#Don't mind the lines that are on hermes' stomach

[lionmythflower]

Officially obsessed with epic (I've started making fanart for it)

I give you Apollo and Hermes

Closeups under cut

(the end of the tags is js me rambling lol)

[gothamite-rambler]

Four weeks after Poseidon has healed up from his wounds he is at brunch with his brothers.

Zeus: Damn... He said that and then walked away? You had no one liner?

Poseidon: I got stabbed with my own weapon that was forged to hurt Gods... My mind was distracted by the new found pain from my stomach wounds!

The room shook as Poseidon angrily grabbed a pancake and chewed on it.

Hades: Hm... Sucks for you. Hermes and I helped him out with the strikes... I think Athena did too.

Poseidon: WHAT?!

Zeus burst into laughter, falling out of his chair in hysterics.

Poseidon: What... The fuck! I thought we were boys! We're brothers!

Hades: Next time don't send over 600 fucking men to the underworld! Intake isn't letting them all past, okay? There's a single file line, unless Hecate joins me, which she did NOT fucking do because over 600 men, and then I have to ask them how they die, their sins and good deeds and do you know how many of those mother fuckers cried about the god of tides ended their life because your bastard son got blinded! Said bastard son you never visited!

Zeus (laughing on the ground): Keep capping on him big bro.

Poseidon (sad): But Zeus killed the rest of his men!

Hades: Under 35 is better than over 600, I've dealt with him accordingly and at least his reason was better. I'm glad Helios didn't move the sun, I can't stand brightness that intense.

Zeus: Plus something like that is to be expected from me.

Hades: Exactly.

Poseidon (fake sobbing): Why are you picking on me! I got stabbed with my own weapon by a man who was blue balled for ten years!

Zeus and Hades: Yes! Because of you! Great now I'm agreeing with him! See what you brought us to?!

[sxnyarostova]

who’re you?

trans!orpheus brainrot got too much and i had to write orph meeting hermes, tw for deadnaming and misgendering 

Hermes is the god of messages and messenging and all that jazz.

 (He's also the god of a gazillion other things, but no one quite remembers all of his titles.)

 That automatically promotes him to the role of Olympus' mailman; he delivers everything from letters to wives to parcels.

 It's quite a tiring job.

 When Calliope sends him a letter with an address and her signature, Hermes already knows what he'll be picking up this time. He skims through the letter; the contents are interesting. Calliope's daughter has driven her mother to her wit's end, it seems, and Calliope doesn't want her anymore.

 She's a lost cause, the letter reads. She's nothing like the successor I want. Her name is Ophelia. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry.

 "Well, if that ain't something," Hermes whistles. He'll relay the entire message to Calliope's daughter; the kid deserves to know the truth.

 Hermes may be the god of trickery, but he hates lying to people.

 (He does lie to Zeus, though.

 And Hera.)

 He reads the address and readies his train; looks like he's got some travelling to do.

-

Orpheus wakes from his nap to find his mother missing. She's not curled up next to him on their double like she usually is when he wakes from his naps; there is nothing but empty space next to Orpheus, and he hates how uneasy it makes me feel.

 "Ma?" he calls, wandering out of his mother’s bed. "Ma? Are you here?"

 Dread settles to the bottom of his stomach. He's heard the stories of mothers and fathers and parents disappearing without a trace and consequently abandoning their children. "Mom?" Orpheus yells again, checking the living room. Everything is as he left it, but there’s no sign of his mother.

 He checks every room in the house, every little nook and cranny, but his mother isn't anywhere. "Maybe she's gone out to get groceries," Orpheus wonders aloud. "Yeah, that's it. We were out of cereal this morning."

 Orpheus sits down on the old, crumbling couch, and waits.

 Seconds, minutes, and hours pass by. There is still no sign of his mother.

 "Long line at the grocery store," Orpheus mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest. He ties his hair back with a rubber band; his mama won't let him cut it, says that he needs to look ladylike.

 He's not a girl. Orpheus hates his hair, hates the dresses that his mama insists that he wear, hates the colour of his room-

 Something dawns on Orpheus all of a sudden.

 "She left," Orpheus says, to no one in particular. "Cause I'm not a girl. Mama likes girly girls, but I'm a boy."

 He feels tears snake down his cheeks. Orpheus hastily brushes them away, because he has to be brave, like Jason from next door. Said boy had skinned his knee the other day and he hadn't cried.

 (Your mother abandoning you is much more painful than a skinned knee, though, a voice whispers.

 Orpheus pushes that thought all the way to the very back of his mind.)

 Suddenly possessed with determination, Orpheus goes to his room and gets the pair of scissors his mama had given him.

 (She'd told him to make crafts; Orpheus had crafted guitars and lyres with paper and crayon, and his mother had been overjoyed. "You'll be a great musician, Ophelia," his mother had said. "You take after me, don't you?"

 Orpheus had never bothered to correct his mother's constant misnaming. She'd just throw a fit and scream at him.)

 Orpheus pads into the bathroom and hops onto the stepstool. He pulls his hair free and slowly begins cutting it, lock by lock.

 Soon, the bathroom floor is littered with stray locks of brown hair. Orpheus smiles when he catches a glimpse of his new reflection; he looks like himself, not the girl his ma had wanted him to be.

 Another idea springs into his mind. He quickly leaps off the stepstool and dashes out the house, running over to Jason's.

 He knocks frantically on his friend's window; it's a blessing that the other boy lives on the first floor. Jason pads over and pries his window open. "Hey Phe," Jason says. "You need anything?"

 "Can you lend me a pair of pants?" Orpheus asks.

 Jason frowns. "Won't your mama be mad? You're not s'posed to wear pants. My mom told me."

 "She changed her mind," Orpheus lies. "She even let me cut my hair." Orpheus flaunts his new hairstyle, and Jason grins. "Neat," Jason says. "You want my khakis? I'm sure my mom won't mind."

 "Yes please!" Orpheus exclaims, and he waits eagerly by Jason's window. His friend quickly returns with the pants, which Orpheus grabs. "Thanks, Jase!" Orpheus says. "Do you wanna play in the garden?" Jason asks.

 "Can't," Orpheus says. "Uh, gotta help with dinner."

 "Girl things, right?" Jason says, to which Orpheus cringes. Even his best friend is confused sometimes; Orpheus hates it.

 "Yeah," Orpheus says, lying through his teeth. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

 "I'll see ya," Jason says, and shuts the window. Orpheus waves and runs back to his house, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get home.

 Orpheus quickly pulls out his favorite red shirt from the dresser and throws it on, shucking his yellow dress and cramming it under his bed. He puts the shorts on, and it feels like he has entered a new world.

 A knock on the door stops him in his tracks. He freezes; it can't possibly be his mother. If it is, Orpheus will very likely never see the light of day again.

 He timidly approaches the door. "Ma?" he calls. "That you?"

 There's a click, and the lock on the front door pops. The door swings opens to reveal a man wearing a silver suit; Orpheus notes that there are lots and lots of feathers on the man's feet. He has a whistle attached to his belt.

 "You Ophelia?" the man asks, leaning against the doorframe.

 Orpheus swallows; it's now or never.

 "No," he says. "I'm Orpheus."

 "Your ma says that your name's Ophelia," the man says, and he holds up a letter; Orpheus' heart skips a beat. "So you best stop lying to me, girl, if you want this to work out for both of us."

 "I'm a boy," Orpheus says stubbornly. "My name is Orpheus."

 The man eyes him curiously. Orpheus stands his ground, refusing to break away from the man's intense stare.

 "A'ight," the man says resolutely. "You're a boy."

 Orpheus smiles, and it's brighter than sunlight.

(Hermes feels something warm inside of his chest at the sight of Orpheus.)

 "Why're you here?" Orpheus asks. "And who are you?"

 "I'm here because your ma's run off," the man says, unsure how to break the news. Orpheus must visibly slump, because the man looks like he regrets his wording. "I'm Mr. Hermes, and I'm your caretaker from here on out."

 "I'm Orpheus," he says. "You just told me," Mr. Hermes replies.

 "I know," Orpheus says. "Just tryin' it out on my tongue."

 He's said it a million times in his head, but it sounds so much better when vocalised.

 "Well, boy," Mr. Hermes says, giving Orpheus a pat on the shoulder. "You got anything you need to pack?"

 Orpheus thinks of his bright-pink room and the dresses and the person he is leaving behind. "No," Orpheus says.

 Hermes raises an eyebrow. "You sure?" he asks. The man pushes past Orpheus and wanders into the house; Orpheus immediately runs to his room and slams the door shut. "Yeah, I'm sure," Orpheus says, a little winded.

 "Look, kid, I know that your ma used to treat you like a girl," Hermes says, sighing a little. "But you're a boy through and through; it's just your body's that not properly caught up, huh?"

 Orpheus' stoic façade wavers. "Yeah," he mumbles softly. "That's why ma left. She-she wants a girl and I ain't a girl."

 Hermes pulls Orpheus into a hug; boy looks like he needs one. "Well, I need a boy," Hermes says casually. "What'd you need a boy for?" Orpheus asks, his voice muffled by the fabric of Hermes' clothes.

 "To help around the train station," Hermes says.

 "You run a station?!" Orpheus exclaims, breaking from the embrace.

 "Mhm," Hermes nods. 

Orpheus looks enthused. "Can ya take me there?" Orpheus pleads.

 "After I see what you can still use from your old room," Hermes bargains. Orpheus pulls a face and nods rather reluctantly. "I'll wait outside," Orpheus mumbles, and shuffles to the living room.

 Hermes finds a few gender-neutral t-shirts and an old teddy lying on Orpheus' bed. He stuffs those into a backpack and hunts down a toothbrush and other sanitary items in the washroom. Hermes ignores the long strands of hair on the bathroom tiles and the pair of safety scissors perched precariously on the sink.

 Hermes then finds something interesting; a paper lyre, tucked under the bed. He packs that too, just in case.

 Hermes reemerges from Orpheus' old room to find the boy already waiting eagerly by the door. "Can we go now, Mr. Hermes?" Orpheus demands. "I wanna see the station!"

 "A'ight, we're goin', boy" Hermes says, ruffling Orpheus' hair. "Stick close to me, okay?"

Orpheus nods, and the two of them head off. Orpheus is glued to Hermes’ side the entire time, the older man’s arm slung over his shoulder.

Hermes looks at the boy, and makes a mental promise to protect him no matter what.

(This whole custody situation will be interesting to explain to Persephone when she comes back up top.)

[tiredassmage]

💔 …someone who broke my muse’s heart & 👀 …someone my muse likes, but doesn’t trust.

Y'all just on FIRE tonight with GOOD QUESTIONS. Hhhhhmmmm.... Let me continue to try to dodge some of the more well-tread beats of my characters' stories and go a little more outside the box.

Y'all apparently really liked Roric at the beginning of this Febhyurary, and I'm very glad for that because he's wonderful! Unfortunately, February was hella busy, so... no more Febhyurary happened for me, but! We'll take this opportunity to elaborate a little on why he's here!

An Ala Mhigan native who ended up fighting on both sides of Imperial lines, despite his best efforts to remain with his homeland, Roric is actually the biological father of Airi, belonging to @fatewalker-phoenix. This he... mostly doesn't know. And Airi certainly grows up not knowing. Because Roric was a bit of a slip in her dear mother's obviously impeccable decision-making skills because... maybe the whole ruggedly handsome and good at carrying a toon, we're not here to judge. It's one of those oopsies, he didn't know she was married, he didn't necessarily ask, she certainly didn't tell, her senses kicked in sometime after and... long story short, Roric was told his silence was incredibly valuable, thank you very much, and... no, he wasn't going to be allowed to ever see what was very, very likely his child. End of contact, goodbye, good day.

While heartbreak might be a little strong for his ultimate feelings for Airi's mother, he is... really just a giant teddy bear who was maybe a bit soft for the idea of being a father. He would've liked to step up to the plate and been there and instead he was more or less threatened with blackmail.

Tough shit for those high on their horses merchant types though because, by chance or fate, his very daughter became a Warrior of Light and showed up some years later to kick the Imperials clean outta Ala Mhigo! And he even got to see her do some of it. So, really, who's the winner in the end..?

Shay, you've been adopted, too. You don't get a choice. He's your new father figure.

As for your second one, I'm going to dip into some Endwalker spoilers, so I'll meet you caught up friends below the cut.

Someone we like, but we don't necessarily trust... A tricky one because most of my beans don't really like people they can't trust. Astor's a prime example, but... let's talk about Elpis. Yeah, we're all gonna need the tissues again.

He really wanted to trust Hermes. He did. But something.... Something he didn't exactly voice to Venat, mind. He had... no evidence, really. But an unsettling worry was coiling slowly in the pit of his stomach.

There was a reason he had been shown here. At that time. To these people. And, clever Meteion.., she basically saw it herself.

Astor's not exactly a stranger to keeping company with conflicting doubts and questions about the deeper meanings and machinations of the universe. And what he didn't see with Hermes was... anyone else that saw it, that was there to catch that stumble.

This, ultimately, was more of a... dread than a complete lack of trust. And, gods, did he hate being right to worry. Especially knowing that nothing would change. Ultimately, this had all already transpired.

He could see it. But there wasn't a damn thing he could have done that would have been enough.