correspond to the original character of the god – a god which has a dark face, obscured in mysterious shadow… For Apollo is a disquieting and complex god of contrasts, solar and chthonian at the same time, a bearer of life and death.

I/ The problem of the origins

The hardships of understanding the origins and the personality of Apollo appear as early as the examination of his epithets. The god is said to be “Lukeios”, an adjective that the scholars have for a very long time tied to “lukè”, the light. This etymology fits very well the most famous nickname of Apollo, “Phoibos”, “the clear”, “the shining”, “the pure” – a name that is found as early as the first lines of Homer’s Iliad and Hesiod’s Theogony. This already paves the way for the assimilation by Apollo of Helios – a fusion that already appeared within a 7th-6th century BCE text known as “The Homeric Hymn to Apollo”: “It is there that appears the ship of Apollo, the Archer Lord, under the appearance of the celestial body that shines in bright day”. This assimilation will be later reaffirmed by Aeschylus’ “Bassarids” (Bassarae?) in the 5th century: Orpheus claims in the play that the Sun is also called Apollo. In a similar way, Aeschylus identifies within the “Xantriae” Selene, the Moon, to Artemis, the daughter of Leto and sister of Apollo.

And yet Apollo, “the light one”, is also called “Loxias”, “the skew one”, “the dark one”. According to an information within the “Etymologicum Magnum” (642), this name can be explained by the character of Loxô, a daughter of Boreas that raised the young god. Let us admit this, and let us admit that the oracles of Delphi were in truth very clear: writers, nonetheless, were more concerned with dramatic effect than reality, and as such they started spreading the idea that Apollo always expressed himself in an ambiguous way, forcing mankind to interpret his predictions, with a risk of misunderstanding them and causing disasters. Aeschylus wrote in his “Agememnon”: “Yet I speak the language of Greece. Loxias does too: yet his oracles are obscure.”

Herodotus shared numerous stories about the misfortunes of mistaken humans, such as Cresus who was unable to understand that the great empire he wanted to destroy was his own and that the “mule” he had to fear was Cyrus, son of a Mede and a Persian.

The obscurity of Apollo is also found back within his ambiguous relationships to the chthonian world. He is the killer of a female dragon (drakaina) that guarded the very ancient oracle of Gaia the Earth at Delphi (according to the “Homeric Hymn to Apollo”). A famous statue depicted him as a “sauroctonus”, a “lizard killer”. He is also “Smintheus”, the “destroyer of rats” according to “Iliad”. But at Epidaurus, within the temple of his son Asklepios (whose symbolic animal was the mole, another chthonian beast), snakes crawled among those who practiced the incubation ritual. A snake also wrapped itself around the staff of the physician-god, a deity who himself sometimes appeared as a snake (Pausanias, II, 10, 3). Another son of Apollo appeared sometimes as a snake: Trophonios, who had his own underground oracle at Lebadeia. As for Apollo “killer of rats”, he might have originally been a healing rat-god: it is implied by the numerous analogies between the Greek Apollo and the Hindu Rudra (the motifs of the bow, the disease, the mole, the rat, poetry and obliquity).

As such, translating “Lukeios” by “luminescent” feels incomplete, unsatisfying. The Ancients had proposed themselves another explanation. Apollo Lukeios might have meant “killer of wolves” (lukos). “And you, god that destroys the wolves, destroy the army of our enemies” (Aeschylus’ The Seven Against Thebes), “Here is the Lycian Square, dedicated to the god killer of wolves” (Sophocles’ “Electra”). This depiction of the god is not absurd, because there are many links between Apollo and the wolf. According to Pausanias, Danaos obtained the kingship of Argos because the god sent a wolf attack a flock, and the new king had a sanctuary built for Apollo Lukios. In the same city, it was known that wolves were offered in sacrifice to Apollo. The Lyceum of Athens, dedicated to Apollo, was, also according to Pausanias, named as such in homage to a hero named “Lukos”. On coins, Apollo was sometimes associated with wolves. Apollo was a master of wild beasts, like his sister Artemis. Destroyer of wolves, protector of wolves, or maybe himself a wolf, as once was Zeus Lukaios? Indeed, according to Servius, it was under the shape of a wolf that Apollo managed to get close to the nymph Cyrene… But it might be an abuse of the theriomorphism explanation, with a risk to derive into a polytheriomorphism: after all, what can prevent us to turn the Apollo of Delphi into an ancient dolphin-god, since Apollo supposedly jumped over a Cretan ship under the shape of a dolphin (Homeric Hymn of Apollo).

There is a third explanation of the epiclesis Lukeios, which is probably the most convincing of the three. Apollo is supposed to come from Lycia, a land of Asia Minor. It is why he was called Lukégenès, “Born in Lycia”. However, it is true that “Lukegenes” is sometimes translated as “born of the wolf” – according to Aristotle’s “History of Animals” Leto, to escape Hera’s jealousy, turned herself into a she-wolf. But it is also true that this version of Apollo’s birth does not correspond to the one claiming his birthland was Delos. Antoninus Liberalis, in his “Metamorphosis”, to reconcile what seemed like contradicting stories, decided to make Delos the place where Apollo was born, and Lycia the place where Apollo went immediately afterward – even adding that Lycia was named as such by Leto because wolves showed her the way. Let us note anyway that there are many sanctuaries of Apollo within Asia Minor ; that his sister Artemis is also strongly tied to Asia Minor ; that in the “Iliad” the god fights alongside the Trojans, not the Achaean ; finally, that the palm-tree of Delos under which Leto gave birth (Homeric Hymn) is an Oriental tree…

The many interpretations of the word “Lukeios” do not exhaust the many hypothesis conceived about the origin of Apollo. For some he is an Indo-European god, close to the Hindu god Rudra. Others also claim that he is Indo-European, but rather say he comes from the North, highlighting his link to the Hyperborean. These same people like to point out that the first Greeks were nomad shepherds, and that the word “apella” (“assembly/gathering of the people”, but also “sheepfold” according to Hesychius) is very close to “Apellôn”, the name of Apollo according to the Dorians. The myth comes here to the rescue of the etymology: Apollo himself owned many different flocks, and acted as a shepherd for both Laomedon and Admetus. Dumézil analyzed all three functions typical of Indo-European societies within the speech Apollo addresses to the goddesses in the Homeric Hymn: the first (magico-religious sovereignty) appears within his allusion to the oracles, and to the lyre that is tied to the songs and dances of cultural celebrations ; the second (war) appears with the mention of the shooting bow ; the third (wealth, fecundity) appears in the gold that covers Delos, as a promise of a future prosperity.

For other scholars, the name of Apollo was originally “Pelun” – the god was as such the mythical ancestors of the Pelasgian. Finally, the “Homeric Hymn” itself gives us another path: the one leading to the Aegean world, especially Crete. Apollo of Delphi entrusted his Delphi temple to the guardianship of Cretan men from Knossos. And according to Pausanias, it is a Cretan that purified both Apollo and Artemis after the murder of the dragon – and it is a Cretan too that won the first victory at the Pythian Games.

As Robbe-Grillet wrote, the successive interpretations, by being piled up onto each other, erase each other. We can only conclude that Apollo does not have a singular origin, but that his historical personality is an amalgamation of gods coming from various countries – a succession of strata. The other epithets of the god unfortunately do not enlighten us. Apollo is called “Puthios”, but is it because he allowed the corpse of the dragon to “rot” (puthein), according to the Homeric Hymn ; or is it because, as an oracular god, he “informs” (puthestai) those that ask him questions (according to Strabon). Are the names “Paian”, “Paièôn” and “Paiôn” related to healing (the most traditional reading) or to a victory song?

#greek mythology #apollo #greek gods #apollon #helios #ancient greece #the myth of apollo

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voxpraxis · 6 months ago

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Modern Devotional Inspiration Board: Thargelia

"Thargelia (Ancient Greek: Θαργήλια) was one of the chief Athenian festivals in honour of the Delian Apollo and Artemis, held on their birthdays, the 6th and 7th of the month Thargelion (about May 24 and May 25). Essentially an agricultural festival, the Thargelia included a purifying and expiatory ceremony." [x]

Part of my ongoing devotional project to imagine how ancient Hellenic festivals may be adapted for modern-day observance, and encourage their celebration through the creation of inspiration boards. Unlike some other religions, which have undergone a constant period of change and development since their inception, there is discontinuity between the original and contemporary traditions in Hellenism, and I am attempting to bridge that gap by envisioning how the rituals of our predecessors could have evolved naturally over time. Remember that your practice does not have to be "aesthetic" and it is much more important to be authentic to yourself.

Happy Thargelia!

#Modern Devotional Inspiration Board Project #hellenism #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #hellenic paganism #thargelia #apollo #artemis #ancient greece #op

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prairiefirewitch · 5 months ago

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The Attic month of Skirophorion ends July 6th and the month of Hekatombaion begins July 7th. Hekatombaion begins the Athenian New Year and there’s a lot going on. My dates are from Hellenism.org, but you’ll note that my Deipnon, Noumenia, and Agathos Daimon begin a day earlier because I observe Deipnon on the true dark moon the way ancient Greeks would have. Hellenion’s calendar is a great resource, especially if you, like me, aren’t great at math.

Dates marked with an asterisk are monthly observances and are generally household events and not big festivals. Smaller offerings would be made on these dates and it would have been just family or close community. Dates without asterisks, like Kronia or Synoikia are festivals that would have been observed city-wide and would have processions, public sacrifices and offerings, and feasting.

I do not observe every date on the Attic calendar; just Deipnon, Noumenia, and Agathos Daimon, any festivals, and any smaller household days that appeal to me. For example, you’re never going to catch me making offerings to Theseus, the biggest bag of dicks in Greek mythology, but I do observe Athena, Apollo, and whichever other monthly dates that feel right.

#greek religion #greek mythology #Hekatombaion #ancient greece #deipnon #noumenia #agathos daimon

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incompleteth0ts · 5 months ago

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You're too sweet for me

Part 1 of ???

Day 3 of Hadercy week

Prompts that will be used: Daddy issues made Percy a slut for older men and Hades Pining after Percy

The underworld was quiet. It was like all of Hades had held its breath.

In the private wing of Hades' palace, the doors to his study have frozen shut. Jagged pillars of black ice clawed their way from out of the ground, cross-hatching over the massive oak doors despite the rising temperatures inside the palace.

Behind the doors, Hades crested over his desk, clutching a pile of papers in his trembling fist.

‘Matter of Urgency’, stamped in red as bright as his wife's lipstick, ‘Your presence is needed on Olympus immediately. King Zeus, 6th born of Rhea.’

The onyx beneath Hades' feet cracked and splintered. The last time he had received a letter of urgency was when his son started a Blitzkrieg. The egotistic masthead even had the nerve to bring up mother. Between cleaning up the damage caused by Gaia and forcing all his staff to work triple the shifts to restore the already fragile balance of life and death, the last thing he has is time to travel to New York.

But a summons is a summons, and he doesn't have the time to upset his brother either.

The ice shattered, firing down the hallway once Hades slammed the frozen doors open.

“Finally worked up the nerve to go and see what the King wants?”

“I have no time for your nonsense, Hypnos.”

The primordial slunk around the corner. The wings that obstructed Hades from seeing his face gave an excited flap. For such a lazy god, he was as nosy as they came.

“Because his summons was just that urgent?” There was only a flap of wings in warning before Hypnos jumped to perch on Hades' shoulder. Hades couldn’t go to Olympus until he shook him off. Zeus was still mad at him and his son for their actions in the Second Titan War.

“Where is your brother, and why is he not holding your leash?”

Hades snapped at the primordial when he pulled at the length of his hair.

“I could say the same about your wife. She was supposed to get back yesterday.”

Hades scowled. His younger brother had held her back another day per the request of Demeter. He’s been in a foul mood since gaining the news. The invite to Olympus has done nothing but spark more irritation.

“Get off; you're making me late.”

“You say that like it means anything. You don't even want to go.”

“But must, so move.”

Hypnos’ neck turned a sharp 360° as he thought the order over. It was a shame that the owl was already Athena's sacred animal.

“When you come back, you must tell me what was said. I get so curious about what goes on up there.”

In a flurry of feathers, Hypnos disappeared from Hades' side, and he was alone once more. One of these days, he would have to try installing a personal space policy, but until then, he would have to carry a spray bottle.

“You don’t understand Hermes; you should have seen her in her little tutu; you would have cried too - ah!”

Hades glanced around his new location, less than impressed with what he was seeing. Behind him, Apollo clutched his chest and leaned his weight on Hermes, who was sinking to the floor in laughter.

“You got him good, Uncle!”

“Why do you do that!”

Hades ignored both of their comments to ask his own.

“This is not the throne room. I was hoping you would be in there already.”

Apollo slid his hands through his hair, putting all the individual strands back in place. “Why would I be in the throne room right now? Why are you trying to get there anyway?”

“Your father sent me a letter. It was one of urgency. I figured he would be inviting everyone if he were inviting me.”

Hermes and Apollo looked at each other. Their uncle's reason for being here was lost to them.

“We weren’t told about this. Maybe father just wants to see you.”

As if that possibility was any better than the one he’d come up with.

“I see. I will be off then.”

Hades turned his back to make his way to his brother. If he was lucky he’d run into his wife on the way or an excuse not to show up.

It took Hades longer than he’d care to admit to realize that he had a small party following after him. Turning around, Hades was faced with his nephew's winged shoes.

“What are you doing?”

“Accompanying you.”

Hermes flew a lap around Hades' head before landing at his side. Unlike Hypnos, Hermes was unfortunately able to travel wherever he pleased so if he wanted to listen in as his father rapidly aged everyone that would be present at the meeting, it was all fair game to him.

“What a shame. You make for terrible company.”

“The same has been said about you, uncle.”

Hermes cleared a path for them with a sweep of his Caduceus. The two twin snakes wrapped around it hissed at the crowd and each other. Hades could never be bothered to remember the names of either of them, even though his nephew insisted on everyone knowing the names of his most loyal companions.

‘Well, how would you feel if everyone forgot Cerberus’ name?’

‘Hermes I named my dog Spot.’

“So, what do you think my father has to say to you today? Maybe, it’s another custody battle.”

Hermes slowed his steps so he could walk in time with Hades. Hades doubted it was another custody battle. It’s been 200 years since Zeus humored Demeter with one of those. Hades mentally cursed at the vagueness of the letter. He could only hope that the matter at hand was important and wouldn’t be at his expense.

“Come on, Hades. Why so quiet? You never talk to me anymore; keep this up, and I’ll start to think you don’t love me anymore.”

Hermes stomped in front of Hades, halting his stride. Hermes looked at Hades expectantly with an urgent gleam in his eyes. Brown feathers had begun to sprout from the nape of his neck and arms. He looked like a monochrome parrot waiting for the praise of its owner.

“You’re rarely around to talk nephew. It is not me that’s been avoiding you.”

Hades sidestepped Hermes. He was almost to the throne room and had yet to run into his wife.

“Well, it’s not my fault. Father has been running me dry this century. After the stunt Apollo pulled last year he’s been climbing the walls in paranoia.”

Hades took a deep breath when they made it to the large double doors leading to the throne room. If Tyche was on his side, Zeus would overlook how long he took to get here, and the meeting would go over quickly.

Pushing open the doors, Hermes stepped in front of his uncle to formally announce his presence.

“Now entering Lord Hades, King of the dead, fourth born of Rhea.”

Way to do your job

The throne room was much emptier than Hades had expected. At the peak of the semi-circle that made up the Olympian thrones was Zeus. Sat next to his younger brother was Posideon.

Both gods looked troubled; it was becoming increasingly clearer that no one wanted to be here. The only thing Hades wasn't grasping was why.

Why were they so antsy?

“Hades, how kind of you for finally joining us. I do believe the letter I sent you informed you that the issue brought to your hands was to be handled with urgency.”

Hades would have rolled his eyes at his brother's backhanded complaint if he was a lesser God.

“Forgive me; I ran into many difficulties along the way. As you can see, I even brought one with me.”

Hades flapped his right hand in the vague direction of his nephew, who had made himself comfortable on his throne.

“Calm yourself, brother. The issue that has been brought to us isn't as urgent as you described it to be. Hades pace is the least of our issues.”

It was nice to be aware that even now, Poseidon would still work with him to knock Zeus’ temper down several pegs.

Instead of arguing an endless battle or kicking Hermes out of the room, the central table that was usually sunk to floor level rose and expanded, allowing Zeus to throw down three yellow files.

“These are complaints filed to me in the past four years in response to the second Titan war and the follow-up battle with Gaia, including all the damage created when Apollo battled Python.”

Hades reached forward to flip through the closest file. Papers overflowed through the seams ripping at the packaging. Most of the papers had the same signature stamped across the top.

‘R. Styx’

‘Charon’

Great.

“There is no reason why I should be receiving so many compliments from people who belong to your kingdom.”

“I have been busy restoring the balance of my home just as you have. I don’t know why they felt the need to come to you, but I suggest you take it as a hint to just how much my home has suffered in the last decade because of your careless actions.”

Hades stood up to leave the room only to be stopped by his other brother.

“Hades wait; there is another reason you have been called here.”

“And what is that?”

Hades turned to Poseidon, no longer wanting to be trapped in a stuffy throneroom with two men he couldn’t stomach. He ignored the way Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident. Hades has had lifetimes to make peace with what his family thinks of him.

“I’m here to offer you aid through my son.”

Hades couldn’t hide the shock that flashed across his face. To gain his brother's help was one thing, but to have him offer one of his sons up was another thing. Poseidon was just as overprotective as Demeter.

“Which one, brother? You have quite a few of them. Have you had any more recently that have a knack for problem-solving?”

Hades took petty joy in the way Poseidon’s jaw clenched and the side glance he threw at their younger brother. Hades could see himself looking out for another niece or nephew in the future

“Percy,” Poseidon said through gritted teeth. “Came to me yesterday asking to get in contact with you. He wishes to help the Styx ‘heal’,” Hades and Zeus rolled their eyes as their brother's chest puffed with pride, no longer caring about being the bigger god. “I think it is very noble of Percy to offer his services; he is truly a kind-hearted boy.”

Hades picked up the bright yellow envelope and weighed it in his hand. The underworld condition has steadily declined, with the rivers taking the hardest hits. If he didn’t find a way to save the prosperity of his home soon, his kingdom would fall apart.

Sighing Hades pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Tell your son. I will talk to Styx and get her opinion on his offer. If she agrees I’ll begin putting a schedule together for him. Once it’s made I’ll send it to you so it can be made to accommodate his everyday life.”

Zeus grumbled words of complaint under his breath that neither brother paid any mind to. He would get over it sooner or later; either way, it wasn’t Hades’ problem.

“I will let Percy know what you have said.”

Hades exited the throne room without a word of goodbye, slowing his quick stride so his nephew could walk beside him.

“You should let me deliver the schedule. It’ll excuse me to see Percy and my kids simultaneously.”

“That is exactly why I’m not letting you deliver it, you’ll get distracted before you even make it to his cabin.”

Hermes circled Hades, blocking his path and pausing him mid-stride.

“Uncle,” the way Hermes looked at his uncle from under his Petasos, highlighted just how cheeky he was when left to his own devices. It also accentuated the similarities shared between him and his sister. “Percy’s a good boy with bad taste, and we all know you have a type.”

“What are you trying to say, nephew?”

Hermes spun on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

____

Walking into the underworld, Hades made a beeline to the River Styx. The polluted water pounded on the shore, threatening to drag him underneath the midnight waves if he dared to venture too close.

On the horizon, Hades could make out Charon’s ferry parting through the River Styx like a hot knife through butter. Hades would need to talk to him as well.

“You are quite a walk away from the castle Lord Hades.”

Hades sidestepped away from the towering goddess before she could grab him. She was mad at him, just as she was mad at all his kin.

Gods are not known for their honesty.

She rose out of the diamond froth without actually leaving her domain. Her hair hung limply down her body like an oil spill. The two endless voids that made up her eyes bore unblinkingly down on Hades. She wore a necklace of baby rattles, college diplomas, and wedding rings. Hades tried his best not to stare at it.

The top of her head rubbed against the opal ceiling that made up the constant night sky. Hades could hear the sound of flesh ripping apart and bone against a wet stone.

Hades lowered his gaze and bowed his head. Out of respect or fear, it did not matter. Both emotions were the same as women as ancient as the Styx.

“You have no right to come to me without the Son of Posideon. You will fare well with keeping your distance until you bring me the assistance I seek.”

Like a whale putting on a show for oncoming boaters, she disappeared into the foggy water out of his sight.

The next few weeks were going to be long and taxing.

By the time Hades had managed to verify all the necessary information needed to ensure the safety of Percy’s safety, hospitality benefits, proper pay, health insurance, mandatory breaks, meal preps, homework help, and whatever time-consuming nuisance his younger brother could think of, Lady Styx had grown restless.

The sooner Percy arrived, the better.

Hades’ kitchen was overrun by Hermes and Dionysus, who were arguing about the preferred way to make a cup of coffee.

“What are the two of you doing in my house?”

Hades shoved the pair of brothers away from his coffee machine to refill the pot.

“We’re here to welcome Percy! It would be cruel and unusual to leave him to the mercy of you.”

Dionysus looked up from his wine catalog to glare at Hermes. “I thought you said we were here to bother Persephone when she got home?”

Hermes raised his hands in defense. “That too, but we are also here to show Percy our support for doing such a noble thing.”

Hades and Dionysus were not impressed with Hermes' reason for being here, both of them knowing that there was more to his theatrics.

“Just don’t get in the way and don’t fall into the river because I won’t fish you out of it, and I’ll tell Percy to leave you floating face down in it.”

Once Hades had refilled his cup, he left his nephews to their own devices. He knew that later on in the day they’d find him again and drag him into whatever nonsense trouble they had managed to stir up with his wife.

Hades knew Percy and his father had arrived when the castle felt like it was going to come crashing all around him. His overdramatic brother would have made less of a scene if he had yelled Hades’ name at the top of his lungs.

Phasing through the foundation of his home, Hades greeted his younger brother at the gates leading to his house. Poseidon did not hide the disdain he had for Hades’ domain. Underneath his arm, Percy was pressed tightly against his father.

“Perseus. Poseidon. Nice of you to finally make it. I apologize that Persephone isn’t here to greet you with me, but her mother isn’t bringing her home till later tonight.”

“Mhmm…”

“Umm…Thanks, Uncle, sorry for taking so long, but Dad wanted to make sure I was thoroughly packed.”

Percy rolled his suitcase around himself and tried to escape from his father's crushing grasp but was snapped back to Poseidon’s side.

“...”

Percy looked at his father in poorly hidden embarrassment, shoving his elbow underneath his father’s ribs. “Dad, come on, let go. I have to get going.”

Poseidon looked like the last thing he wanted to do was let go of his son, but Poseidon was only being welcomed into Hades home for so long.

Kneeling, a sight Hades thought he would never see, Poseidon held both of Percy’s hands and brought them to his chest where his heart would have been. “Stay safe, Percy. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is pray. I will be back next weekend to bring you home.”

“Yikes Dad, you make it sound like you’ll never see me again, I’ll be fine. I love you, see you next Saturday.”

“See you then.”

Poseidon gave Percy one last lingering embrace before he left in a gentle golden glow.

“Come inside Percy, I’ll give you a castle tour.”

Marching back into the castle, Hades slowed his stride to allow his sprinting nephew a chance to catch up to him.

“Thank you for giving me a chance to do this Uncle. I was worried you weren’t going to want my help.”

“I wasn’t too excited to accept your help in the first place, but no one else is offering me any help.”

Entering the guest wing of the palace, Hades stopped in front of a navy blue door. “While you are here, this will be your room. If you need anything while you are here let me or one of the staff know and it will be handled.”

Pushing the door open, Hades presented Percy’s bedroom. It was easily one of the most impressive rooms Percy’s seen.

Pushed to the center of the back wall was a California king bed fitted with navy blue sheets. The bed was elevated off the floor with marble steps leading up to it. On a lowered platform a ‘C’ shaped linen couch was stationed behind an oak coffee table. A TV was mounted to the wall beside the entrance. To the left and right walls of the bedroom were two floor-to-ceiling double oak doors.

The entire space felt very professional and unlived. Whether that was just the aesthetic that Hades carried or because he didn’t get many visitors, Percy was too afraid to ask. He’d only just arrived, he didn’t want to be rude.

“Um…thank you, Uncle. Sorry that Dad made you do all of this.”

The thought of his knuckle-headed brother making Hades do anything made the older man laugh. Being a family outcast and a King gave Hades an independence that Poseidon didn’t possess. There was very little Poseidon could make him do, underground.

“It was no problem at all, nephew. The Styx and your father demanded that I supplied you with nothing but the best my domain had to offer- and while I know you think that isn’t much-”

“I don't think that.”

Hades stared down his nose at Percy who was now on his knees pulling random assortments of clothing out of his suitcase.

“Pardon?”

“I think your home is plenty providing. After all, it provided me with Nico didn’t it.”

Percy threw a knowing smile over his shoulder as though he was sharing a lifelong inside joke with his Uncle.

Hades wasn’t sure what was so funny about the birth of his son, but maybe that was the joke itself.

“I’ll give you time to unpack. When I return I will give you a formal tour of the Underworld and take you to Styx. You won’t be working right away, but she wants to see you regardless.”

Percy nodded his head and continued unpacking his bags. Hades left Percy to finish unloading, closing his bedroom door soundlessly and walking down the winding hallway until he made his way to his private room.

Falling back on his mattress Hades sent a silent prayer to Clotho that he’d make it through the next several years. The longer he went without his wife the heavier the ache in his core became.

Percy Jackson was, ‘sin on earth’ as his son once phrased it. Having the little minx in his house was bad for his health.

“Having second thoughts, Uncle?”

Sitting up, Hades through his head in the direction of his on-suite bathroom. Peeking out from the crack in the door was headache #1.

“Dionysus, what are you doing in my room?”

Dionysus kicked the door open and walked out dripping in water and naked. Raisin purple hair stuck to his back and thighs as he lurked towards the bed. He looked the way he had a child. Smooth skin pulled taunt over long and knobby limbs. Feral and untrained, beyond ruined and beaten by life.

“I think this entire scenario is more trouble than it’s worth. That boy is trouble and you have weak willpower. I’d hate to have my favorite hangout spot flooded.”

Hades wiped his hands down his face, unbothered when he felt the bed dip beside him and the smell of Grape Fanta.

“You and your brother are getting ahead of yourselves.”

Hades paid little mind to the water that dampened his robes and sheets when his nephew fell into his lap. He was going to need a drink before dinner.

“I’m just looking out for you. And it is my job to make sure my campers don’t get into any trouble during the summer.”

“That only applies when they’re within the camp.”

“You are so unfun, Hades”

Hades left Dionysus tucked under the blankets of his bed. He would wake up when dinner was ready like the lazy bastard he was.

Knocking on the bedroom door that led to Percy’s temporary living courters Hades listened to the sounds of Percy bouncing around the room.

“I’m coming!”

The door was yanked open by a disheveled Percy, balancing on one leg to pull the rest of his sneaker on.

“I’m sorry, I was in the shower.”

Hades waved the thought of Percy spread out in the shower from his mind. Persephone would be waiting for him at dinner, which would be enough encouragement for the day.

“I’m going to show you all the more important locations in the castle, the bathrooms, the kitchen, exits, and bedrooms, then I’ll show you the gardens, Persephone works very hard on them, do not mess with anything out there, then I will allow Lady Styx to give you her run down. Do you have your schedule?”

“Yeah, I brought a calendar with me.”

“Good, it will make all of this easier for me.”

The tour through the castle was mundane and straight to the point. Every time they entered a room, Hades expected to walk face-first into Hermes, who was still roaming his domain, or Hypnos, who was as nosey as he was lazy.

Walked out the back of the castle Hades led Percy through his wife's prized garden.

“Oh my gods…”

“Beautiful isn’t it? My wife and her mother take great pride in it.”

Bending down, Hades picked a wild raspberry from the vine and popped it into his mouth. He would convince his wife to make a pie out of the freshly sprouted berries this weekend.

“Is that an orchard over there?”

Percy cupped one of his hands over his eyes and pointed off to the horizon where Hades knew rolling hills of green ran on for miles.

“Yes, apples of all varieties grow there, I would offer you one for hospitality’s sake, but I don’t think your father would take too kindly to my offer.”

Percy flushed a bright shade of pink, looking ashamed of himself.

“No! I was not implying that I wanted one, I've just never seen an orchard as large as that one before.”

Hades took note of the consistent nervous air surrounding Percy. He hoped that Percy would learn to relax more as time went on, it was difficult working with someone as stressed as him.

“Styx is waiting for you. Let's go, Percy.”

The river Styx protruded a foul stench that made Hades grateful that breathing was not a necessity for him. Beside him, Percy gagged on the thick fog that clung to the banks of the Styx.

“You’ve been here before, does her smell still bother you?”

Percy waved a hand around his head, trying to clear his head.

“The last time I was here I was so worried about Kronos killing me that the smell never even crossed my mind,” Percy choked on a cough, wiping at the tears that marred his vision. “Kind of wish I was going through the same danger right now.”

“Just don’t mention the smell or she’ll drag you under, and I don’t think you’ll survive the second round.”

“Noted.”

Reaching the River Styx, Hades braced himself for the arrival of the second most high-tempered woman he knew.

The surface of the river rippled like a stone had tour through the surface. Lady Styx lunged out of the water and threw her body against the shore, scaring Percy into hiding behind his uncle.

“Perseus! You have made me wait for you and now you hide from me? Show yourself!”

Hades stepped aside leaving Percy to handle the Styx's wrath by himself.

“My lady, I’m sorry-”

“Silence! I do not wish to hear your excuses! You,” The river deity pointed a long crooked finger at Hades. “Leave us, you will have your boy savior back when I am done with him.”

As awful as the idea sounded, Hades knew better than to argue with the goddess. “Please return him in one piece. His father will have my head if otherwise.”

The Styx paid no mind to Hades as she scooped Percy in her hands and flew across the water. Hades could only hope that she would return him alive.

By the time dinner came around Hades was beginning to think the Styx would never give the demigods back.

It would be a shame to lose a child as capable as Percy, twisted and reborn from the wrath of the Styx. Hades had meant it after all, he did not believe he would survive another swim in the Styx's waters.

Walking into the dining room and hearing the windy chimes of laughter was the first sign of life.

Speeding his footsteps Hades nearly collapsed at the sight.

Sitting at the head of the table was his golden Persephone. Her hair funneled like a fall tornado, a crown of strawberries lost in her auburn curls. Her brothers flagged her sides, asking about her travels, and teased her for her absence.

Demeter liked to hide her from the leering gaze of Olympus. They missed her too.

Demeter was not at the table but there was a plate in front of her chair nonetheless.

The room smelled of spring showers and golden apples, if Hades was not already married to her he would fall to his knees and ask again. He knew she would say yes she always did.

“Persephone.”

The sound was barely a breath of air. Distance made the heart grow fonder but it also made the body weak. Every time Persephone came home Hades was so sure he would never survive the next six-month absence without her.

If she left again he would die, this he was confident certain.

“Hades! There you are, I was beginning to think you would never show up.”

Having her in his arms again was liberating. She smelt of vanilla and cinnamon, it was impossible to imagine his brute of a brother making something so perfect.

“I missed you. I was starting to think your mother would never bring you home.”

“She's been upset about me coming back early so she wanted me to stay for longer.”

Hades paid little mind as his nephews gagged at their seats and made kiss faces at him.

Children the both of them, one of these days he'd kick them out for good.

“And I'll do it again next Summer, Hades,” Emerging from the kitchen like a bad omen was Demeter. “It is unhealthy for me sweet Kore to be down here for so long. It's unhealthy for anyone to be down here, I have no clue how those two,” she threw an uninterested and judgmental hand over her shoulders. “Can stomach being down here?”

“We love you too, Demeter.”

“If you truly feel this way, sister, then why are you still down here?”

ou here?”

Rather than answer the question, Demeter took her spot at the table and flipped through a farmers' magazine.

“So Uncle. When’s our guest of honor going to get here?” Dionysus flicked his nail against the rim of his mocktail, glaring down at the liquid like it was the source of all his problems.

“Guest of honor? Who have you let inside of our house while I was gone?”

From the dining table, Hades could see Demeter smirking over her magazine, ready to comfort her daughter and sweep her away from the ‘no-good cheating man’.

“Percy has offered us his services in cleaning the river Styx. He is currently with her.”

Persephone looked at Hades as though he was missing a head.

“Percy? That Jackson kid? There’s no way.”

Persephone crossed her arms and shook her head like the very thought offended her and needed to leave her mind. Hades didn’t let her go even as her curls whipped his face and got tangled in his own.

“It’s true. I was just as surprised as you, he’s been partially moved into one of the guest rooms, his father and Lady Styx were very thorough in making sure he had nothing but the best.”

“I hope the poor kid wasn’t disappointed when he saw what you had to offer.”

“Mother!”

Hades let go of his wife and allowed her to argue on his behalf. He could admit that he walked into the insult, and he could also admit that this song and dance of theirs was too old to humor.

“All of you, silence!”

Hades was going to have his dining room expanded if any more people joined for dinner.

Everyone watched as the river goddess squeezed her body through the tight opening of Hades’ dining room entrance.

“All you Olympians do is argue like fussy children, have you no shame.”

Perched on the Styx’s shoulder like an overweight parrot was a queasy-looking Percy Jackson.

“Honestly, aren’t they just the worst, my little champion?”

Percy smashed his lips together looking around the room as if hoping someone would stand up to the overbearing goddess for him.

“My Lady, I had not known that you would be joining us for dinner as well. What a pleasant surprise.”

In an attempt to ease the tension from the room when the ancient river entered the room, Persephone offered the deity a glass of wine. One of the better brands that had been created when Dionysus was in the prime of his worship.

The Styx gave a lazy swirl of the glass, not drinking it, but not throwing the wine glass to the floor in disgust.

“I am here because Percy is here. Say hello to him.”

The Styx presented the flustered demigod like he was a blue ribbon show dog. Percy, to the amusement of everyone else, looked the part as well. The clothes he now wore resembled the dressware of a Greek prince in the making.

The Styx had managed to wrangle Percy into a pure white chiton that fell apart into sea foam leaving Percy's legs dripping wet and leaving a mess on the floor. Clutched in his shaking hands was a golden himation that Percy desperately tried to throw over his lap.

A thin gold chain in his hair held a blue and orange jasper to Percy’s template. Matching golden bands squeezed his forearms and dangled off his wrists and ankles.

“Wow Percy, you look tasty.”

The Styx bared her fangs at Hermes, clutching the nervous demigod to her chest. “Perseus is my priest, he only wants to worship me.”

“Of course and it was foolish of me to think otherwise, forgive me, My Lady.”

No one could make fun of Hermes for wanting to move his chair as far away from Styx and Percy as the table allowed him.

“How about we just start eating? I haven’t eaten since I got down here.”

“You are not eating anything your uncle has to offer. Me and your father went through the liberty of making sure any meal prepared for you has been shipped directly from the surface.”

A brigade of skeleton chefs emerged from the kitchen, lumbering giant silver platers of surface food.

Pots of honey and olive oil, cutting boards layered with cheese and fresh bread, room temperature butter, and pitchers of water and ruby red wines that stained the lips of the clay jars.

Roasted boar and bleeding steaks passed between guests, cobs of corn being broken in half and shared from the hands of one person to another. Percy picked apart his plate when the Styx wasn’t rubbing her fork on his lips or refilling his glass with water. Conversation flowed over Percy as though he was a catfish in the Hudson.

Percy paid little mind to the new faces that would join to feast before being torn away from the table by duty and responsibility.

Once Percy felt as though his chiton could no longer contain his belly Percy tried to excuse himself from the table.

“Can I go back to my room, please? I don’t think I’m goin' to last much longer.” Percy rubbed wide circles on the underside of his belly to ease the tension. Wherever his dinner had come from was out of this world.

“Of course Percy. Do you remember where your room is?”

“I know where it is, Hades.” The Styx stood up from her seat and cradled Percy in her arms like he was her baby and not her ‘priest’. Hades watched as she phased out of the room like a phantom and tried not to rub at his nose. Having the Styx this obsessed with the newest and shiniest boy hero was going to be the downfall of his home.

“Hades, are you alright honey?”

Persephone grabbed her husband's wrist, peering at him through the gaps of his fingers.

“I need to start changing the lock in here more often.”

@hadesxpercy-events

I plan on posting the full thing on Ao3 once it's done but for right now all I have are snippets

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babyrdie · 5 months ago

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This is actually part of my text on Peleus (basically collecting sources for his myths), but here is a separate post because the text focused on Peleus is too long. In this post there are no details of this relationship because I'll leave that for this text about Peleus, I'm just organizing excerpts here.

According to The Iliad, by Homer (8th century BC):

[It's Achilles' line im Book 18] "[...] Radiant gifts the gods presented Peleus that day they drove you into a mortal's marriage bed … I wish you'd lingered deep with the deathless sea-nymphs, lived at ease, and Peleus carried home a mortal bride. [...]"

[Book 24] But white-armed Hera flared at him in anger: "Yes, there'd be some merit even in what you say, lord of the silver bow-if all you gods, in fact, would set Achilles and Hector high in equal honor. But Hector is mortal. He sucked a woman's breast. Achilles sprang from a goddess-one I reared myself: I brought her up and gave her in marriage to a man, to Peleus, dearest to all your hearts, you gods. All you gods, you shared in the wedding rites, and so did you, Apollo-there you sat at the feast and struck your lyre. What company you keep now, these wretched Trojans. You-forever faithless!"

According to Cypria and Catalogue of Women frag, by Stasinus of Cyprus and Hesiod (7th and 8th century BC):

Voll. Herculan. (Papyri from Herculaneum), 2nd Collection, viii.105: The author of the Cypria says that Thetis avoided wedlock with Zeus to please Hera; but that Zeus was angry and swore that she should mate with a mortal. Hesiod also has the like account.

According to Prometheus Bound, by Aeschylus (6th century BC):

Prometheus Yes, truly, the day will come when Zeus, although stubborn of soul, shall be humbled, seeing that he plans a marriage that shall hurl him into oblivion from his sovereignty and throne; and then immediately the curse his father Cronus invoked as he fell from his ancient throne, shall be fulfilled to the uttermost. Deliverance from such ruin no one of the gods can show him clearly except me. I know the fact and the means. So let him sit there in his assurance, putting his trust in the crash reverberating on high and brandishing his fire-breathing bolt in his hands. For these shall not protect him from falling in ignominious and unendurable ruin. Such an adversary is he now preparing despite himself, a prodigy irresistible, even one who shall discover a flame mightier than the lightning and a deafening crash to outroar the thunder; a prodigy who shall shiver the trident, Poseidon's spear, that scourge of the sea and shaker of the land. Then, wrecked upon this evil, Zeus shall learn how different it is to be a sovereign and a slave.

According to Isthmian Ode 8, by Pindar (6th century BC):

All this was remembered even by the assembly of the blessed gods, when Zeus and splendid Poseidon contended for marriage with Thetis, each of them wanting her to be his lovely bride; for desire possessed them. But the immortal minds of the gods did not accomplish that marriage for them, when they heard the divine prophecies. Wise Themis spoke in their midst and said that it was fated that the sea-goddess should bear a princely son, stronger than his father, who would wield another weapon in his hand more powerful than the thunderbolt or the irresistible trident, if she lay with Zeus or one of his brothers. "No, cease from this. Let her accept a mortal's bed, and see her son die in battle, a son who is like Ares in the strength of his hands and like lightning in the swift prime of his feet. My counsel is to bestow this god-granted honor of marriage on Peleus son of Aeacus, who is said to be the most pious man living on the plain of Iolcus. Let the message be sent at once to Cheiron's immortal cave, right away, and let the daughter of Nereus never again place the leaves of strife in our hands. On the evening of the full moon let her loosen the lovely bridle of her virginity for that hero." So the goddess spoke, addressing the sons of Cronus, and they nodded assent with their immortal brows. The fruit of her words did not perish, for they say that Zeus shared the common concern even for the marriage of Thetis.

According to Nemean Ode 3, by Pindar (6th century BC):

Among old examples of excellence is king Peleus, who rejoiced when he cut a matchless spear, and who alone, without an army, captured Iolcus, and caught the sea-nymph Thetis after many struggles.

Accordint to Nemean Ode 5, by Pindar (6th century BC):

[...] Without hesitating he refused Acastus' bride, fearing the anger of father Zeus, the god of hospitality. And from the sky Zeus who rouses the clouds noticed, Zeus the king of the immortals, and he promised that soon he would make one of the Nereids of the golden distaff the sea-dwelling wife of Peleus, after gaining the consent of their brother-in-law Poseidon, who often comes from Aegae to the famous Dorian Isthmus.

According to Argonautica, by Apollonius Rhodius (3rd century BC):

[It's Hera's line] "[...] But thee indeed from thy infancy did I tend with my own hands and love beyond all others that dwell in the salt sea because thou didst refuse to share the couch of Zeus, for all his desire. For to him such deeds are ever dear, to embrace either goddesses or mortal women. But in reverence for me and with fear in thy heart thou didst shrink from his love; and he then swore a mighty oath that thou shouldst never be called the bride of an immortal god. Yet he ceased not from spying thee against thy will, until reverend Themis declared to him the whole truth, how that it was thy fate to bear a son mightier than his sire; wherefore he gave thee up, for all his desire, fearing lest another should be his match and rule the immortals, and in order that he might ever hold his own dominion. But I gave thee the best of the sons of earth to be thy husband, that thou mightest find a marriage dear to thy heart and bear children; and I summoned to the feast the gods, one and all. And with my own hand I raised the bridal torch, in return for the kindly honour thou didst pay me. [...]"

According to Fabulae, by Hyginus (Roman author, but Greek myths. 1st century BC-1st century AD):

A prediction about Thetis, the Nereid, was that her son would be greater than his father. Since no one but Prometheus knew this, and Jove wished to lie with her, Prometheus promised Jove that he would give him timely warning if he would free him from his chains. And so when the promise was given he advised Jove not to lie with Thetis, for if one greater than he were born he might drive Jove from his kingdom, as he himself had done to Saturn. And so Thetis was given in marriage to Peleus, son of Aeacus, and Hercules was sent to kill the eagle which was eating out Prometheus' heart. When it was killed, Prometheus after thirty thousand years was freed from Mount Caucasus.

Accordint to Library, by Pseudo-Apollodorus (1st or 2nd century AD):

Afterwards he married Thetis, daughter of Nereus, for whose hand Zeus and Poseidon had been rivals; but when Themis prophesied that the son born of Thetis would be mightier than his father, they withdrew. But some say that when Zeus was bent on gratifying his passion for her, Prometheus declared that the son borne to him by her would be lord of heaven; and others affirm that Thetis would not consort with Zeus because she had been brought up by Hera, and that Zeus in anger would marry her to a mortal. Chiron, therefore, having advised Peleus to seize her and hold her fast in spite of her shape-shifting, he watched his chance and carried her off, and though she turned, now into fire, now into water, and now into a beast, he did not let her go till he saw that she had resumed her former shape.

Accordint to Description of Greece, by Pausanias: (2nd century AD):

There is also a figure of Thetis as a maid; Peleus is taking hold of her, and from the hand of Thetis a snake is darting at Peleus.

According to Heroica (this version is purposely different), by Philostratus the Athenian (2nd-3rd century AD):

So shall it be, and you will say that you know everything about Achilles. I have heard the following about him. An apparition of a daimon of the sea used to visit Peleus. Because she loved him, the daimon had intercourse with Peleus, although out of shame for the crowd she did not yet speak about herself, not even from where she came. When the sea was calm, she happened to be frolicking seated upon dolphins and sea horses, while he, looking at these things from the summit of Mount Pelion, became aware of the goddess and feared her approach. But she made Peleus courageous by reminding him how Eos loved Tithonos, how Aphrodite was in love with Anchises, and how Selene habitually visited the sleeping Endymion. "Peleus," she said, "I shall even give to you a child mightier than a mortal." When Achilles was born, they made Kheiron his foster-father.

According to Posthomerica, by Quintus Smyrnaeus (4th century AD):

[It's Thetis' line] "[...] Let Priam's seed be glad but I unto Olympus will ascend, and at the feet of everlasting Zeus will cast me, bitterly planning that he gave me, an unwilling bride, unto a man -- a man whom joyless eld soon overtook, to whom the Fates are near, with death for gift. Yet not so much for his lot do I grieve as for Achilles; for Zeus promised me to make him glorious in the Aeacid halls, in recompense for the bridal I so loathed that into wild wind now I changed me, now to water, now in fashion as a bird I was, now as the blast of flame; nor might a mortal win me for his bride, who seemed all shapes in turn that earth and heaven contain, until the Olympian pledged him to bestow a godlike son on me, a lord of war. Yea, in a manner this did he fulfil faithfully; for my son was mightiest of men. [...]"

According to Ad Lycophronem (scholia in Lycophron's Alexandra), by Ioannis Tzetzes (12th century AD):

According to Euripides, Thetis, pursued by Peleus, transformed herself, like Proteus, into various forms. There, he caught her in the form of a cuttlefish and mated with her, hence the place in Magnesia of Thessaly is called Sepias.

#tw rape #tw sa #Thetis #Zeus #Peleus #Hera #birdie.txt #birdiethings

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hopefulatrocity · 1 year ago

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From The Ashes- Chapter 10

Note: Sorry for the wait. This is probably the longest chapter I've written so far. And the next chapter is a bit bigger. More Daryl, Kismet, and Pheonyx interactions. Thank you to @garlic-the-gnome and @loganlostitall for reading my drafts and giving me advice and corrections. I'm super grateful for it. Also, don't be like Daryl. If you think someone is trans and want to ask, don't. If you have to, ask their pronouns. If a trans person wants to reveal themself as trans to you, they will. By asking, you're putting them in a shitty spot. Not only does it imply they don't pass if you have to ask, but some people just don't want to talk about it. Daryl isn't verse in this stuff though. Pheonyx can forgive him for that.

Banners by: @liminal-creations

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Chapter CW/TW: talk of drug-addict/abusive/neglectful parents, shitty childhoods in general, denial of sexuality, anxiety, PTSD, hate crime mentions

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The damn mutt wasn’t as stupid as he looked earlier. As soon as Pheonyx had him sniff Sophia’s shirt and gave him the command, the dog shot off after the little girl’s trail. Originally, Daryl had been skeptical of the pup’s skill. The only word that he could think of to describe Kismet was goofy. His muscled body was all limbs and he crashed through the underbrush and bushes with no regard for noise or tact. It was hard to believe that this dog would be trained to do more than drool and sniff his own butt. The hunting dogs that lived in his trailer park growing up were more refined. They could be noisy, especially once they treed a coon or squirrel, but when they were working in the woods, they were damn near soundless. Still dubious about the dog, he had stopped them a few hundred yards behind the area where he and Rick had first started tracking Sophia. He wanted to see if Kismet would follow the same path they had when she first got lost. And he did. The dog held his nose to the ground and started following the area they had walked through 2 days ago. Pheonyx watched the dog with a proud look on his face before turning to Daryl and motioning towards the direction Kismet was going.

“After you, Apollo.”

An abrupt snort left his nose. Apollo. The Greek god of archery. Of all the nicknames he’d ever been called that was probably the nicest by far. It was much preferred to Merle’s nickname for him, “Darlena.” Merle mostly did it to annoy him. But it was also a jab at his manhood. Mostly due to the fact that he didn’t pant after women like some kind of sex fiend but partially because he had a streak of kindness in him that Merle always lacked. Most people didn’t know, it wasn’t something the brothers talked about much, that Merle was Daryl’s half brother. His momma was one of the many junkies that their father went on benders with. Merle spent the first 5 years of his life being shuffled by social workers back and forth between his momma and their Pa. Each of them going through cycles of getting clean and then relapsing shortly after. They didn’t get clean for their son though. It was simply for the welfare check and food stamps that came along with having custody of a child. Right before his 6th birthday, Merle watched his momma OD. He was locked in the tiny apartment with her body for 2 days before the neighbors were able to get the cops to investigate the constant screaming of a child. From there, his brother lived solely with his father. Their Pa got better at playing a sober, loving father and Merle got better at hiding the bruises and lashes. Eventually, social services left them alone. It was just the two of them until Will Dixon married Daryl’s momma in one of his brief moments of sobriety. While she treated Merle like he was her own, the damage to his emotional well-being was already done. His brother spent years all alone. He never had anyone who truly cared for him and the only love he ever received was a facade for social workers and cops that always seemed to be snooping around. Daryl suspected that neglect was why his brother had such a hard time maintaining any sort of relationship. And his obsession with being manly, therefore not weak, was entirely due to the brainwashing their father had instilled in him. So, Daryl couldn’t entirely blame his brother for his constant bullying and name-calling. He would happily take “Apollo” over any of the ones his brother had come up with. Especially if Pheonyx was the one calling him it. The name sounded so sweet coming from his lips, and honestly it made Daryl feel wanted. Aside from his brother, he never had friends growing up. And friends gave each other meaningful nicknames. Was that what this was? Was Pheonyx trying to be friends with him? Or was there something else? He did wink at him earlier. Didn’t he? No. He couldn’t have. He must have had something in his eye. That’s all. There is no possible way that a guy like Pheonyx would be trying to flirt with a guy like Daryl. For one, Daryl was older than him by at least a decade, if not more. Second, Pheonyx was incredibly attractive. Obviously, Daryl wasn’t gay but he could objectively say that the other man was beautiful. Even with the world the way it was, he was attractive enough that he could have anyone he wanted. There was no way he could possibly want someone like Daryl. An old redneck who spent the majority of his life chasing after his older brother. The idea that Pheonyx might, though, made his cheeks and ears turn red. Swamped with embarrassment, he gripped his crossbow tightly, reassuring himself of its comforting presence.

Daryl ducked his head, hiding the heat of his face from Pheonyx’s eyes, and began to follow after Kismet. Despite the fact that he was out of sight, the dog was easy to trail. He left a path of destruction in his wake that was akin to Godzilla destroying a city. Broken branches, trampled bushes, and large paw prints smushed into the mud were like a line of breadcrumbs that led straight to the fumbling beast. If that wasn’t enough, Kismet sniffed out the trail like he was a pig at the state fair. Each inhale was a long snort and exhaled out with a loud wheeze. The sound was like a homing beacon to the dog’s location. Daryl hoped that the everpresent sound of windchimes around them would confuse walkers enough to keep them from following after the dog, and subsequently the two humans on his trail.

He followed Kismet’s path for a minute before he realized that Pheonyx wasn’t next to him. Looking over his shoulder, he called out,

“Ya comin’, Firebird?”

Daryl wasn’t entirely sure where the name had come from. The word slid off his tongue like it was something he had been saying for years. It could be just a play on the other man’s namesake. Maybe it was the fire he had seen in Pheonyx’s eyes when he was standing up to Shane earlier. Either way, the name fit him well. Since Pheonyx had given Daryl his own nickname, it seemed only fitting to have chosen one for him too.

They spent almost two hours following after Kismet. The speckled dog was very intent on the trail, only breaking his trance to jog back and smell the shirt hanging off of Pheonyx’s belt. After he reminded himself of the scent he was supposed to be tracking, he would trot back to the area he stopped and correct his direction to follow the scent. Pheonyx knew he was on the right track though, occasionally he would catch glimpses of small footprints in the moist forest floor and broken branches at a height that was equivalent to a 12 year old girl. Daryl must have noticed those things too because he didn’t voice any objections to their pathing.

The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and even the shade from the forest canopy wasn’t enough to mute the heat from the blazing rays. Sweat was dripping down Pheonyx’s face and creating dark spots on his gray tank top. Daryl didn’t seem to be immune to the heat either, his face was glistening with perspiration, making the dirt on his skin darker and more pronounced. Kismet was also panting heavily. He didn’t break from his job though. In past training sessions, they didn’t usually stop until the dog found the scent he was tracking. This was very different than making Jimmy run around the yard with a squirrel skin dragging behind him though. As much as Pheonyx wanted to find Sophia right away, he needed to advocate for Kismet. The pup needed a breather.

“We need to take a break,” he said, wiping his hand across his forehead to sop up some of the sweat that was tickling his skin.

Daryl didn’t pause though. He looked back at the younger man with a frown and a slight glare. “Nah we gotta keep movin’. Wastin’ daylight just standin’ around. Sophia could be jus up ahead.”

“If she is, we’ll find her. 10 minutes. That’s all I ask. Kismet needs water and to relax for a minute. We’re no good to Sophia if we pass out from heat stroke and dehydration,” Pheonyx said, standing his ground.

The archer was silent for a moment, but he realized the truth in Pheonyx’s words. “Fine,” he muttered in defeat. Once he glanced around the surrounding area and concluded there were no walkers or other dangers lurking, he leaned against the nearest tree and began to bite on the skin around his thumbnail. It was a habit of his from childhood he’d never seemed to break, no matter how much Merle told him it made him look like he was sucking his thumb.

Pheonyx smiled at him in thanks before whistling to recall Kismet. It only took a few seconds for the Tasmanian Devil to burst through the brush, his tongue hanging out in an attempt to cool his overheated body. Pulling off his backpack, Pheonyx knelt next to him and began to scrub the dog’s neck, whispering to him, “You’re doing so good, handsome. Gotta take a break though. You thirsty?”

Daryl tried to ignore the way his body shivered at the softness in Pheonyx’s tone. He tried not to watch the small beads of sweat slide down his toned arms, making the images on his skin glisten and come to life. He tried not to notice how the neckline of his gray tank top gaped a bit from the angle the other man was kneeling and he was able to get a glimpse of raven wings across his chest. Instead, he focused on his movements. Pheonyx pulled out three water bottles and a dog bowl from his bag. The younger man opened one up, emptied the bottle into the bowl, and placed the vessel on the ground for Kismet to drink.

Half a smile overtook Pheonyx’s face as he watched Kismet go to town on the water. Lapping loudly, more water ended up on his muzzle and the surrounding ground than in his mouth. It was still enough to cool him down a bit though because his panting was less heavy as he sprawled on the ground afterward. Shaking his head at the ditzy dog, Pheonyx stood up and handed one of the water bottles over to Daryl, who took it gratefully. He also pulled out one of the bags of jerky from his pocket and held it out to him.

Daryl felt a wave of reluctance. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry. He was. The group’s food supply had dwindled over the past few days, and he hadn’t been able to properly hunt since he was busy looking for Sophia. He’d only managed to swallow down a small stale granola bar before they’d made the short drive to the Greene farm. The idea of being indebted to anyone though, didn’t sit right with him. Nothing in life was free. Especially not for him and Merle. That had been a lesson he’d learned early on. Parents were supposed to provide for their children. Food, clothes, love. But Will Dixon was only a parent in the biological sense. Nothing he ever gave the boys had been from the kindness of his heart. At first, his Ma did her best to put food on the table and clothe them. Once her depression took hold though, she couldn’t work and barely managed to get out of bed everyday. He and Merle took care of themselves the majority of the time. Food was swiped from the local grocery store, picked out of the dumpsters behind restaurants, or stolen from the local food bank donation bins around Thanksgiving time. Clothes were appropriated from lost and found bins around town, or purchased from a thrift store using the meager amounts of money the boys were able to make doing chores for the older folks in the trailer park. Despite the world falling, things hadn’t changed so much for Daryl. He still did his part to earn his food and clothing within the group. If he took the food from Pheonyx, he would owe him. Or at least, he felt like he would. The water bottle he had taken without hesitation but that was different. Water was a bit more common to find, especially on a farm that likely had a well. Food was more of a scarcity and therefore more valuable. So, no matter how much his chest was telling him that Pheonyx wasn’t like that, that he wouldn’t hold some jerky over Daryl’s head, his brain was winning the fight.

Pheonyx could see the apprehension on Daryl’s face.

“I swear I didn’t poison it,” he said, still holding the bag out.

“Ain’t that,” Daryl mumbled, ducking his eyes in embarrassment, still trying to win the inner battle with his mind to just accept the damn food. “Don’t want any charity is all.”

Understanding dawned on Pheonyx and he nodded his head. During the first 8 years of his life, his mom had been an insurance agent and the bread-winner of the family. She was traveling 3 weeks out of every month and, even when she was home, her attention was mentally in the office. His biological father was a “stay-at-home dad”. Which meant he stayed home drinking most of the day while Pheonyx did his best to avoid his wrath. Despite this, the family had been middle class in their finances. So, he hadn’t gone without material-wise. While love had been lacking during that time, he always had a full stomach and always had fairly decent clothing. Moving with his mother and brother to live with Hershel, hadn’t changed that. His step-father was more well-to-do than they had been previously. A lot of the money was generational but most was from Hershel’s veterinary practice. Being one of two practices that specialized in large animals, in a farming community like Senoia, brought in quite a bit of money. They lived humbly despite the financial padding. Pheonyx could understand Daryl’s reluctance though. He knew it was hard to accept help, it created a sense of weakness, a feeling of helplessness. After he left Georgia, Pheonyx struggled immensely. Most of it was mental, but the physical results of that night also plagued him. At the time, he didn’t want to ask for help. He didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want to owe anyone. By asking for help, his body wouldn’t be his own. It would belong to someone else. Because people didn’t typically do things without expectation of payment. He had already lost ownership of his body that night. He didn’t want to give anyone else the opportunity to take it again. Aaron had been there to help him when his problems became too much but he had been at his breaking point then. There hadn’t been any other option.

“I promise it’s not charity. And I’m not looking for anything in return. Mom raised me to be a gentleman. And that means sharing when I have the means to. Maggie packed enough for all three of us,” Pheonyx shook the bag a little and raised his eyebrows.

Again, Daryl hesitated but after a moment he tentatively took the plastic bag of jerky. He waited for Pheonyx to take a bite of his own portion before he popped a small piece of the dehydrated meat into his mouth. Now, Daryl Dixon was no stranger to jerky. Growing up in a house where hunting was as natural as breathing, meant that smoked and dehydrated meat were a staple of his diet. His parent’s money issues meant that fresh, healthy foods weren’t always available. There were days when all Merle and he had to eat was jerky and wild mulberries that grew rampant on the outskirts of the trailer park. The jerky he was currently chewing though, was nothing like the overly salty, yet still bland, meat he was used to making and eating. That meat was a means of survival. This felt like an indulgence. Despite the lack of moisture, the jerky was still tender and almost melted on his tongue, releasing a myriad of flavors. It was sweet and peppery with a hint of smokiness that rounded out the blend of spices. A small bit of gaminess let him know it was rabbit meat, which wasn’t his favorite overall, but if it was prepared anything like what he was chewing on, his opinion was likely to change.

Apparently he made some sort of face because Pheonyx looked at him questioningly. Daryl averted his eyes, ears turning a flaming red, embarrassed about letting his emotions show.

“It’s good,” he mumbled.

The brightness of the forest seemed to increase tenfold with the proud smile Pheonyx gave him and those damn moths fluttered in his gut again.

“Thanks! I make it myself. When people evacuated they took all their canned goods. But no one thinks to bring the spice cabinet. So, I’ve got an abundance of stuff to create different flavor profiles. My personal motto is that just because the world ended doesn’t mean you can’t have good food. Just have to know how to use what’s at your disposal.”

At Zombie Ink(an ironic name considering their current circumstances), Pheonyx’s boss held a bi-weekly potluck for the staff, which consisted of many ethnicities and cultures. Every meeting was a blend of new flavors and cooking techniques to be learned. It was one of the few times that Pheonyx felt like he could interact with people, even if it just meant sharing recipes or learning about different cultural nuances, and had helped him make some friends. He had been trying to recreate those flavors and dishes with the monotonous food supplies they had.

Silence lapsed as the two made quick work of the food. Pheonyx alternated between eating his own and tossing pieces of the unseasoned jerky to Kismet, who ate it enthusiastically. Daryl tried to keep his gaze averted but he kept getting drawn back to the man a few feet from him. His mind was playing through the events of the day up until that point. And he knew he had to ask Pheonyx something. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but he had to make sure.

Popping the last piece of meat into his mouth, Daryl broached the subject bluntly, “Ya a guy, right?”

Pheonyx dropped the piece of jerky that he had been about to place in his mouth, a choking noise of shock leaving his lips. Kismet dove and caught the meat before it could hit the dirt near his owner’s knees. Fear and anxiety was flitting through Pheonyx’s veins, or else he would have been worried about how the spices would affect Kismet’s stomach. He knew where the conversation was going. It was probably inevitable but the fact he was alone in the woods with the man upped the terror of the situation. While he felt comfortable around Daryl, he couldn’t help the images of the past that floated through his mind.

“Uh yeah- I mean yes. I am.”

Daryl felt the fear in Pheonyx’s eyes like a knife to the gut. His hands twitched with the need to reach out and soothe his worries. But he didn’t. Something told him that any movements towards the other man would make things worse. So he kept his face blank, and averted his gaze to the surrounding woods. He was starting to think he shouldn’t have started this conversation, based on the other man’s fearful reactions. But there was no going back now.

“Ya were born a girl, though?” he asked calmly, trying to make his deep voice as un-intimidating as possible.

Pheonyx considered lying. It would be the safest option. He’d grown up around guys like Daryl. Rough conservative types. And they were usually the ones who reacted violently to anything in the realm of ‘other’. But the archer was so calm. The question had been asked so nonchalantly. As if he were discussing the weather. His words weren’t laced with accusation or scrutinizing countenance. He was just gazing calmly into the woods and fiddling with the now-empty bag that once held their afternoon snack.

“Yes,” the whispered word slipped through Pheonyx’s mouth before he could stop it. He hoped that he hadn’t heard him, but the archer’s ears had been honed after years of hunting.

Daryl’s eyes locked with Pheonyx’s and he knew the other man had heard him. Pheonyx flinched, eyes slamming shut, bracing himself for the pain. His heart was slamming against his chest, like the shadows did on the barn door when he walked past. Sweat coated his palms and soaked into his shirt. His breathing picked up a bit and Kismet crawled over to him, whining. The big dog pushed his nose into Pheonyx’s hand and sidled his bulky body up next to his masters.

Pheonyx waited, barely even noticing Kismet’s attempts at calming him. 1 second, 10 seconds, a minute. He waited for the pain, whether it be vile words or physical hits. But they never came. Instead, there was a crumple of plastic and a deep, “Okay.”

A part of Daryl wanted to offer more words, to say that Pheonyx didn’t have to worry. That he wouldn’t hurt him. Because he knew that was why Pheonyx had reacted that way: sweating, flinching, practically hyperventilating. Someone had hurt him. Badly. Anger filled his body and he wanted to turn around and punch the tree he had been leaning against. That would just cement Pheonyx’s fears though. He tried not to think about why he had such a fierce reaction to the idea of someone hurting the younger man, someone he had only known for a few hours. Instead, he crumpled up the empty bag he had been holding and shoved it in his pocket.

Pheonyx’s eyes shot open and he gaped at the other man in shock. “Okay? That’s it? Just okay?”

“Ain’t my business what ya got goin’ on in ya pants. Just didn’ wanna make assumptions,” the older man said simply. Like he was giving the answer to 2+2.

It took a moment for his words to soak in. Daryl wasn’t going to hurt him. Daryl wasn’t going to yell. Daryl wasn’t going to break him. Daryl wasn’t going to try to “fix” him. Daryl wasn’t like the demons from the alley. Daryl was different.

And Pheonyx wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He wasn’t used to people just accepting him for who he was. Maggie and Aaron had been the only ones who accepted him whole-heartedly, no questions asked. There was always some kind of push back. People asked him if he was sure, or if it was just a phase. Or telling him that god didn’t make mistakes. Or saying they accepted him but continually messing up his pronouns. So, he just cleared his throat, patted Kismet’s head, and stood up. He adjusted the cutlass on his hip, making sure all his other weapons were attached and in place.

“Are we ready to go?”

The old Miller house had been abandoned for almost 50 years. Originally, it had belonged to Hershel’s great great aunt. She lived there with her husband and two kids. When her kids died from a severe illness, haunting memories caused the married couple to move out of Georgia. After that, the house had occasionally been offered up to farmhands and their families but nothing permanent in going on four decades. For years it stood, withering and decaying, on the far edges of the Greene property.

The white house had two stories and faded red shutters. Paint was falling off the sides of the structure and the front awning was one wind gust away from caving in. The front door was closed with a red x spray painted across the front. At one point, it was beautiful. Now, it was just an embodiment of memories.

Pheonyx’s hand gripped onto Kismet’s leather collar tightly. The dog whined and tried to pull them towards the house, indicating that the scent trail led there.

“Stay, Kismet,” Pheonyx murmured to the pup. A grumble came from Kismet’s barrel chest, indicating his displeasure at being called off the search. To appease him, Pheonyx pulled some unseasoned jerky from his pocket and gave it to the dog. Wet slobber coated his palm as Kismet gobbled it down before flopping onto the ground, much akin to a dead fish. Grimacing, Pheonyx wiped his hand on his pants and looked over at Daryl, who was checking the strings on his crossbow.

“That yer doin'?” Daryl asked, pointing at the red X on the door.

“Yeah. I mark all the houses I search and clear. I can tell you right now that someone’s been here. Even without Kismet chomping to follow the scent.”

“How’s tha’?”

“The side door’s open. I always make sure to shut the doors when I’m done with a house. Don’t want any shadows finding their way in there and surprising the next people who make their way through,” Pheonyx explained, shrugging. He unsheathed his cutlass, the sharp edge making a slight zing as it rubbed against the metal supports of the casing. The light weight of the weapon felt comfortable in his hand, and he felt its aura of safety engulf him.

Daryl led the way towards the house, readying his crossbow when they stepped up onto the porch. He turned his head towards Pheonyx, nodding his head at him, gauging to see if he was ready or not. Pheonyx lifted his cutlass up, slightly above his midline, and jerked his head once back at him. Daryl used that as his cue to kick the front door open. Dust flew up as the rotting wood hit the wall with a resounding bang.

“The door was unlocked. You could have just opened it, Apollo.” Pheonyx whispered to him, in a slightly scolding tone.

Daryl rolled his eyes but kept his attention on the house in front of him. That was probably true, but he wouldn’t admit that to the younger man. The place had obviously been abandoned a long time ago, but some furniture and knick knacks still remained. A thick layer of dust coated everything, but he was able to make out small footprints on the weathered wood floors. He wanted to call out for Sophia, his heart pounding at knowing she was, or had been, there. But they hadn’t checked the place for walkers yet. Even though there was no scent of decay, there was still a possibility of one of those geeks popping up.

“Let’s split up,” he murmured back.

“Let me guess. It’s not you, it’s me, right?”, Pheonyx joked, still keeping his eye on the quiet house.

If it was anyone else, Daryl would have snapped at them for fooling around while doing something so serious, but he found himself enjoying the playful side of Pheonyx. Compared to the terrified man he’d seen only a short while ago, he would gladly take the playful one. Daryl wasn’t sure how it was possible, but even more blood rushed to his already overheated face as he thought about the syntax of the joke. Of being in a relationship with Pheonyx.

“Stop,” he said weakly.

A light chuckle sounded next to him. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. The second floor is unstable so I don’t recommend going up there,” Pheonyx motioned with the short sword to the broken wooden stairs.

Daryl nodded, glancing at the rotted steps across from them. “Ain’t seein’ any tracks up there anyways. She prolly stuck ta the first floor.”

Pheonyx nodded at him. “I’ll check right.”

With that, they both began to search on their respective sides of the house. Daryl slowly aimed his crossbow right and left as he checked each room, glancing down slightly to track the small shoe prints imprinted on the dusty floor. Light creaking from across the house let him know that Pheonyx was also taking steady steps as he walked through his section of the first floor. Daryl was impressed at how quiet the younger man was. Both in the woods and in the house. Daryl pulled his mind from thoughts of Pheonyx and made his way through what used to be a living room. The only furniture in it was a torn couch, that something had obviously made its home evidenced by the slightly rustling cushions. Next was what he assumed was a dining room, as the only thing left in it was an overturned wooden chair and a broken bar cart. From there, he entered the kitchen area. This had more furniture left than the other parts of the house. Old cupboards lined the wall opposite a wide window, a thin door to the right indicating some sort of pantry. A rickety table was askew in the middle of the space, dirty cutlery scattered on the surface. On the wall across from the door was an old wooden hutch with dirty mason jars and random kitchen utensils. Adjacent to it was an overflowing metal trash can. A heavy fish scent led him over to the bin. Sitting on top of old crumpled newspapers and empty glass bottles, was a can of anchovies that was open and empty. It was newer than the trash it resided on, and the juices in the can hadn’t dried. Holding it towards his nose, he tried to smell any scent of spoiling. There was a slight sourness to it that meant it was just beginning to go bad. It was probably about a day old. The soured fish scent would be heavier if it were any older, especially with the high temperature in the days past.

Glancing around at the floor, Daryl noted the plethora of tiny shoe prints that stippled the worn panels. Most of them congregated around the pantry so he stepped slowly towards the door. Keeping his crossbow raised, just in case of surprises, he pulled the door open quickly. There wasn’t anybody inside but in the small area, beneath the main shelves, was a tiny nest of blankets. The area was tight and only someone shorter than 5ft would be able to cram themselves in there comfortably. A sense of relief filled Daryl. He was upset that Sophia wasn’t there, but they were on the right track. She had been there. And if the can was any indication, she was there recently.

A squeak of the floorboards had Daryl whirling around, aiming his crossbow directly at the source of the noise. Instead of a walker’s milky white eyes, he was met with fern green irises. Pheonyx, in the middle of sheathing his cutlass, raised his eyebrows at the other man.

“Calm down, Apollo. Just me. The rest of the house is clear. You find anything?”

Daryl lowered his weapon. He grunted in affirmation and inclined his head towards the nest of blankets at the bottom of the pantry, “We’re ‘bout a day behind her. Found a fresh can in the trash.”

A look of deep concentration came over Pheonyx’s face and he turned to one of the built-in cupboards next to the pantry door. He opened the door to the bottom-most cabinet. It was empty.

Daryl was curious about what the man was looking for but his mind went blank as he watched Pheonyx bend over. His mouth went dry and his grip tightened on the weapon in his hand. He’d never been much of an ass man(hell, he didn’t think he was any type of man before this) but the way Pheonyx’s backside filled out those jeans had him thinking thoughts that were confusing for someone who obviously wasn’t gay.

A large smile overtook Pheonyx’s face and Daryl pushed away the troubling fantasies he was having.

“Your girl’s chance of survival just went up.”, there was a slight squeak of excitement in the younger man’s voice that he couldn’t help.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the other man in confusion, so Pheonyx explained. “A month ago, I set up twelve supply drops with bug-out bags. Just in case something were to happen at the farm. One of those was here. Each bag has enough supplies to help survive a week, or more if rationed right. MRE’s, pop-up tents, water bottles, water purification tablets, survival blankets, firestarters, maps, compasses. There’s even a hunting knife in each bag. We may not have found her today but her mom should feel a little better knowing she's got some supplies."

The relief that Daryl felt was palpable and Pheonyx was glad he could at least offer him something.

“I’d say let’s keep going but we need to start heading back now if we want to be at the farm before it gets dark,” Pheonyx said. He noted the flash of anger in Daryl’s eyes and continued softly, “Kismet and I will head out at first light tomorrow.”

The older man grunted in frustration and brought his thumb to his mouth to chew on his nail. His train of thought stopped and focused on the phrasing of the other man’s words. Thinking back he remembered Pheonyx saying they would only work together for the day. While it would probably be better to have more people spread out looking for Sophia, his stomach clenched at the idea of splitting up from Pheonyx. Obviously, because it was safer to work in pairs. Not because he was attracted to the younger man. That would be weird because he obviously wasn’t gay. “Ya ain’t going out alone, Firebird. Me, you, n’ the mutt can search together. Might need ta talk ta Rick ‘bout his ideas fer tomorrow though.”

Running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair, Pheonyx nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know how Kismet will do if we have a bunch of other people in the woods searching too. He did good today, but with a bunch of other smells he might get confused. I also worry about other people getting lost. Shadows aren’t the only things in these woods that can hurt you. No offense but the others in your group didn’t look like they had much experience with the outdoors.”

Daryl snorted, “Yer tellin’ me. Buncha city-slickers.”

They both headed out the back door of the house and Pheonyx whistled his three note recall to Kismet. While they waited on the dog, Daryl called out to Sophia. It was a long shot, he knew that. But he had to try. There was no response though. The only sounds he heard were the warbling melody of frogs and the distant burbling of the creek. And the chaotic sounds of a huge dog barreling his way towards them. Both men watched as Kismet, unable to stop his momentum once he reached them, slid into a boxwood bush with a loud crash.

“For fuck’s sake,” Pheonyx grimaced, “You okay, Kismet?” he called out.

The leaves and branches shook for a moment before Kismet’s speckled face popped out from the green foliage. His tongue was hanging out, panting happily. He shook himself off before trotting over to them. A quick glance over told Pheonyx that, aside from some dirt on his sides, the dog was unscathed. He turned his head to ask Daryl if he was ready to head out, but the words died on his lips as he watched the man pluck a Cherokee Rose from the thorny plant neighboring the boxwood that Kismet had just slid into. The story of the flower was something he was very familiar with, having learned about the Georgia state flower in elementary school.

“You getting that for her mom?,” he asked the archer softly, taking a step to run his fingers over one of the roses still on the bush.

Daryl nodded, “Sophia’s all she’s got left. Lost ‘er husband a week ago. Weren’t no real loss there. Guy was a prick,” he was silent for a moment, “Them girls ain’t deserve none a this shit.”

While that was a true enough statement, he couldn’t tell the truth, the real reason he was so determined to find this little girl. He couldn’t even admit it to himself. He couldn’t admit that when he saw Carol, he saw a reflection of his own mama. That first day in camp, Merle had taken to calling her “Mouse” because of how skittish and meek she was. Her husband had such a tight hold on her, every move she made was followed by a look over her shoulder to make sure Ed wasn’t there to beat her down. He’d seen the same look in his own mama’s eyes many times. By the end, the fear had torn her down so much that she was only a shell. A walker before walkers existed.

And he certainly couldn’t admit that he saw a bit of his childhood self in Sophia. Sophia was merely a ghost. People would see flashes of her blonde hair out of the corner of their eyes, but she’d be gone by the time they’d turn their head. While Carl was a chatterbox, Sophia was damn near voiceless. Daryl had probably only heard her speak two or three times that he could remember. Just like her mom, looking at Sophia had him staring back into the past. The little boy, he used to be, lived a life of invisibility. The less he was noticed, the less pain he had to endure under his father’s belt. He spent more time hiding in the kitchen cupboards than in his own bed. But unlike him, Sophia’s abuser died. She had a chance at a normal life–as normal as one can be with the dead walking around. He needed to find her. For Carol. For his mama. For that little boy that he used to be.

Pheonyx wanted to reach out to the man, maybe place a hand on his shoulder, but he stopped himself. Instead he gave him words. “We’ll find her. I don’t like to make promises but I will now. You and me. We’ll find her,” a grumble came from his side and he rolled his eyes, “ Kismet will help too.”

Plucking a rose from the bush, he handed it to Daryl, a physical contract of his words. Calloused hands brushed against his own and blue eyes locked with his green ones. Blood rose on both of their faces and they both looked away at the same time. Nothing more was said.

The two men walked side by side, with a speckled hound between them, one holding a Cherokee Rose and a promise.

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kaddyssammlung · 10 months ago

Text

Take Me Back To Eden-

transcript from the Revolver mag Special Edition

I don't own any of this!

In the cold, slow-moving early days of January 2023, something incredible happened, with

no warning. Sleep Token unleashed a new song upon the world that was, at the time, their

most jaw-dropping offering to date. Chokehold begins omniously with a scratching, grinding buzz and Vessel sings declaratively “When we were made, it was no accident, We were tangled up like branches in a flood”. The soft trill of a piano comes in, the suspense builds and then one of the most dramatic riffs the band have committed to record crashes down.It's just the first twist in a dynamic single full of them.

Chokehold struck a crowd with fans and landed Sleep Token cosigns from some unlikely voices. Lorna Shore, frontman and deathcore YouTube star Will Ramos covered the song and then dissected Vessel's vocal technique with a panel of experts. On the Charismatic Voice YouTube channel. Even Wilder was when American Idol star Chris Daughtry surprised a crowd at London's Royal Albert Hall with a dusky acoustic performance of the single. Yet the most remarkable thing about Chokehold is that, for all the fervor it steered, the song Sleep Token released just 24 hours later had even more profound impact on their career. On January 6th, the day after Chokehold's release, the band dropped a second 2023 single called The Summoning. If Chokehold started a fire, this new song poured kerosene on it. A near 7-minute masterpiece, The Summoning took Sleep Token genre blending approach to new extremes, spanning the divide between death metal-esque savagery and slutty funk. Not only did it work socially, but it somehow made beautiful sense conceptually. The song quickly went viral on TikTok, partly because of the stunning contrast between the styles it plays with and also due to its esoterically charged lyrics. Sleep Token had hinted at lustful thoughts in the past, but The Summoning was easily the most overtly sexual song to date. At this point, over half a decade into their career, Sleep Token were hardly unknowns, and the hype around them had been building in the underground alternative metal scene. But the one true punch of Chokehold into the Summoning sent them skyward.

Sleep Token dominated online conversation, trending on Twitter for days on end, and their streaming numbers shot through the roof. Multiple songs trended on Spotify simultaneously, but it was The Summoning that really took off, rocketing to 15 million plays on the platform in less than two months. As of this writing, it tops 18 million Spotify streams. On January 17th, Sleep Token embarked on a sold-out UK headlining tour, playing some of their biggest venues to date, including the 5,000 capacity Hammersmith Apollo in West London. Befitting the band's grounding audience and the launch of their latest chapter, these rituals were notably scaled up in terms of production. Sleep Token performed amid a stage setup, festooned with plants, and vessels started wearing an elaborate shoulder piece emblazoned with gold to protect him from sleep, for some fans have theorized.

Additionally, the trio of female backing singers from 2022's Room Below Ritual were along for the ride. The three women affectionately nicknamed the Vesselettes in some fan circles, performed in cloaks, their faces covered while they stood eerily stuck still. The tour was made even more special by Sleep Token, debuting two brand new songs during their set, the angsty pop metal exercise Granite and the elegant, chest-infused Aqua Regia. The studio versions were released in the middle of the tour, once again dropping within 24 hours of each other on January 18th and 19th. Respectfully, even before Sleep Token's third album was formally announced, fans understood that this sudden wave of new songs heralded an imminent follow-up to This Place Will Become Your Tomb. After the release of the apocalyptically heavy Vore in the middle of February. That speculation became fact, Take me Back to Eden, was announced for a mid-may release and was set to be the final installment of the band's album trilogy. The group's devotees had already been trying to figure out the record's title from the secret code that had appeared on the band's lead-up graphics. On Take Me Back to Eden, the turbulent hot and cold dynamic between Vessel and Sleep reaches its breaking point. His devotion to and lust for Sleep persists, but Vessel recognizes that he is quite literally in a Chokehold within their relationship, even more so than on the band's previous work. His emotions were conflicted enough on this record. On Granite, Vessel rages against Sleep's uncommunicative behavior, even labeling him aggressive and controlling, while on Aqua Regia, despite the song's undercurrent of desire, he affirms that he is done dancing to alarm bells.

By track 9, Do You Wish That You Loved Me he reaches the firm conclusion that not only is Sleep incapable of returning the love he has craved all along, but perhaps Vessel himself cannot muster the same devotion he seeks from the deity. I cannot hope to give you what I cannot give myself.

By the album's closing track, Euclid, the relationship has finally splintered,leaving Vessel feeling reflective but also anxious to move forward knowing that Ijust need to leave this part of me behind.

Once again, every song to Take Me Back to Eden comes with its own visual identity, but the symbology is Sleep token's most complex and detailed to date.

Each song is represented by its own fantastical character, best described as monsters or demons that are illustrated by Alex Tillbrook in the art booklet that comes with physical copies of the record. Some of the creatures appear in music videos' form as well. Each character looks distinct from the others, but they do share some common features. Many have devil-like horns, and the majority have an unusual number of body parts. The character representing Ascensionism has four arms. The one for Rain has three heads, and the creature for Chokehold has numerous arachnid-like legs.

Meanwhile, the character representing War has arms with two venues, flytrap-like mouths in place of hands, echoing the song's motif of consumption and swallowing, and linking to its title's reference to the fetish voraphilia, the erotic desire to consume or to be consumed by another person or creature. In addition, most of the characters hold at least one weapon, and many wear some form of armour. These accoutrements are possible, reflective of the heightened sense of conflict between Wesley and Sleep throughout the album.

The character representing the summoning, who wears a shoulder piece akin to the one

that Vessel wears on stage, clutches a huge gun, almost as big as the creature itself, while others wield axes and other bladed weapons. In two of its four hands, the floating character in a knight's helmet representing Ascensionism holds a handgun and a three-pronged dagger, like a mini version of Poseidon's trident. There are also a few references to weaponry in the lyrics in Chokehold. Wesley reclaims, I come as a blade, a sacred guardian. When in Aqua Regia,he speaks of a perfect start to a perfect war, putting down the roses, picking up the sword.

One compelling fan theory about these characters is that their sleep previous vessels. Others speculate that they could be a physical manifestation of Vessel's personal demons, or even past versions of Vessel himself. Indeed, there are references to the concept of past lives on the album. In Ascensionism, the line, tell me you met me in past lives,suggests Vessel's and Sleep's toxic bond predates this lifetime, or perhaps that's just what Sleep tells Vessel to create, the illusion that their connection is stronger than it really is. The Apparition reinforces the idea, well I believe somewhere in the past, something was between you and I in my dear. If Sleep and Vessel have been entangled for decades or even centuries across different incarnations, it raises the question of what the weapons are for.

Are they for Vessel to use while defending and protecting Sleep, or tools for him to battle the deity as the toxicity between them worsens? The two song-representing characters who've most intrigued fans correspond to the album's final two tracks, both are quite different compared to their armoured, multi-limbed peers. The figure for the pain-mouthed song Take Me Back to Eden, interestingly Sleep Token's only title track to date, has no face but bears angel wings and a scythe. Their juxtaposed element of an angel and a Grim Reaper evoke themes of death, worship,and immortality. All themes that crop up at the end of the album's story defend consensus as that title track concludes Take Me Back to Eden, while the album's actual closer Euclid wraps up the trilogy overall serving as a sort of epilogue. The character representing that song is a masked figure dressed in a toga-like garment holding Vessel's severed head. What does that ominous image mean about the future of Sleep Token? Some fear it's a signal at the end of the band, while others have wondered if it foreshadows the group re-emerging with a new story and a new look perhaps similar to the way Slipknot changed the mask with each album's cycle, or how Ghost kill-off versions of Papa Emeritus to make way for a successor. At the very least, the figure reflects the song's focus on rebirth throughout the death of the old Vessel proclaims I must be someone now. Musically Take Me Back to Eden is Sleep Token's most ambitious body of work to date.

Its sonic rage is considerably greater than This Place where we come here to folding in sounds and genres. The band hadn't touched before. The extremes are also so much more pronounced.

The summoning and Vore are the heaviest songs of their career so far, while a eerie, almost tropical-sounding deary statue of me is Sleep Token at their poppiest. Meanwhile, the colossal Are You Really Okay feels like Sleep Token's taken a arena-sized ballad, though its lyrics are claustrophobic, dark, and hint at self-harm. Since its corresponding character is holding a baby ( Since its corresponding character is holding a baby and the song mentions Vessel being woken up by a loved one dripping crimson on the carpet, some fans have posited that Are You Really Okay is not about self-harm at all, but rather a miscarriage). The most impressive musical feats on the record, however, are Sleep Token's two longest songs to date. The super-sized pair the 7-minute Ascensionism and 8-minute Plus Take Me Back to Eden unify every aspect of Sleep Token's sound, from delicate piano balladery to crushing heavy metal to bursts of trap-infused R&B (Both notably use autotune to add a disembodied quality to vessel's voice.)

Together, the two pieces feel like a culmination of the band's sonic explorations so far, elevating the music into the heady realm of progressive rock while floating with the long-form movement-based structures of classical music. Even as it marks an incredible step forward for the band, both creatively and commercially it landed at number 16 on the Billboard 200 Take Me Back to Eden and occasionally looks back. It's the most self-referential installment of Sleep Token's trilogy, especially towards its conclusion where the nods to previous songs become most overt in particular lines in the opening verse of Take Me Back to Eden.

I dream of phosphorescence, bleed through spaces, and we drive through crystal waters Perfect oceans can be interpreted with callbacks to sundowning in this place will become your tomb, read prospectively. Later, the titled rap evokes the LP's beginning by echoing the opening lines of Chokehold, creating poeticbookends to the album's narrative. Similarly, the entire trilogy concludes looping around to its start with a section of The Night Does Not Belong to God being revived in Euclid, bringing the story full circle. As for Sleep Token's own story, Euclid's image of a vesseldisembodied hit notwithstanding the band's journey continues. At least for now, Take Me Back to Eden has skyrocketed them to previously unimaginable heights. The latest, this anonymous masked band with their eccentric whip, lashing sound, and dizzying mythology have become bona fide arena headliners. They sold out a breakthrough-year-capping December gig at London's12,500-capacity Wembley Arena within just 10 minutes. We know Sleep Token's story will continue in 2024, too. They already have shows booked, including an April run in Australia, an appearance at Las Vegas' sick New World Festival. We want that. What does the future hold?

Might they scale even higher heights? To sleep, to dream.

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token revolver

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