#Orion was a creep and an arrogant

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Soo I was wondering if you had any hcs on the sibs reaction to the whole Artemis and Orion situation? I’m like obsessed with your hcs of the Olympians I love when people make them family

Thanks for enjoying my silly HCs of the Olympians! It's really fun doing them :3

Now on with the ask!

I imagine Orion as that one cousin nobody likes. He prides himself on being a powerful son of Poseidon and doesn't know his place. That will become his downfall.

Poseidon doesn't think Orion's arrogance a big deal, so he makes the younger Olympians get along withhis son. For some reason, Orion seemed to be infatuated with Artemis.

Artemis isn't naive of Orion's nature, she knows about Orion's attack on the daughter of his previous host (King Oinopion and his daughter Merope).

Because of this, Artemis immediately puts Orion on the blacklist and keeps him the hell away from her female companions.

We all know how Apollo is protective of his twin. Mess with Artemis and you will be greeted with an arrow in the ass. So when Orion came along, all the red flags were set up in his brain.

Persephone and Athena are highly alerted of Orion too, maybe even more protective than Apollo because they were both previously victim and almost victim of assault. No way in hell they will let their sister get in danger.

So when Orion tails behind Artemis during her hunts, either Apollo, Persephone, or Athena immediately follows along. They never let these two alone together.

When Orion almost attacked Opis, one of the virgin huntress, Artemis fatally shot him as retribution, but didn't outright kill him because of pressure from Poseidon.

After setting a the divine relevant of a restriction order on Orion, Artemis left him with a warning, "I've killed a giant before for kidnapping my mother. Don't think I will let you crawl away alive if you pull that shit again with my friends."

Ares pats Artemis on the back and says he would have killed Orion right away if he were Artemis.

Orion was mad and humiliated from Artemis' punishment, which is why he swore to become the greatest hunter ever seen and to outrank Artemis as revenge.

Orion wasn't killed by Artemis or Apollo eventually. It was Gaia who sent a scorpion to sting him after he proclaimed to kill all living animals on Earth.

When Orion died, the siblings (mostly Apollo and Persephone) suggested an eternal punishment for him. They turned him into a constellation and created the Scorpio constellation to forever chase him across the sky.

To this day, the siblings will spend time laying in an open field together and watch the chase of Orion and the scorpion.

[overclockedroulette]

HI i finally finished something i started uh. a while back.

was planning to bring vega into it but i figured avarice deserved some alone time for once :)

here you go !

~~~

The Redglass palace balcony was a place Avarice had been spending a lot of time, recently.  He wasn’t sure why - it was probably just the highest area he had access to - but hey, it wasn’t like Fabrica was complaining.  He liked being up high; something about it just made him feel safe, like a mental safety blanket, and it definitely helped that being physically above people - watching down on them like ants, not having to care if they have lives or families or whatever else people were trying to convince him is sacred and unique - makes it a lot easier to act like they aren’t people at all.  

It’s an unreasonable hour to be awake: a fairly clear night, only a few faint grey wisps of cloud in view, visibly inconsequential in the inky-black expanse of sky.  He’s sitting on the marble railing and staring out at nothing (or, at least, he’d like to convince himself it’s nothing) as the wind whips his hair and pricks against his skin like a thousand tiny needles.  (He’s just thankful he’s facing towards it.  His back still burns.)  There’s nothing there but stars and a sliver of a crescent moon cloaked in grey, and he hates it.  Just the slightest glow of the damn moon makes him want to hurt something, and he can swear the stars are mocking him every time he catches one in the corner of his eye.  He tries not to look too closely.

He picks up a rock from a nearby plant pot, and, without thinking, hurls it into the abyss as  hard as he can: watching with a mild curiosity as it disappears from view, and flipping off the brightest star he can find for good measure.  He likes to think he can get his message across, although he knows for certain that nobody’s watching, because why would they?  Why would the gods want anything to do with anyone that doesn’t endlessly serve them with no reward?  No, acknowledging him would be acknowledging someone they hurt, and it would ruin their pristine image if they were to concede that.

Not that she hurt him.  He doesn’t care.  It’s about the principle, that’s all - the idea that the gods are sitting there, all-powerful stuck-up jackasses with their grand plans and their mysterious ways trying to make him a better person through the timeless medium of tormenting him until he breaks.  Not that he cares.  He’s better than that, and admitting that fucking moon goddess could hurt him would be just about the same as admitting defeat.  Fuck that.  He wouldn’t let her get close.  

“Fuck you, you know that?”  His voice is low, barely audible, but it still feels good to say it out loud.  “Arrogant piece of shit.  I’ll do what I want.  You don’t own me.”

He flings another rock off the side of the balcony, so hard that his arm aches.  He’s had worse.  He does it again.

“Fuck you!”  He’s louder now, regardless of who might be in the building.  It’s not like anyone would be awake, anyway.  He throws another rock: sure, he looks like a petulant child, but it makes him feel better.  “Fucking piece of shit god!  You don’t own me!  Fuck you!”  His voice cracks, and he feels as if the wind could pitch him backwards and onto the floor any given moment.  (Not like he cares.  He’s had worse.)  He’s just… angry.  His chest aches, he wants to hurt someone, and he doesn’t even know why.  He doesn’t need to know why, of course: he doesn’t even want to know why, because knowing why he’s upset means he has to think about that fact that, yes, he is upset, and the fact that he can be upset means he isn’t infallibly numb.  And, fuck, he just wants to be numb.  

He doesn’t break - despite how much his eyes are burning from holding back tears.  He doesn’t give her the satisfaction.  He just yells, his throat hoarse and grating - some bitter curse that never made its way into coherency - or, really, anything other than raw hatred in the form of this anguished screaming - and tosses another rock as far as he possibly can, before the rest of his anger can creep into his hands and makes him do something he’ll regret.  His breath hitches.  He doesn’t cry, but he can’t stop the full-body shaking that comes over him as he wraps his arms around himself and curses out the gods with every screaming and trembling ounce of air he has in him without pause, going quiet only when his lungs fail him and he forces himself to draw another breath, which scratches against his chafing, bloody throat like sandpaper.  So he just sits there, silently gasping for breath, and refuses to let his eyes drift to the glowing lights that he knows are mocking him.  

He sits like that for a good few minutes; rather that than get up and sleep, because fuck he doesn’t feel like having to think right now.  He doesn’t admit that it hurts, because it doesn’t (it does), and he doesn’t cry, because he doesn’t need to (he needs to): he just stares into the inky blackness, closing his eyes and imagining for a moment that they’re still open, that the sky is empty, that he isn’t being watched and judged and tormented for every slip up and every moral failing and every cruel word he speaks.  And he pretends, just for a moment, that the moon never had any hold on him, that he was never Orion Kiriatta.  

It doesn’t last, of course.  It never really does, no matter how desperately he tries not to think about it.  He opens his eyes and everything comes rushing back all at once: the unending noise, the pain over and over and over again, the thoughts, oh gods the thoughts, the insatiable need for some higher punishment for a sin he’ll never really understand; the stars are watching him, laughing at him, judging him and he can hear them, he can hear them and they’re so loud, so unbearably loud and it won’t stop no matter how hard he begs and screams and prays for mercy, for silence, please, please, just silence, it won’t stop and it’s so loud, and he’s staring out at the star-streaked horizon completely dead behind the eyes, nothing but memories he doesn’t want and never has, and the buildings and the people and the oil lamps dotted neatly along the roads so far below him all look so miniscule, so… insignificant.  And he scoffs, turns around, and hops off the railing, taking care not to knock anything over as he leaves.

He supposes he can get some more work done, tonight.

[hannibal-obsessed]

30 REASONS WHY THE LAMBS ARE STILL SCREAMING!!!

- Celebrating 30 years of The Silence of the Lambs Movie -

The Silence of the Lambs is a pop culture phenomenon, who’s influence is still being felt today. It is considered one of the best horror/terror/thriller movies of all time!

Released in 1991 on February 14th, The Silence of the Lambs evoked a blood curdling Valentine’s Day scream!

Happy Valentine’s Day

1991-2021

Author – Harris worked the cop beat for a Texas newspaper and had an interest in the macabre, often freelancing for Men’s Magazines (Argosy, True), writing about some of the most gruesome stories.

1. Thomas Harris – As the author of The Silence of the Lambs and creator of Hannibal Lecter, none of this would be possible without Harris. He’s an impeccable researcher, studying the cases of the most notorious serial killers at the time. Harris was seen at parts of Ted Bundy’s Chi Omega trial taking notes.

Actors

2. Jodie Foster – Foster’s portrayal of rookie FBI in training agent Clarice Starling, is a spot on performance. Foster shows Starling’s vulnerability and how her abandonment issues and need to advance in the FBI, bring her under Lecter’s spell.

3. Anthony Hopkins – Hopkins portrayal of Hannibal Lecter left an indelible mark that still haunts us 30 years later. Thomas Harris wrote Lecter...Hopkins brought him to life. The duality of Lecter, which Hopkins plays to perfection, leads you into a false sense of security...that perhaps he’s not that bad...until he lets loose on the police officers during his escape from custody.

4. Scott Glenn – Glenn plays the head of the Behavioural Science Unit at Quantico, Jack Crawford aka the Guru by his agents. Crawford uses his father like status to entice Starling to interview Lecter thus hopefully gaining access, which Lecter had denied other agents.

5. Ted Levine – Levine‘s portrayal of Buffalo Bill has a creep factor that is impossible to put out of your mind, especially when the song Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus plays...and he dances...

6. Anthony Heald – Heald’s portrayal of Dr. Frederick Chilton oozes contempt and arrogance, which doesn’t make you feel a bit sorry him when he becomes Lecter’s meal.

7. Brooke Smith – The all American girl who’s kidnapped by Buffalo Bill and held in a pit for the harvesting of her skin. Catherine Martin is a clever one though and hatches a plan to escape using Precious the dog as a hostage.

8. Frankie Faison – The only actor to appear in 4 of the 5 Hannibal Lecter movies. Barney Matthews survives Lecter with his politeness as Lecter abhors rudeness. Lecter believes whenever feasible, one should eat the rude.

Art/Symbols/Theme

9. Basements – The basement is an underlying theme in The Silence of the Lambs: The BSU of the FBI work out of the basement at Quantico; Hannibal Lecter is kept in the basement of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and Buffalo Bill’s sanctuary is the basement of the former Mrs. Lippman's house.

10. Death Head Hawk Moth/Transformation – The theme throughout The Silence of the Lambs is transformation. The Moth represents Buffalo Bill’s transformation from a pupae/chrysalis/cocoon into a beautiful butterfly.

11. Salvador Dali/Philippe Halsman – In Voluptas Mors/Voluptuous Death (1951), the most scandalous photo of it’s time was the brainchild of Dali and Halsman. Dali arranged seven naked women into a macabre skull. This skull is used as the marking for the Death Head Hawk Moth on the poster for The Silence of the Lambs, which has become synonymous with the movie.

12. Cannibalism – Lecter doesn’t keep trophies in the usual sense, he eats his victims ensuring they will be part of him forever and leaving no evidence behind.

13. Sketches – Hannibal Lecter is a gifted artist and uses his talent to escape the confining basement walls of The Baltimore State Hospital with sketches of the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo as seen from the Belvedere in Florence.

14. Music – Hannibal Lecter has an appreciation for the finer things in life like classical music in particular Goldberg’s Variations Aria. Catherine Martin rocks out to Tom Petty’s American Girl and Buffalo Bill dances to Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus.

Behavioural Science Unit – It was a new age of criminal behaviour which needed a new type of agent...a profiler.

15. FBI – The Federal Bureau Of Investigation was formed to combat the criminal Mob element by J. Edgar Hoover. It was only upon Hoover’s death that the FBI started exploring other avenues to catch a new type of killer, the serial killer. After Hoover’s death the FBI would start to hire female agents, which would spur Harris to write a story about an up and coming female agent in training.

16. John E. Douglas – Douglas is the real Jack Crawford, an agent who helped in the development of Behavioural Sciences to catch the newly ordained serial killer. Douglas was a consultant for The Silence of the Lambs movie and is an author of many serial killer/profiling books.

17. Robert Ressler – Crawford is also based on Ressler who was in charge of developing the BSU and was instrumental in the creation of profiling serial killers by interviewing them behind bars. Ressler is responsible for writing some of the best profiling books.

Production

18. Jonathan Demme – It’s Demme’s vision as Director of The Silence of the Lambs which is the magic that has cemented The Silence of the Lambs in the minds of all who watch and re-watch and re-watch...

19. Orion Pictures – The little studio that took a big chance. Unfortunately The Silence of the Lambs wouldn’t save Orion from bankruptcy and they’d be bought out by MGM, who would acquire their movie catalogue.

20. Ted Tally – The man who would turn Harris’ novel into a great screenplay, hitting all the major marks. Tally would pass on the Hannibal screenplay; being lured back for the Red Dragon screenplay.

21. Dino De Laurentiis – If not for De Laurentiis passing on the movie rights to Harris’ novel, The Silence of the Lambs, after the bad box office return of Manhunter, and for allowing Demme to use Hannibal Lecter, we wouldn’t even be discussing this 30 years later.

Quotes – The Silence of the Lambs gave us a few extremely recognizable quotes!

22. Chianti and Fava Beans – “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

- Hannibal Lecter

23. Lotion – “It rubs the lotion on it’s skin or else it gets the hose again.”

- Buffalo Bill

24. Friendship – “I’m having an old friend for dinner.”

- Hannibal Lecter

Serial Killers – Harris based Lecter and Buffalo Bill on some very real killers...

25. Ed Gein – Buffalo Bill is part Gein for without the crimes of Ed Gein, Buffalo Bill wouldn’t exist. It was Gein’s skinning of corpses and his two murder victims that would inspire Buffalo Bill...

26. Gary Heideck – If Buffalo Bill is part Gein, he’s also part Heideck, who’d kidnap women and then tortured them in a pit in his basement.

27. Ted Bundy – Buffalo is also part Ted Bundy, who would lure his victims with injuries like an arm in a cast; he would seem vulnerable seeking help with books or a canoe and in Buffalo Bill’s case a chair.

28. Ed Kemper – What do Hannibal Lecter and Ed Kemper have in common? A high IQ., a fondness of co-eds and a love of cars.

29. Alfredo Balli Trevino – Harris met Trevino in a Mexican prison, mistaking him for a doctor who worked in the prison; Trevino was actually an inmate working in the prison.

Trevino was convicted of murdering then dismembering his lover. It was this encounter that would set the tone for Lecter.

30. Alonzo Robinson – Lecter has been compared to many serial killers over the decades, many of who’s crimes are too late to be included in The Silence of the Lambs novel (1988). It was most likely the story of Alonzo Robinson/James Coyner/William Coyner that planted the seeds of a cannibal killer in the young mind of Thomas Harris.

Influence – Every Serial Killer book written after The Silence of the Lambs was released in theatres, has a reference to it...even BTK referenced Buffalo Bill in his essay to FBI Profiler, John E. Douglas, among an impressive list of serial killers...Ted Bundy, Son of Sam, Ed Kemper, Steven Pennell and Gary Heideck.

Conclusion: Thomas Harris’ first Lecter novel, Red Dragon, turns 40 in October, so Hannibal Lecter has been part of our literary world for 40 years. Although Manhunter was released in 1986 as the first film featuring Lektor (spelling in the movie), it was Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs that will be remembered as bringing Lecter to the masses. Even though Hopkins would play Lecter two more times in Hannibal (2001) and in the remake of Manhunter, Red Dragon (2002), it’s Hopkins Oscar winning portrayal in The Silence of the Lambs that we will always remember and keep the lambs screaming...

Shannon L. Christie

[risingphoenix761]

5, 6, 16, 20, 21, 57, 58, 59, 134, 138, 143, 144, 145 (remember, you love me. :p)

O.O (yes. Yes I do.)

5. 4 turn ons

I was trying to figure out how to answer this, but my neck and wrists started tingling just reading this, so there's one. Paying them special attention is like throwing a switch. Passion is another. I love seeing people get fired up about things that are important to them. And when they're not afraid to be proud of what they're good at. And a little bit of mischief goes a long way.

6. 4 turn offs

Stupidity. Abuse of power. Bad hygiene. Arrogance.

16. Favorite place

Anywhere with trees, but particularly the trees behind our last house. There was a semi-dense, semi-deep wooded area at the back edge of the property, and immediately on the other side of it was a walking trail, a pond, and a picnic area. There was a tiny path that cut through the woods on our side (that you couldn't even see from the other side, it was overgrown enough), and the trees were thick enough to muffle most noise, so it was just rustling leaves. The light was so soft, and either silver or green. That was my spot for ten years, and it still hurts being away from it.

20. First thing I notice in a new person

Their expression. What mood are they in? How should I interact with them? Should I give them space altogether?

21. Shoe size

Beats the hell outta me. I seem to go from a six to an eight depending on what shoes I'm wearing, with occasional half sizes and wide widths, and up to a nine once. Because it would be too fucking easy to have consistency across brands. Nothing puts me in a bad mood quite like shoe shopping.

57. What do I think about most?

I'm constantly asking myself, "What was I doing?" Thoughts distract me from other thoughts, so it's hard to say for sure. I think about music a lot, and music always gets me thinking of stories. Everything reminds me of something else, so I'm usually leap frogging from one thing to the next faster than I can keep track, which is also something I think about a lot. I also think pretty constantly about my favorite people. Just wondering how their day is going, keeping an eye out for things that remind me of them, looking forward to the next time I talk to them.

58. What is my strangest talent?

:/ I've been known to whistle opera... I have arias from Carmen, The Magic Flute, and The Barber of Seville in my repertoire. I always seem to know where Orion is in the sky without looking for him. I don't think either of those counts as strange, though.

59. Do I have any strange phobias?

After Saw 3, I'm nervous going into walk-in freezers. Coolers are fine. But freezers? I'm always worried the door will close and I'll never get it open again and I'll freeze to death before anyone can find me. Though I've had frostbite before and know what it feels like, so maybe that's not very strange either...

134. What do I want for my birthday?

I haven't really thought about it. I love scarves, and soft yarn sounds nice. I'm super jazzed whenever the moon is full on my birthday, but I don't think that's happening this year.

138. What was my favorite toy as a child?

Every stuffed animal I've ever owned. Particularly my Hedwig and Wile E. Coyote plushies.

143. Favorite pizza topping

All of them except anchovies.

144. Am I afraid of the dark?

Not at all. Weird shadows, on the other hand, give me the creeps. I LOVE the dark. Maybe that's why I wear so much black? I'm trying to become one with the night.

145. Am I afraid of heights?

Yes and no. I love being up high, but I hate looking down.

Ask Me Stuff

[machia--vellian-blog]

The world of men has always disturbed her. So arrogant, so weak, so useless. Were she almighty they would be smote, but Jericho has no such power at her fingertips. Witch, a word she had always held to mean a woman, a female practitioner of the magic arts. In the ancient days, the olde days, women were hunted by men for being less than their hubristic expectations. Some that didn’t even have the gift, the power, were killed just because they wouldn’t give a man the time of day. 

A witch they were called, a word that became synonymous with a godless heathen, a strong female, a woman who was not afraid to stand up to the patriarchy. As a child, boys disgusted Jericho: the way they killed bugs for fun, hid them in their pencil cases at school and showed them off during class, the way they pulled her hair, made fun of her name. Then they all went and hit puberty and they’d sit alongside you and move their hands with the patience of Saint Monica of Hippo, move them until their pinky fingers brushed right up along your thigh.

Even from a young age they’d know you wouldn’t do shit about it, that the very audacity had your blood chilled and your heart constricting in your chest like a boa had wrapped tight around it. Jericho had seethed, the classroom around her painted red with rage, and struck her offender with such force that he had needed stitches. And naturally, oh so naturally, she had been the one to get in trouble. Yelled at by the teacher, told to control herself. She hadn't argued, she had only seethed. 

  I see the moon, and the moon sees me,

A girl grew into a young woman, full of bizarre zeal that she would never quite forgive herself for. A creature that came alive in Summer. It brought reptiles like her out of their hidey-holes and filled their brains with ideas of summer romances, hot summer evenings, seances, midnight margaritas, and thunderstorms. Thunderstorms were the choragus, made her want to, to quote her favorite book, ‘eat oysters on the half shell and act slutty’. Made a woman want to worship the grass the rain soaked into, raise her hands high in the air and holler at the big clouds overhead, threaten to be greater than a bolt of lightning, look Zeus in the eye and say, “I fuckin’ dare ya.” 

It was the season for beer, for bonfires down by a watering hole’s edge, for crawling into a tipsy boy’s lap and whispering all the things she could do to him but never actually doing any of them. Leave ‘em aching, leave ‘em star struck. Jericho used to come alive when the weather got warm. She was vibrant, she was electricity. A shimmer of heat, a mirage on the asphalt. 

But then she'd found herself married, found herself carrying children. It was the utter lack of help she was granted that caused her to begin to hate her husband. The way he paid no mind to how the weight of the child inside of her made her feel trapped, desperate. How it took her breath away and sent her mind into outer space. She’d paid visits to the moon on some nights, standing beneath her eerie night light with mascara bled down her face. Why, oh why, are men required to make babies, she asked, exasperated. The Bible and it’s tales of the first sinner be damned, we were all put here by the aliens. 

  And the moon sees the one that I want to see, 

The first child turned out to be what she had dreaded, a boy, a male child. One that might grow up to be just like those little fucks she knew in grammar school. Jericho would damn herself to the devil if she let her son grow up like that. Whisper, she would, in his ear, hints to let him know the proper path. Not the one his father might take were he away from his wife for an evening. The kind of path that leads a man into a shitty lit motel room off the highway no one goes down. No, he'd be a good one. The daughter who followed, she turned out soft. Softer than her mother would have liked. But they were still hers, and love them she would. 

  So God bless the moon, and God bless me, 

And when the moon was the only one that would give her the time of day, time of night, long after the riiiiiiiiirrrr of cicadas died and gave way to a symphony of crickets hidden among the gardenia bushes and the rhododendron, did she raise her hackles like a coyote. Raise them at the man she had married, who had spoken out against her elder sister, a feral woman who Jericho had learned long ago that she would never, could never cross. 

Just like a man, just like the ones that had always persecuted them. The kind that was once a little shit of a boy creeping his fingers up the thigh of the girl next to him in school. Found the fairer sex beneath him. Tilted his head to check out the waitress's ass despite the fact his wife was sitting across from him. Don't be stupid, he would say, and when he drank enough, his large hand would reach out and grip her face like a vice and he'd hiss, Don't be a bitch. 

Of course. A bitch. Just like a woman. 

It had been elegant, the way Orion had reflected in the black velvet of his pupils. She had him pinned beneath her, bodies joined, while the oleanders worked their way through his system, making him jerk, making him seize. Once he had stilled, she had crawled away, perched far and watched him, the way the moonlight reflected on his pale flesh like a specter. Casper. His blood had been put to good use. No sense letting it go to waste. 

  And God bless the one that I want to see.