#Turning into Pallas as we speak

[grape-jucie-dog]

After Tonight by TE/MO (Teagan Earley) on repeat + Athena = Oh my good gods I'm super gay

(she's definitely tipsy or drunk in this)

Aphrodite definitely picked the outfit because Athena would NEVER (Well. Maybe. Depends if she's feeling particularly bold.)

(This is actually for a future chapter for my Athena and Pallas AU fic that I couldn't help but draw now lol)

[traveler-at-heart]

Speak or die?

Summary: You have a crush on your poetry professor.

Professor Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request by @jujuu23 :) Hope you like it

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Professor Romanoff closes the book, the classroom silent as she walks to the front. Her raspy voice had a way of enchanting people, and it almost felt like she had cast a spell on everyone.

“Thoughts?” she asks, adjusting her glasses. Her beautiful features are framed by a couple of strands of fiery hair, the rest of it tied in a messy bun.

A couple of people lean back on their seats, nervous about being called to participate.

“What a weirdo” Barnes says, and some of your classmates laugh.

“Thank you, for that very insightful analysis, Mr. Barnes. Any other thoughts you’d like to share with the class?”

Before he can speak again and say something even more stupid, you jump in.

“It’s about madness, caused by grief. About his beloved, who he’ll never forget but is gone. It’s the same theme in Annabel Lee and Lenore. Though I think Annabel Lee is a lot less haunting… there’s a certain serene beauty to it.”

“Very good, Miss Y/L/N. And of course, we have the references to Pallas Athena. Not uncommon for Allan Poe to mention Greek mythology. Your next assignment will be to find and discuss examples of mythology and classical literature within his work”

As everyone leaves the room, you walk next to the professor’s desk.

“I’ve enjoyed your essay. Well, both of them” she says.

“Both?” you stop, looking confused.

“It’s very obvious your boyfriend is not writing his papers” she tries to keep her composure, but finds it irritating that someone as bright as you is with Barnes of all people.

“Oh, Bucky? Yeah, I might have helped him a bit… not my boyfriend, though”

You think it’s best to leave out the fact he enrolled in this class to meet pretty girls and act like he knows about poetry.

“Well, he should still do his own homework” Natasha says, this time with a kinder tone. “And nice work today”

“Thank you” you nod, smiling as you leave the classroom. 

You hope Professor Romanoff didn’t notice the way you were blushing at her praise. 

—

Natasha glances at her cozy living room one last time. It’s a crisp autumn night, and she could still cancel her plans and stay home with a good book and a glass of wine.

But she’d never hear the end of it, would she?

The woman takes a cab to the gallery downtown, hoping the evening ends early and she can at least read a chapter or two of her novel before bed.

As she enters the crowded space, Natasha feels the need to turn around and leave. Carol’s voice stops her.

“Fancy meeting you here”

“Yelena made me do it” the redhead explains, standing next to her colleague and friend.

“Well, she’s quite the artist. You should be proud of your sister” Carol says, looking around the room until she finds the younger woman. Natasha nods her thanks and walks to her sister, smiling.

“You made it!” Yelena, who was explainig her sculpture to a man, stops mid sentence and hugs Natasha. “I thought you’d find a way to stay home and avoid being out”

“I promised I’d be here. Go. I’ll have a look around” Natasha says when another woman walks up to Yelena.

“Try the appetizers, they’re really good!” Yelena says before going up to meet a group of art dealers.

It’s a big night for the Art Department. They have been planning this exhibit for months now. Plenty of critics and art dealers would stop by, hoping to find the next big name.

Natasha walks around, eyeing the paintings and sculptures in the room. Distracted by a very abstract work, she fails to notice another person walking behind her until her back collides with a shoulder.

“Sorry” she turns, surprised at meeting your eyes and friendly smile.

“Hi, Professor Romanoff” you greet. “How are you liking the exhibit?” 

“It’s good. What are you doing here?”

“College paper business. And to support my roommate, Wanda” you point at a couple of paintings, with very dark themes and distorted faces. “She’s uh… going through her misunderstood artist phase” 

“Well, she’s certainly committed to it” Natasha says, looking at the girl who must be Wanda, dark hair and smokey eyes giving her a grunge look.

“She’s a sweetheart” you promise, knowing that’s only one side of her. You’ve seen her cry over The Dick Van Dyke show, for heaven’s sake. Though you promised you’d never tell anyone. “Want to be on the record for me?”

“How so?”

“Just tell me what you think of the exhibit. Or the department in general” you shrug your shoulders. “It’s good that other faculty members are here”

“Well, I’ve known Carol for years, back when we were both students. She’s very committed to her work and advancing the curriculum, so it’s great to see an amazing selection tonight. My sister seems to think a great deal of the success is due to Danvers”

“Your sister?”

“Yelena Belova” Natasha clarifies. At hearing that name, you blush and she immediately assumes that something happened between you two. 

The reality is, you’ve spoken about how much you love your poetry professor in front of Yelena on more than one occasion. Now you understand why she laughed so hard when you said Natasha was Aphrodite reincarnate.

That little shit.

“Yeah, I know Yel. Wanda and her hang at the dorm, I mean, we all do” you trip over your words, picking up a glass of red wine to ease your nerves.

“You sure you can handle that?” Natasha asks, appreciating the way your cheeks blush at the taste of the alcohol.

“It’s fine” you lick your lips, missing the way Natasha follows the movement with her eyes.

“Well, it’s nice to know Yelena has someone with common sense to keep her grounded” Natasha says and inspite of your internal struggle, you smile.

In that moment, Carol clinks her glass gently, getting everyone’s attention. As she speaks, you try to listen to her words -the toast should be mentioned in the article- but your mind is focused on Natasha’s parfum, and the warmth of her body as she stands next to you. Once Danvers is done, everyone claps and you take a breath, thinking it might be a good idea to get some fresh air.

“Sestra, there you are” Yelena walks up to you two, a knowing smirk at your affected state. “I’d introduce you but I believe you already know each other”

“Yeah” you smile, looking anywhere but Natasha. “I’ll leave you to it, gotta talk to a couple more people. Enjoy your evening”

Yelena doesn’t move, so you’re forced to walk very close to Natasha, and the moment your eyes meet you almost forget how to breathe.

The redhead doesn’t miss the way your pupils are blown or the not so subtle way in which you glance at her lips.

She wants to reach out and grab your wrist, turn you around and devour your lips in a messy kiss. Instead, she sees you walk towards your friend.

“See? Aren’t you glad I made you come out of your cave?”

Apparently, your crush wasn’t one sided after all. 

—

The school paper. Natasha barely paid attention to it, even when it was delivered every Monday to her office, same as every faculty member at Lang University. 

This time, she is eager to open it and read your article. There it is, your name and a very long piece about the exhibit. Your prose is exquisite, and you didn’t just deliver an event summary; it’s a deep dive into the department, budget cuts and how students and professors are investing their own resources to keep the course alive.

Right under the dean’s nose. Natasha has to smile; it’s true that Howard Stark was more inclined to favor the Science department and a number of protests had gone unanswered on his side. Most of them came from tenured professors, as part time teachers and students were concerned with some sort of retaliation.

Not you, though.

Natasha is so focused on the article that she misses the knock on her door until Fury comes in.

“Romanoff” he greets. “Picking up on some light reading?”

“Something very entertaining” she turns the pages to show your article and he chuckles.

“She’s got balls” he recognises. “Heard she was talking about it with some art dealers who donate to the university. Apparently Stark is listening now”

“I’m happy to hear that”

“That’s not why I’m here, though” Fury sits down, crossing his legs. “The Foster Grant”

“What about it?” Natasha says, playing dumb. She hates to be the center of attention. “I know I got it, it’s no big deal”

“It is to the department. We don’t want to be the next on the list of budget cuts”

“Maybe we’ll just have to ask Y/N to write an article for us” she jokes, but Fury just smirks knowingly.

“Great idea! Let’s have her write something about your work and the research you’ve been doing” he slaps his knee, standing up. 

“What?”

“Well, don’t look at me like that, it was your idea, Romanoff. Better be this week so it’s on next Monday’s edition” he winks, leaving her office whistling.

As usual, Natasha is blindsided by her boss. How on Earth will she manage a conversation alone with you?

Still, Fury leaves no room for argument, and at the end of Tuesday’s class, you approach her desk.

“I was told you had an assignment for me” you say, biting your lip nervously.

“Yes, that’s right. Something about a research grant, it’s really not a big deal. Sorry that Fury put you up to it” she dismisses the thing like it’s a nuissance.

“I don’t mind at all. Just wanted to check if… when do you want to meet. And where. It would be better around Thursday so I can come prepared with questions and then write everything over the weekend. But I’ll adjust to your schedule” 

“Thursday is fine by me” Natasha nods. “My office? Last class is at 5, so maybe 6”

“Yeah, sounds good” you nod, blushing. “See you then, professor”

How will you survive this?

—

Thursday comes faster than you’d like, and you’re inspecting your wardrobe as if you’re going on a first date. 

Everythig’s too ugly. Why do you have such ugly clothes? 

Ugh, I should just cancel. 

In the end, you opt for a preppy look, with a black skirt and thights, choosing a black and white stripped sweater for the cold weather.

You run into Yelena and Wanda in the living room.

“Where are you going so fancy?” the blonde says, whistling and forcing you to twirl so she can have a 360 of your outfit. “You’re going on a date, aren’t you?”

Wanda, who actually knows about your appointment, covers her mouth to keep from laughing and you glare at her.

“Don’t”

“What? Is it someone I know?” Yelena looks between the two of you.

“Yes. It’s your sister” Wanda finally cracks. 

“It’s not a date!” you rush to say when Yelena turns to look at you. “I’m writing an article about her research”

“Mmm, right” she nods, not believing you. “She asked about you the other day, you know?”

“She did? I mean, what did she want to know?” you try to pretend it’s no big deal.

“She asked if we hooked up. I told her you’re not my type”

“Oh, please. I’m everyone’s type” you huff, picking up your bag before you run late. You still want to stop by the cafeteria.

“You’re certainly Natasha’s” Yelena mumbles, but you miss it. “Good luck on your non date with my sister”

“Not a date… although, what’s her coffee order?” 

“I’ll tell you if you admit it’s a date”

By the time you finally get Yelena to answer, you’re ten minutes late, walking around campus with two coffees and cookies. Knocking with your elbow, you hear a soft come in and figure out how to open the door. 

Juggling everything, you walk into Natasha’s office.

“Let me help you” the woman says, standing up and rushing to your side. You hand over the cup with her name. “For me?”

“Yes”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I should be the one with a drink to offer. How did you know?” she licks her lips, appreciating the sweet flavor of the caramel macchiato. Her glasses fog from the warmth of the drink and you have to resist the urge to kiss her.

“I asked Yelena” you admit. “Glad to know she wasn’t pranking me” 

“I do have a sweet tooth”

“No worries, I won’t write anything about it” you take a notepad and your phone to record. “May I?”

“Please” Natasha settles behind her desk, appreciating that cute little frown that always appears when you’re focused. You go over your notes for a minute and then nod, ready to begin.

The hour goes by quickly, and Natasha feels proud when she notices you’ve stopped taking notes, genuinely interested and asking about everything she’s been researching for the past year and a half.

“Oh, it’s getting late. I’m so sorry for keeping you here” you apologize, looking at the time. 

“That’s ok, I’m free for the rest of the evening. I cleared my schedule just for you”

The words make your heart flutter. Of course she doesn’t mean anything by it, but how you wished she did.

“So, do you have time for a couple more questions?”

“Sure” 

For you, she has all the time in the world. Natasha could spend all night watching you put that lose strand of hair behind your ear, while you write down your thoughts. 

It’s dangerously endearing.

“I’d like to know… your favorite poem” you ask, more for yourself than for the article.

Natasha takes a deep breath, standing up and walking around her desk. She speaks as she approaches you, in that soft, tender tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“I loved you; even now I may confess,

Some embers of my love their fire retain;

But do not let it cause you more distress,

I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly

With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

I pray God grant another love you so”

Natasha looks into your eyes as she sits on the edge of the desk, mere inches away from you. 

In truth, you had expected her to answer with the poem’s title, not recite it to you so passionately.

“Pushkin” you sigh, looking at your hands.

“Very good” she praises, which makes you blush even harder. “It sounds better in Russian, though”

“I can imagine” you say, torn between wanting to hear it or not. You might lose your last sliver of self control if she speaks her native language.

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

You need to kiss her, discover how her lips feel against yours. Hold her hand, guide her up your skirt…

“Yes. I… mean, no, I have everything I need, professor” you snap out of your thoughts, looking flustered. “Thank you so much for making the time to speak to me”

“I always have time for my best student” she says, standing up and walking you to the door. “I’m looking forward to reading your article”

“I’ll try to live up to the expectations”

“I’m sure you will” she says gently, leaning against the threshold of the door. You look at her lips one last time before stepping back, wishing the evening could be prolonged.

Natasha watches you walk away, already missing your presence.

—

You spend the weekend reliving the interview. Thank God you kept recording when Natasha recited Pushkin, because now you have it for posterity.

The article is done, has been since you got back to your dorm. The words flowed effortlessly as you remembered everything Natasha said, and so you spent all night writing and correcting it until it was perfect. Even your editor was impressed when you sent it over.

Now, all that’s left is you, the recording and the view from your window. You listen to Natasha over and over again, hoping her presence migh somehow slip into your subconscious and then, she’ll be in your dreams as well.

As if you had summoned her, Natasha appears outside your window, walking with Yelena. As her sister walks into your building to meet with Wanda, Natasha looks up, waving at you. You remove your headphones, blushing at the fact that you were just listening to her speak on the recording.

“How’s the article coming along?”

“Signed, sealed, delivered” you smile. “I do hope you’ll like it”

“It will be the first thing I read tomorrow” she promises, saying goodbye. This time, you don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re staring as she leaves, and a little part of you feels like Juliet, watching Romeo walk away.

Forbidden love.

No, not forbidden. Unrequited.

With a sigh, you walk away and join your friends, thinking it’s better to distract yourself now that you remember Natasha Professor Romanoff is out of your reach.

Still, you can only fall asleep as you listen to her reciting that poem over and over again. And when you wake up, the resolve to see her again overcomes every fiber of your being. 

So you walk up to her office, knowing very well she’s there at break of dawn.

“Y/N” she says, looking at the paper in your hands. “Come in”

“I thought you’d like to read it. But maybe you’re busy. And you won’t like it or it’s not a big deal to you” you rant, handing it over and turning to leave. “Never mind”

“Stay” is all she says, hand reaching for your wrist. Your heart skips a beat at the contact and you nod, trying to ease your nerves. 

Natasha sits on her small sofa to read the article, and you’re too anxious so you walk around her office, examining the bookshelves. As you approach her desk, you focus on an open book, some notes scribbled along the margins.

“I love it” Natasha says, standing right behind you. You jump, so absorbed by the book that you didn’t hear her stand up and come close to you. She’s now reading over your shoulder. “It’s the Heptameron, by Marguerite de Navarre. I was working on a translation from the German edition”

You can now see the sheet of paper next to the page, Natasha’s writing looking rushed as if she fears the words will be taken by the wind. With a shaky voice, you break the sudden silence in the room, reading the story.

“A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess

And she too is in love with him

Though she seems not to be entirely aware of it

Despite the friendship that blossoms between them or

Perhaps because of that very friendship

The young knight finds himself

So humbled and speechless

That he's totally unable to bring up the subject of his love

Till one day he asks the princess point blank

Is it better to speak or to die?”

“I found myself thinking a lot about unrequited love this weekend. And so I remembered this little thing” she says in a low voice. “What do you think is better? Speak or die?”

“I think that depends, Professor” you sigh, feeling her hand against your lower back.

“Depends… on what?” she whispers against your ear, making you shiver. “Should I speak about all the times I think of you, of how endearing and wonderful and intriguing you are to me?”

You turn around, cornered against her desk. Natasha’s hands traces a path down your arm, and takes your hand, lifting it to her lips. Your eyes follow the movement, and a sigh leaves your lips at the soft kiss she places on the back of your hand.

“Should I speak about how I wonder what it would be like to kiss you, taste you, mark you, until you’re chanting my name like a prayer?”

This time, her hand travels to your lips, pupils dilating as you allow her to invade your mouth with her finger, sucking gently until she retrieves it, pulling you by the waist.

“Should I speak, then? Or shall we keep pretending neither one of us wants this?” she whispers against your lips. You close your eyes, taking a breath to steady your heart. Her touch, her words, is all too much and you’re afraid it’s all a perfect dream, and at any moment you’ll wake up, alone and desperate for her.

“Please…” you say, leaning forward and capturing her lips in a messy, frantic kiss. Dream or reality, you’ll take Natasha in whatever way you can.

Natasha craddles your face in her hands, spreading your legs apart with her knee. You whine incoherently at her surprising strenght, your hands balled up in fists around the fabric of her pristine shirt. 

“You’re so perfect” she sighs against your lips. “So beautiful”

“Natasha” you plead, wanting to feel her against you, closer, harder. More, more, more until you’re on the brink of destruction and she’s all that exists.

“I want you. Do you want me?” she asks, and you catch the uncertainty in her tone.

“Of course I do” 

If only she could feel how wet you are, all because of her touch.

But there’s a knock on the door, and you both look at the spot, alarmed. Natasha squeezes your hand to reassure you.

“Yes?”

“Just delivering the paper, Professor”

“Leave it outside, I’ll pick it up in a minute. Thank you”

You take a moment to breathe and fix your hair, aware that your lips are swollen from all the kissing.

You kissed your professor. Natasha Romanoff kissed you.

“Are you ok?” she asks, worried about your sudden silence.

“Just wondering if I’m about to wake up from a beautiful dream” you admit, and she smiles.

“Do you dream of me?” she teases, her hand reaching for yours.

“Only when I’m awake”

Natasha smiles, kissing your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? My place. This Friday”

“Yes. I’d love to”

There’s another knock on the door, but Fury doesn’t wait for Natasha to answer. You jump away from the woman, unsure if this could get her into trouble.

Luckily, Fury is busy inspecting the paper that was dropped outside of Natasha’s office and he doesn’t pick up on anything as he looks up.

“Miss Y/L/N. You wrote an amazing article. Brilliant”

“Thank you, Doctor Fury” you say. “I should head out, my Sociology class is starting soon”

Natasha smiles at you, hoping you understand how much she wishes you could carry on.

But the promise of more lingers in her eyes and so, as you take one last look at her, you return her smile.

“I’m happy the knight spoke, Professor. See you in class” 

“See you in class, Miss Y/L/N”

[katerinaaqu]

Why did Helen choose to torment the Greek Warriors inside the Trojan Horse? (An Odyssey Analysis)

Okay so here is a conundrum that seems to be quite interesting in homeric poems. One of them seems to be Helen's behavior before the sacking of Troy. Menelaus informs us and Telemachus on the events of the night before taking Troy and speaks on the moment where Helen knocks on the Trojan Horse and calls upon the Greek warriors inside imitating the voices of their wives.

Three times you circled the hollow ambush and out of the best of the Danaans you called the names and all the Argives heard the voices of their spouses. Nevertheless I and the son of Tydeus and the godly Odysseus heard you as you called out and while we two were eager to rush out and act to our sudden urge, Odysseus though held us back and restrained us despite our eagerness. Then all the other sons of Achaeans endured apart from Anticlus wanted to respond to your call but Odysseus placed his hand upon his mouth non-stop and strongly and thus saving all the Achaeans until Athena Pallas led you away

(Translation by me)

So basically here we see a very cruel act right? Helen knows the Argives were away from home and their wives way too long, over a decade so why would she play such a cruel game to them and call upon them by using the voices of their wives? It seems unnecessarily cruel at some point especially since she did express the need to go back to her husband already a year prior during the events of Iliad.

So here are a couple of explanations for it.

So for many I would epxect this would be something one might consider inconsistency at writing which leads many people to turn to the "different writer" trope. Quite honestly I can see why and as a hypothesis is really valid or maybe if one takes the hypothesis that Odyssey was witten way after the Iliad that the author himself changed his mind on some stuff or reconsidered his sources etc.

However let's hypothesize for one second that this is a logical continuation of the story and character development (yeah I am not convinced on the different writer theory, fight me! XD) and let's just think for a second the context of the scene based on what we know from the Iliad and the Epic Cycle in general.

We know that Helen lived in Troy a decade (yes for the "20 years theory" I have answered an ask here). She knew these people for a long time. We also know from the Iliad as she stood next to Priam, giving him information about the Greek leaders and kings and we know that she was not judged by him or any other of the Trojans. If anything she was blaming herself quite a lot for it. Even in the funeral of Hector she expresses her love for him (not romantic love guys) and her respect for him. She had no real hate for the Trojans even if she already had a change of heart or Aphrodite's spell on her had weakened. For the reasons why she stayed I also answered another ask right here but apart from that reason we know she wanted to go home so why did she do that to the Greeks? Well in the same scene Menelaus seems to be excusing his wife and he presents this very interesting explanation as to why she did it:

And then you came there: called by some god, no doubt, who wished to extend the glory of the Trojans

(Translation by me)

Menelaus seems to be excusing his wife once more and presents the hypothesis that Helen was inspired by some god or goddess (δαίμων) to go and disturb the Greeks inside the horse. Helen doesn't deny it but doesn;t confirm it either. In fact Telemachus speaks soon after and Helen orders the slaves to prepare stuff. The conversation on this subject seems to end there. So the one explanation could be that indeed Menelaus is correct and that Helen was once more either coersed or blackmailed by a god, potentially Aphrodite again, even if not mentioned, and went to the Greeks and tried to lure them out for the sakes of that god that wished better for Troy. It stands as an explanation as well.

However let's make things more spicy and let's assume that Helen was not influenced by divine intervention by the gods and instead it was her own free will to do what she did. If yes then why? So here's a hypothesis. Before in her narration Helen talks about how she met Odysseus and recognized him in his disguise. She also mentions how Odysseus informs her on the plan to take Troy:

And then he entrusted me everything he had in mind for the Achaeans

(translation by me)

How much he told her is not clear. Did he already have in mind to make the horse so he tells her that? Maybe he warns her on the one day that the Achaeans shall enter the city without speaking on precice details? Either way Helen would know Odysseus was up for some ploy and she knew she had to act fast. Menelaus also mentions how Deiphobos was with her at that time (how Menelaus knew? Well probably Helen told him). So immediately if Helen had a reason to do what she did, we have two reasons;

She wanted to persuade Deiphobos on her loyalty to Troy. Arguably when Odysseus escaped, as Helen said, he killed many Trojans on his way out. Most likely her loyalty must have been questioned at that tensed time thus being accompanied by her new husband all the time. By doing this, ellegedly tormenting the Greeks, was showing to Deiphobos her loyalty to Troy (manipulating him into believing that she was on their side) plus showing him like "See? Nothing here. No danger whatsoever". She probably knew already Odysseus would be inside and he wouldn't fall for her trick and she trusted him and her husband to hold the rest of the Achaeans inside the horse so they wouldn't cry out. So not only did she show to Deiphobos that she was on Trojan side but also manipulated him into believing indeed there was no danger.

Two, this part is the best, in my opinion, she was signaling to the GREEKS inside the horse. She called them all by name by immitating their wives. More or less tells to them that she KNOWS and that she knows EXACTLY who they are and who their families are, and that she could have betrayed them at any moment if she wanted to but she chose not to because she was on their side. Like that she would have more hopes not to be killed by vengeful Greeks during the siege of Troy or her daughter by Paris, Helen, and ensure her and her daughter's safety. Also signaling her change of heart in person to them.

Conclusions:

Like I said before I do not believe Odyssey was written by a different author altogether and Odyssey itself gives us some very good explanations on Helen's behavior. I am actually willing to side with my second hypothesis. Perhaps Menelaus was talking literally when mentioning a god but I tend to believe he was more like metaphorical. In an essence "what's gotten into you?" manner. However I tend to believe that regardless of whether there was or wasn't a godly intervention in Helen's behavior, Helen is extremely intelligent and she knows that after the fuss Odysseus caused (literally a Greek spy in Troy, possibly two if we count Diomedes too) that got in, stole the Palladium of Athena and killed people on their way out might as well throw suspicion on her and she needed to make sure she would continue have the love of Priam, which was literally her shield of protection at that moment. Two she knew that her husband was coming for her and that he was potentially furious and if it wasn't him, some other of the Greeks would be or they would get battle-drunk with their success. She wasn't going to rely only on Odysseus's silver tongue that he persuaded the Greeks on her change of heart but she wanted to make sure that they knew on her talents and power and the way that she could literally give them away at any moment and that she chooses not to because she is Greek like them and because she had a change of heart!

I hope you find this analysis interesting! Let me know in the comments below! I'd love to hear your thoughts! ^_^

[nessquik-icetea-sootyowl]

someone will remember us

I say

even in another time

🪼Pallas & Athena🦉

for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking

   is left in me

 

no: tongue breaks and thin

fire is racing under skin

and in eyes no sight and drumming

   fills ears

 

and cold sweat holds me and shaking

grips me all, greener than grass

I am and dead—or almost

   I seem to me.

~Sappho, fragment 31

Top one is fragment 147

Making this made me wanna cry lol. We need more Athena and Pallas content, their story is so beautiful and so tragic.

Little detail idk if people will notice but I’m really proud of; nymphs bleed red blood while gods bleed gold ichor. The gold detailing in the floor almost looks like it’s coming from Athena, like a part of her died that day with Pallas.

Pallas design was inspired by @mer-acle

I’ve loved Pallas and Athena’s story for a long time but her Fighting to be loved fic gave me the motivation to finish a full art piece on them!

I’m really happy with this and I love a lot of parts about it but I think my favourite is the bloody spear, I just really like the way it turned out!

Close up pics!

[zarnzarn]

It is only after that Athena realizes what was wrong.

"Apollo," She says, quiet. The other god looks terrified at her sudden reappearance, confirming the answer before she even has to ask. Still, she stomps over to the bed, brushes aside the curtain that holds-

No one. The bed is empty.

"-DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?" She realises she's shouting, throat hurting from however long it's been. "Damn you, Apollo, why didn't you-"

Artemis is holding her back, even though they all know now that Athena would never be her father, no longer would raise a hand any of them.

"Why-" Tears catch in her throat. "Why would you not let me say goodbye to her?"

"She told me not to," Apollo says quietly. His cheeks are also wet, and he's cowering back but his stance is strong. "And you- you were happy, Athena. With all your warriors, with your Ithaka. I could not spoil that too, not when it would not last as long as your grief would."

"Damn you," She chokes out again, voice defeated, then turns to the bed. "Let me see her."

"That's not a good-"

"Artemis, please!" Athena snaps. "Let me see her, Apollo. One last time."

Apollo inhales shakily and raises a hand, turning back the time of his realm. Athena keeps her eyes trained on the bed, until-

"Pallas," She breathes, kneeling by the bed. Pallas lies unmoving, still bleeding all these decades later. She coughs suddenly, making Athena's heart ache. She knows that pain now- of the Aegis striking you down- but she still cannot bring forth regret for the latent hope that one day she might be saved.

"Pallas!" Apollo from the past exclaims, putting his pots down to stand by her side. "Oh- you're awake!"

"Not for long," She croaks out, and Athena sobs at the sound of that beloved voice. At what is coming. "Don't tell her. She won't reach me in time."

"But," Apollo wavers. "You're awake! Surely-"

"I'm only awake because someone is speaking my story," Pallas smiles faintly. "My essence will not survive the ending." Then she frowns. Realizes something and gives a small, wondrous smile. "But maybe-"

Athena reaches out to her, even though she knows it won't touch.

Pallas looks straight at her.

She gasps, and the other shoots her a familiar grin, before abruptly dissolving into mist with a horrid ripping sound, two colored lights floating in the air for a moment, then disappearing entirely.

"Let me see that again," Athena snaps hoarsely, pale.

"Sister-"

"NOW!"

Once more, she watches the soul of her first friend tear into half. Then again and again, until-

"Wait," Artemis holds out a hand to stop the movement, catching the split moment where it coalesces into her last storyteller and the last listener- a familiar shoddy prince and a familiar princess dripping with water, knobbly-kneed and grinning at each other- "Is- is that..."

Athena doesn't reply, still staring. Of course, it makes sense, she was the one who whispered the story to Odysseus under the stars after a training session gone wrong, but why would Pallas-

Why would she-

Unless-

Athena! Oh, wow, your hair is beautiful, she remembers both Odysseus and Pallas saying.

Athena! Come in, the water is lovely, she remembers both Penelope and Pallas saying.

"I have to go," She says hoarsely.

"GO!" Apollo and Artemis shout in unison, wild hope entering their eyes, and push her into-

Ithaka's palace bedroom. It is night. The olive tree in the middle of the room swishes.

Odysseus is sitting upright, Penelope in his lap as he strokes her hair. Jarringly full grown and speckled with grey, from the vision from a few seconds ago. But not old enough, not old as they should be, because-

When he turns to her, his grin is both his and hers, and when Penelope slits open one nymph-blue eye, the mischief is both hers and hers.

"We were wondering-" Odysseus laughs, a feminine lilt to the sound that isn't his, predator-playful expression the same as it was from all those centuries ago.

"-when you'd finally notice," Penelope finishes, the rough curl of the nymph language the queen does not know shaping her letters, quiet glee at a successful scheme the same as it was from all those centuries ago.

"It is you," Athena breathes, dropping her spear. Her helmet, her armour, walking closer like a soldier finally home from war. "It has been- you've been here the whole time."

Odysseus and Penelope cackle and Athena breaks out into a run and Pallas, grinning, raises their arms to welcome Athena back home.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 11

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Nikandros came to stand beside him. ‘Jokaste is confined in a cell in the east wing. Do you have further orders?’ ‘Strip her and send her to Vere as a slave?�� Damen didn’t move from the sill. Nikandros said, ‘You don’t really want that.’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘I want it to be worse.’ He said it with his eyes on the horizon. He knew he would not allow her to be treated with anything less than respect. He remembered her picking her way across cool marble towards him in the slave baths. He could see her hand in the attacks on the village, in the framing of Makedon.

his performative cruelty echoes laurent’s here. he knows damn well what he intends to happen (and not happen) but feels vindictive all the same

‘No one is to speak with her. No one is to enter her cell. Give her every comfort. But do not let her get a hold on any of the men.’ He was not a fool anymore. He knew her abilities. ‘Put your best soldiers on her door, your most loyal, and choose them from among those who have no taste for women.’

this is so funny. if anyone within a thirty foot radius of jokaste likes pussy they are done for (also yay damen for realizing that nice =/= good! pretty easy to figure out with jokaste but he’s gotta start somewhere)

‘I’ll post Pallas and Lydos.’ Nikandros nodded, and departed to do his bidding.

happy late pride month to pallas and lydos

He let him see Laurent too, let him see the picture they presented, royalty united. Laurent was the only Veretian in a hall filled with Akielons. Damen liked it. He liked having Laurent beside him, liked letting the Regent’s herald see that Laurent had Akielos alongside him—had Damianos of Akielos, now in his favoured arena of war.

does that maybe give you an idea damen?? like… maybe you could unify your kingdoms???

Damen settled his full weight into the throne, sprawled on it comfortably, and watched all of this happen.

honorary damen lean #1

He slightly lifted his fingers. The imperceptible gesture halted his men from doing the same now. Last time, Damen vividly recalled, the Regent’s herald had been received in a flurry in a courtyard, Laurent white-faced, pounding in on horseback, wheeling his mount to face his uncle’s herald down. He remembered the herald’s arrogance, his words, and the hessian sack pinned to his saddle. It was the same herald.

how the turntables

‘We accept the Regent’s surrender at Charcy,’ said Damen.

nice opener

The herald flushed. ‘The King of Vere sends a message.’ ‘The King of Vere is seated beside us,’ said Damen. ‘We do not recognise his uncle’s false claim to the throne.’ The herald was forced to pretend that those words had not been spoken. He turned from Damen to Laurent. ‘Laurent of Vere. Your uncle extends his friendship to you in good faith. He offers you a chance to restore your good name.’ ‘No head in a bag?’ said Laurent. Laurent’s voice was mild. Relaxed on the throne, one leg extended out in front of himself, a wrist draped elegantly on the wooden arm, the shift in power was evident. He was no longer the rogue nephew, fighting alone on the border. He was a significant, newly established power, with lands and an army of his own.

god imagine trying to argue with these two, especially when they’re together. insufferable. slaymianos and cunty laurent are the ultimate power couple, even if someone could win the argument it would be so unpleasant that they’d be losing too

also laurent lean #14

‘Your uncle is a good man. The Council has called for your death, but your uncle will not hear them. He will not accept the rumours that you have turned on your own people. He wants to give you the chance to prove yourself.’

the regent created a fabricated situation in which the council would want laurent dead, then offered him mercy. bitch

‘Prove myself,’ said Laurent.

this is laurent calling him a bitch. also craft note kinda, i like how often laurent repeats words and how effective it is in communicating his tone and thoughts during a conversation

‘‘All that is mine’,’ Laurent repeated the herald’s words for the second time.

“are you hearing this shit damen”

‘Your Highness,’ said one of the dignitaries, and Damen was startled to recognise Estienne, a minor aristocrat from Laurent’s faction.

didn’t laurent threaten him in book 1? like he shamed estienne for being loyal to the regent over him?

Laurent only regarded Estienne for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the herald. ‘‘All that is mine will be returned to me”? Were those his words? Tell me his exact words.’

my guess is that estienne is stupid but not necessarily against laurent, and laurent knows it. he can be used for information, whether he’s actually giving the answers to questions he’s being asked or being manipulated into giving different ones, but laurent would not depend on him for loyalty

‘If you refuse, you will be executed,’ said the herald. ‘Your death will be a public traitor’s death, your body displayed on the city gates for all to see. What is left will receive no burial. You will not be entombed with your father and brother. Your name will be struck from the family register. Vere will not remember you, and all that is yours will be cast asunder. That is the King’s promise, and my message.’

man, what the fuck is this herald’s problem?

Laurent said nothing; an uncharacteristic silence, and Damen saw the subtle signs, the tension across his shoulders, the muscle sliding in his jaw.

is very important to laurent that he takes up the responsibility of leading vere well, honoring his brother’s memory and ridding it of his uncle’s leadership. this is the death of that dream in the most specific way possible, and the regent knows it. laurent is horrified by being unable to help the helpless, and this renders him even more powerless to help or be remembered as good than he was before (which was already pretty powerless)

It was the herald who answered, in clear Akielon and a voice that carried to every corner of the hall. ‘You are a patricide. You killed your own father, King Theomedes of Akielos.’

who is this herald. what is his backstory

He told himself that. That no one could think for a moment that he would— His head was pounding. He felt a furious powerlessness at it, that Kastor could kill their father, and then lie like this, poison the very truth, and get away with— The injustice of it took him in the throat. He felt it like the final tearing of that relationship, as though somehow before this moment there had been some hope that he could reach Kastor, but that now what was between them was unsalvageable.Worse than making him a prisoner, worse than making him a slave. Kastor had made him into his father’s killer. He felt the Regent’s smiling influence, his mild, reasonable voice. He thought of the Regent’s lies spreading, taking hold, the people of Ios believing him a murderer, his father’s death dishonoured and used against him. To have his people mistrust him, to have his friends turn from him, to have the thing that had been most dear and good in his life twisted into a weapon to hurt— He turned. Laurent was standing alone, against the backdrop of the hall. With sudden double vision, Damen saw Laurent as he was, his true isolation. The Regent had done this to Laurent, had whittled away his support, had turned his people against him. He remembered trying to convince Laurent of the Regent’s benevolence in Arles, as naive as Estienne. Laurent had had a lifetime of this.

i was about to analyze but damen did it for me. yep!

He said, in a steady, measured voice, ‘He thinks he can provoke me. He can’t. I am not going to act in anger or in haste..."

mhm yeah

Laurent just kept watching him with that slightly assessing expression on his face. ‘You can’t be considering his offer,’ said Damen. Laurent didn’t answer immediately. Damen said, ‘You can’t go to Ios. Laurent, you won’t get a trial. He’ll kill you.’ ‘I’d get a trial,’ said Laurent. ‘It’s what he wants. He wants me proven unfit. He wants the Council to ratify him as King so that he can rule with his claim wholly legitimised.’ ‘But—’ ‘I’d get a trial.’ Laurent’s voice was quite steady. ‘He’d have a parade of witnesses, and each one would swear me a traitor. Laurent, the debauched shirker who sold his country to Akielos and spread his legs for the Akielon prince-killer. And when I had no reputation left, I’d be taken to the public square and killed in front of a crowd. I’m not considering his offer.’

yes you are. it would be all of your worst self-loathing thoughts, proven to yourself and world. it would be like the fight with damen in marlas but against someone you know would not hesitate to actually hurt you, who wants VERY BADLY to humiliate and punish you. this self-destructiveness is a consistent and startling laurent tendency, and accepting the regent’s offer is definitely something he’s considering, on purpose, fully aware of how horrible it would feel. because it could very well be the best thing he could do for vere and for akielos, by laurent-logic. if laurent let the stronger man (regent) win, believing as he (laurent) does that he (laurent) will never be the stronger man, that might give the even stronger man (damen) an opening to take the regent out. if laurent’s ptsd-informed “the strongest wins” philosophy is not challenged enough to be genuinely reconsidered, he will end up giving himself to his uncle (and he does)

Looking at him across the gap that separated them, Damen realised for the first time that a trial might have some kind of seductive appeal to Laurent, who must wish, somewhere deep inside himself, to clear his name. But Laurent was right: any trial would be a death sentence, a performance designed to humiliate him, and then end him, overseen by the Regent’s terrifying command of public spectacle.

i honestly don’t think laurent believes his name deserves to be cleared, he just wants to make the world better for people who aren’t broken like himself. and some of part of himself still longs to be humiliated and punished for his various “failures” to be strong against his uncle, his brother’s killer, etc.

‘I mean that my uncle doesn’t hold out a hand for someone to knock it aside. He sent that herald to us for a reason. There’s something else.’ Laurent’s next words were almost unwilling. ‘There’s always something else.’

a little vulnerable moment here, shared with damen. this is something laurent has had to remind himself for years, and he’s sharing that vulnerable part of his own logic and weaknesses, as well as the fact that he’s failed to remember it before.

He had never talked of it with her—he had never been able to bear talking of it with anyone—but sometimes he had come from his father’s sickbed to see her, to take solace, wordlessly, in her body.

contrast with laurent simply giving him a hug and letting him cry in the next chapter

He looked over at Laurent and said, flatly, ‘Deal with it.’ Laurent gazed at him for a long moment, as if searching for something in his expression, then he nodded wordlessly, and made his way to the cells.

they’re leaning on each other. it’s nice, despite the circumstances. i also enjoy the slight subversion of laurent being the attack dog for damen

He could see her, reclined on an exquisitely carved seat. Her cell was clean and well furnished, with tapestries and cushions that had been transferred from her solar on Damen’s orders.

they moved the tapestries to her cell.

She sat on the low reclining seat, something in her posture reminiscent of his father, King Theomedes, on his throne.

another interesting gender moment. damen is so distinctly not a misogynist, throughout this entire series. the society can be misogynistic, but damen really does view women as inherently equal to men, in that people of both genders can be powerful or submissive, and those qualities and positions aren’t fixed on gender.

Under her arched golden brows, her eyes were the colour of woad.

i looked up woad and it’s a yellow-flowered plant, but blue dye is somehow extracted from the leaves. so like… a false blue plant. fool’s gold. i don’t know if that means jokaste has yellow eyes (not likely, given the running bit about damen’s type) or damen is referring to the blue dye and not the flowers, but it does feel intentional on the part of the author to go for something that’s kind of deceptive here

The extent to which she and Laurent resembled each other, in colouring, in their cool, intellectual lack of emotion, in the detachment with which they regarded one another, was both unnerving and extraordinary.

it’s interesting, because we know that laurent has a bleeding heart deep down, and we know what makes it bleed. there must be something like that for jokaste, but we just never really find out. and because damen’s relationship with her has always been like. purposefully shallow, he has no idea either

She spoke in pure, accentless Veretian. ‘Damianos has sent me his bed boy. Blond, blue-eyed, and all laced up like a virgo intacta. You’re just his type.’ Laurent said, ‘You know who I am.’ ‘The prince du jour,’ said Jokaste. There was a pause.

cs pacat made them enemies because she knew they would be too powerful as friends

‘I think we both know you weren’t the one fucking him. You were on your back with your legs in the air. He hasn’t changed that much.’

but she has noticed that he’s changed, even in that very short interaction

Jokaste said, ‘The question is how much you liked it.’ Damen found himself with his hand on the wood beside the grate, listening as intently as he could for Laurent’s reply. He shifted position, trying to get a glimpse of Laurent’s face,

this is so funny. sex god damen leaning in for user feedback on how he fucks

‘I see. We are going to trade stories? Shall I tell you my preferred position?’ ‘I imagine it’s similar to mine.’ ‘Confined?’ said Laurent.

HA

She said, ‘Are you asking what it was like?’

so she thinks laurent is asking for a… read? a guess? an invitation for her to talk shit? advice, or something to make him feel insecure or less special? clearly she’s immediately picked up on his inexperience and insecurity. she knows the wounds to press. partially because i think the insecurity is something they share, and that’s why they’re both drawn to damen.

‘Laurent of Vere. They say you’re frigid. They say you rebuff all your suitors, that no man has been good enough to prise your legs apart. I believe you thought it would be brutish and physical, and maybe a part of you even wanted it that way. But you and I both know that Damen does not make love like that. He took you slowly. He kissed you until you started to want it.’ Laurent said, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’ ‘You let him undress you. You let him put his hands on you. They say you hate Akielons, but you let one into your bed. You weren’t expecting what it felt like when he touched you. You weren’t expecting the weight of his body, how it felt to have his attention, to have him want you.’ ‘You left out the part near the end, when it was so good I let myself forget what he’d done.’ ‘Oh dear,’ said Jokaste. ‘That was the truth.’

i think she’s right, he’s admitting she’s right, and they both know she’s talking about herself too. ironically this conversation between two massive liars is pretty close to the truth. the real effort is put into how they can use the truth to hurt or manipulate each other.

‘It’s heady, isn’t it?’ said Jokaste. ‘He was born to be a king. He’s not a stand-in, or a second choice, like you are. He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him. Like they loved your brother.’ ‘My dead brother,’ said Laurent helpfully. ‘Shall we now do the part where I spread for my brother’s killer? You can describe it again.’ He couldn’t see Laurent’s face as he said it, though Laurent’s voice was easy, as was his elegant lean against the stone wall of the cell.

he has so much practice dealing with accusations like this jokaste and nobody hates him more than himself. also damen loves laurent, so cope

She said, ‘Is it difficult to ride with a man who is more of a king than you are?’ ‘I wouldn’t let Kastor hear you call him a king.’

context: laurent calling jokaste out for not actually believing in kastor’s authority, even though she took his side and betrayed damen. these are things laurent would never do, as loyalty and honor are very important to him. and therein lies the difference between laurent and jokaste

‘Or is that what you like about it? That Damen is what you’ll never be. That he has surety, self-belief, strength of conviction. Those are things that you yearn for. When he focuses it all on you, it makes you feel like you can do anything.’ Laurent said, ‘Now we are both telling the truth.’ The quality of this pause was different. Jokaste gazed back at Laurent.

barbie princess and the pauper i’m just like you song

‘Meniados is not going to defect from Kastor to Damianos,’ said Jokaste. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent. ‘Because when Meniados fled Karthas, I encouraged him to head straight to Kastor, who will kill him for leaving me alone here.’

OKAY GIRL (another thing i don't think laurent would do: send one of his own people to die like that. he was suspected of this at charcy, but that wasn’t his intention)

Jokaste said, ‘We now have dispensed with pleasantries. I am in possession of certain information. You will offer me clemency in exchange for what I know. There will be a series of negotiations, then, when we have decided on a mutually beneficial arrangement, I will return to Kastor in Ios. After all,’ said Jokaste, ‘that is why Damianos sent you here.’ Laurent seemed to study her in turn. When he spoke, it was without particular urgency. ‘No. He sent me to tell you that you’re not important. You’ll be held here until he’s crowned in Ios, then you will be executed for treason. He’s never going to see you again.’

“you miscalculated how much of an exception damen would make for you. because now he’s making those exceptions for me instead”

Laurent pushed himself off the wall. ‘But thank you,’ said Laurent, ‘for the information about Meniados. That was helpful.’ He had almost reached the door before she spoke. ‘You haven’t asked me about my son.’ Laurent stopped. Then turned. Enthroned on the reclining couch, she was regal, like a queen in a sculpted marble frieze commanding the length of a room. ‘He came early. It was a long birth, through the night into the morning. At the end of it all, a child. I was looking into his eyes when we got word of Damen’s soldiers marching on the fort. I had to send him away, for safety. It’s a terrible thing to separate a mother from her child.’ ‘Really, is this all?’ said Laurent. ‘A few pinpricks, and the desperate appeal of motherhood? I thought you were an opponent. Did you really think a prince of Vere would be moved by the fate of a bastard’s child?’ ‘You should be,’ said Jokaste. ‘He is the son of a king.’ The son of a king.

you can’t be talking like that white baby

All of Laurent’s features whitened in reeling shock, and he stared at Jokaste as though he had been struck. Even through his own shock, Laurent’s sheer horror was excessive. Damen didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the look in Laurent’s eyes, or in Jokaste’s. Then Laurent spoke in an awful voice. ‘You have sent Damianos’s son to my uncle.’

do you think she Knows? either way this is a strategic move, but even moreso if she Really Knows (i don’t think she does, although maybe she suspects)

She said, ‘You see? I am an opponent. I will not be left in a cell to rot. You will tell Damen that I will see him as I require, and I think you will find that he will not send in a bed boy this time.’

the bed boy dig here is especially devastating, given the uncle of it all. also, it's kinda like she's saying she can get her man (now laurent's man) back if she wanted to. mean girl laurent has found his mean girl nemesis in jokaste, and while this entire plot point does feel a little bit like a sidequest, i get how it's important for both plot and character development. again, i'm curious how others feel about this part of king's rising! like, the middleish chapters.

[ms-m-astrologer]

The Week Ahead: March 3-9, 2025

Executive summary: Venus is retrograde, Mercury has entered its retrograde zone, the Shadow of the Eclipse starts Tuesday, and (if you live in the US) stupid fucking Daylight Savings starts next Sunday. Grrrr.

Lunar Phases

Monday, March 3, 07:16 UTC - Crescent Moon, 27°57’ Aries

The key phrase for the Crescent lunar phase is “gather and mobilize resources.” Try to wait until the Moon enters Taurus (10:37 UTC) to avoid panicky hysteria, then focus on practical needs.

Thursday, March 6, 16:32 UTC - First Quarter Moon, 16°21’ Gemini

The key phrases for the First Quarter lunar phase are “take action,” and “build new structures to support our intentions.” We go into this with optimism and high spirits - can we keep that going, though? Remember about having two ears but only one mouth, equals “Listen twice as much as we speak.”

Monday, March 10, 08:19 UTC - Gibbous Moon, 5°01’ Leo

The key phrases for the Gibbous lunar phase are “tweak and adjust plans as necessary,” and “pour more energy and effort into our intentions.” A lot of outrage possible, as well as easy expression of same.

Void of Course Moon

Sunday, March 2, 13:52 UTC (Aries) - Monday, March 3, 10:37 UTC (Taurus)

Wednesday, March 5, 10:53 UTC (Taurus) - 12:29 UTC (Gemini)

Friday, March 7, 14:57 UTC (Gemini) - 16:29 UTC (Cancer)

Sunday, March 9, 21:32 UTC (Cancer) - 22:59 UTC (Leo)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Pre-retrograde shadow: Mercury/Aries, Pallas/Aquarius (starting Saturday the 8th), Juno/Sagittarius, Vesta/Scorpio

Retrograde: Venus/Aries

Post-retrograde shadow: Mars/Cancer, Jupiter/Gemini

Transiting Pallas enters her pre-retrograde shadow on Saturday, March 8, 03:09 UTC, at 6°39’ Aquarius. Getting our problem-solving abilities “stuck” somehow, maybe some (more) computer and AI pitfalls exposed, over the next several months.

Transiting Mercury has its Greatest Eastern Elongation on Saturday, March 8, 18:12 UTC, at 5°16’ Aries. This is similar in “feel” to the Last Quarter lunar phase: if something hasn’t been working, it’s time to toss it.

Ingress

Monday, March 3, 09:04 UTC - transiting Mercury enters Aries

Just for a while: during Mercury’s retrograde process, it slips back into Pisces on March 30. We’re very enthusiastic about some idea, which in the longer run will need some serious reworking.

Et Cetera

There are two Opportunity Periods this week:

Wednesday, March 5, 01:56 UTC - 12:29 UTC. “Good for work or play.”

Sunday, March 9, 00:52 UTC - 22:59 UTC. “This dynamic OP is suitable for many things, from hard work to family life. It is the last chance before Mercury slows down and turns retrograde.”

The Shadow of the Eclipse begins on Tuesday, March 4, and lasts until Tuesday, April 1. The Cosmos is shifting; go with the flow.

To quote Prince, “Well, here we are.” A difficult month all around. So I’ll also quote Thomas Paine, from The Crisis (Dec. 23, 1776):

THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.

(How many other astrologers are going to quote both Prince and Thomas Paine, I ask you?!? 🤣🤣)

[voltronisanobsession]

Hey! Not sure how many times I can request, so I’ll just make my appearance as small as I can (no promises though 😉)

B u t.

I was able to think of something else, because I was inspired by the story of Pallas and Athena (she was a daughter of Triton and friends with Athena before accidentally getting killed by her during a competition). So, how does a relationship between a child of Triton (a.k.a the reader) and Annabeth sound?

Maybe things were rocky at first, since Annabeth was a hard-to-get gal, but the more the reader protected her and went out of their way to use every drop of their power JUST for her the more Annabeth started to love them. Does that sound good?

(P.S. I don’t know why, but I can see the reader accidentally splashing Annabeth with water at one point when they tried to woo her, which ended up with her reeking of salt water for days. Also, I think you did a good job with Hecate!reader! Oh, and sorry for how long this is.)

I have no limits on how much you can request so you can send in as many as you want! I just take some time with them💀 I’m also glad you enjoyed the previous one, I had so much fun with it😍😍

I REALLY like this one because we all know how Annabeth is with stories of the gods and heros

She’s studied and remembers all of the ancient stories of Greek mythology, so it only made sense for her to avoid you after finding out your father was Triton

So while both of you know the story of Pallas and Athena, you don’t think much of it while Annabeth fully believes that history can and will repeat itself

Which is why she avoids reader to the MAX when they first meet

As much as she gravitated towards your easygoing and friendly personality, Annabeth feared that your guys’ friendship would lead to your demise one way or another

You wanting to prove her wrong on her theory, made it a point to try and be her friend, no matter what😍😍

Small talks turn into full conversations, with you mostly speaking while Annabeth tries not to give in to the temptation of continuing the interesting subjects you bring up

Imagine you standing up for her whenever Clarrise and her siblings start talking smack about her :0

“Back off Clarrise, why don’t you actually do something productive for once instead of obsessing over Annabeth.”

Cue some insults thrown your way while said girl walks away

“I had that covered Y/N, I didn’t need your help. But… thanks, anyway.”

SHES SO FLUSTERED AS SHE WALKS AWAY WHILE YOU CHUCKLE AHH

Your smile when you to bump into the girl around camp slowly breaks her resolve too

You always manage to see how her eyes light up whenever you’re around which makes your heart FLUTTER UGH

Lingering eyes on each other definitely makes Annabeth rethink her original plan on keeping her distance from you

Ok maybe it’s just me but I can see the reader being kind of a show off BUT IN A GOOD WAY

Like you’re always trying to get Annabeth’s attention one way or another, meaning that some of those ways aren’t the smartest ones

Like one time you wanted to put up a water show for the girl which ended up with her and anyone in a 100 foot vicinity to be soaked in sea water after a miscalculation on how much water you needed to complete your show💀💀

She pretended to be upset with how you made her and countless other campers smell like salt water but would bust out laughing whenever she saw you around camp for the entirety of the week

Secretly loved it though because the water smelt similar to you

Annabeth would slowly forget about Pallas and her mothers story especially after seeing you risk your life countless times for her during battles and secret attacks near the camp

Like that one time you forced her to stay within the camp grounds once you saw how she was knocked down by an angry hellhound

She can still remember being held back by some of her siblings as she watched you get ganged up by more hellhounds, watching from the side as your chest heaved in exhaustion

Remembering how she rushed to your side, gently holding your face as fear coursed through her body, watching as you took shallow breathes

It was then that she knew she grew to care about you too much to just stand by while you protected her from the monsters of the world

Her eyes still trace over the scars left behind from that battle, guilt planting itself in her heart whenever you catch her eye when she’s caught staring at you

Definitely gets frustrated at you when you don’t understand why she was so upset when you took her place in the battlefield

She cares for you too much and she would let out her confession to you in the moment

Then you would confess to her as well and basically explain why you protected her the way you did and everything would easily fall into place

Now she isn’t afraid to hold long conversations with you, but she does tend to hide her face in your shoulder when her siblings tease her about her new partner

You would definitely join in on their teasing too💀

Annabeth enjoys taking long walks beside the shore with you

Sometimes you even take her below into the cool abyss and just take her to your favorite spots in the ocean

She also enjoys being able to hug you whenever, loving how the fresh scent of the sea tends to linger on your skin URGHHH😭💔💔💔💔

IM MAKING MYSELF SAD CUZ I WANT THIS LMAO

OMG AND YOU BOTH TRACE EACH OTHERS BATTLE SCARS WHENEVER YOU GUYS CUDDLE TOGETHER I CANT💔💔

She doesn’t care about how you don’t think your actions through, she’s just supporting you all the way no matter how weird and silly they are

Like trying to balance the hilt of a sword on your forehead (homegirl was literally biting her nails in fear that the sword would fall over and stab you💀)

BUT…

Do beware, everything may seem perfect in the moment but Annabeth was correct about one thing

History does repeat itself in the end

It’s up to both of you to see if your story ends in happiness or tragedy

[mylunaris]

Umbrae praeterita I

Aeliana Callista stood on the marble balcony overlooking the bustling Forum below, her arms folded tightly over the crimson folds of her palla. The faint echoes of gladiatorial games reverberated in the distance, a cruel irony that twisted in her chest like a dagger. Once, the roar of the crowd had been her life. Now, it was a distant specter, a bitter reminder of the years she’d spent spilling blood in the arena while others watched from gilded seats.

Behind her, the unmistakable voice of Emperor Caracalla boomed through the grand hall. He was berating a senator, his words sharp as the gladius she once wielded. From her vantage point, Aeliana could see him pacing near the atrium. His short, fiery red hair caught the light streaming in from the columns, a flame against the rich imperial purple of his tunic. Gold adorned his wrists and collar, a symbol of his unchecked power, though his smile—boyish yet unnervingly predatory—betrayed where his true passions lay: blood, indulgence, and fleeting pleasures.

“Another lion roaring in his cage” Aeliana muttered under her breath, a faint smirk curling her lips. She leaned slightly against the cool stone, watching as he dismissed the senator with a wave that was both impatient and almost childlike.

Caracalla turned, his piercing blue eyes locking onto her in an instant. Of course, he had noticed her. He always did.

“Do you always linger like a shadow, Callista?” he called, his voice dripping with both amusement and threat.

Aeliana straightened, smoothing the folds of her garment as she stepped into the light. “I linger,” she replied coolly, “because shadows are the only things that survive beneath the weight of the sun.”

He paused, his lips curving into that unnervingly innocent smile she had come to recognize as dangerous. “A poet now, are we?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “And I see the day’s frustrations have already begun.”

Caracalla approached her with the slow confidence of a predator, his golden sandals striking the marble with soft clicks. “The games were lacking,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with disdain. “Not enough blood. Not enough fire. What is Rome without its fire?”

Aeliana tilted her head, her expression carefully neutral. “Perhaps Rome burns brighter when its emperors choose to stoke the flame.”

His blue eyes flashed, the grin widening. “Careful, Callista,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer. “There’s wisdom in your words, but wisdom can be dangerous when spoken to the wrong ears.”

“Then it is fortunate,” she replied evenly, “that I speak them only to you, Dominus.”

His laughter echoed through the hall, loud and almost carefree. Behind him, Geta appeared, his expression more restrained, though Aeliana could see the sharpness in his gaze. Where Caracalla exuded fire and chaos, Geta was the blade hidden beneath a velvet sheath. Both were manipulators, blind to their own growing unpopularity, far removed from the struggles of the empire they ruled in name alone.

As Caracalla turned back to the atrium, likely to demand more bloodshed in the next day’s games, Aeliana lingered. Her gaze lingered on his retreating figure, on the way he carried himself like a spoiled child who had never been denied.

“And yet” she whispered to herself, “it is the spoiled who so often lead the lions to ruin”.

The day was young, and Aeliana knew her place in this endless game of power and survival. For now, she followed, the lion and the shadow continuing their eternal, treacherous dance.

[tschulijulesjulie]

the amount of times i almost accidentally tagged something as 'damen of vere' instead of 'damen of akielos' is truly astonishing

(there is a fanfic in this, i feel it...

"the first time it happened, it was truly accidental. a nervous courier stumbling over his own words while delivering the message.

'To King Damianos of Vere', he recited, stopped, flushed and continued with a wavering voice.

'To King Damianos of Akielos and Prince Laurent of Vere'.

It was all so new yet, it happened.

The second time it was decidedly not an accident. It probably wasn't the second time either, only the second time, Damen heard.

The Kyroi were speaking in hushed voices, arguing. Not all of them were equally convinced of the alliance.

"The King", one said.

"Damianos of Vere", another one interrupted. He spit the false name out like it was an insult.

Damen didn’t feel like it was.

There was the sound of an open hand hitting a face, hard.

"The King of Akielos", the first voice said.

Damen memorized who had argued for him and who needed some convincing, then turned and departed without his presence ever been noticed.

The third time it was spoken as a joke.

The men of the Kings guard - the Veretian Kings guard, although it weren't all Veretians anymore - were cramped into one corner of the great hall of Makedons humble home.

At the other side there were Laurent and Makedon engrossed in conversation and drink.

Damen had stealthily exchanged a couple of Laurents goblets with water but there still was a heavy blush on his cheeks.

The wine was good and heady and Damen would probably still have to carry Laurent to their bed later that night.

'It's alright, I can handle it', Laurent had said, privately, to him earlier. And then more quietly, 'I trust you.'

It had made Damen want to punch something, someone.

Now Lazar invited him to sit with them. Pallas, next to him flushed even more. It was edging on improper to invite a king like this.

But Damen had fought with these men, listened to their gossip over a campfire and cheap wine.

Their conversation was bawdy and Damen listened with a smile playing around his lips. There was an easy companionship with these men, that he couldn't find with anyone else.

'They call you Damianos of Vere', Lazar proclaimed, "behind your back." It was with a curiosity in his eyes, daring.

Pallas flushed even more, looking scandalized, his tanned skin not enough to hide any of it.

Jord threw Lazar a heavy look.

Damen had heard these and other men often enough refer to Laurent as a stone-cold son of a bitch. He had thought they could come up with better.

The fourth time it again was an accident. The villagers had never seen royalty before and were openly staring at them, high on their horses.

A Child, not even reaching to their mothers hip yet, peaked up at them and asked, 'Are you the King of Vere?'

Their mother flushed, opened her mouth to apologise, or correct it.

Damen smiled openly at the child. 'No, that is Laurent, the King of Vere. I'm Damianos of Akielos. But we rule this country together. Is there anything we can do for you?'

The fifth time it was a messenger again, rushed and without noticing his mistake.

Damen looked at Laurent when he said 'King Damianos of Vere'. There was a smile in his eyes that he carefully kept from his mouth.

---

They lay sated in bed, the sheets tangled around their limbs and the sweat cooling on their skin.

In a moment Laurent would get up to get something to clean up. In a moment Damen would let him.

Right now he was holding onto him a little longer.

'I like it, when they call me that', he said. 'Makes me feel like I belong to you.'

'Don't you?', Laurent asked, his fingers slipping to the gold cuff around Damens wrist.

'Yes. But i like the way it sounds.'

Laurent made a content sound when Damen pulled him a little closer, a little up, so he could bury his face in his neck.

He kissed him there, then moved up to his ear, where he bit carefully.

Laurent breathed out a laugh.

When he finally lifted his head to gaze at him, Damens eyes were sparkling.

'There is a nice ring to it', he said, eyes crinkled. 'maybe I'll put it on my official signature. Damianos of Vere, King of Akielos and Vere, Husband of Laurent, King of Vere and Akielos."

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, June 2, 2024

My posts

My mom was in a car wreck this past week, but she’s okay and it looks like insurance will pay for the massive damage to the back third of her whole-ass car, and it won’t be totaled. Panic-inducing, and my mom’s a little spooked about getting back out on the road, but it’s going to be okay, I think. 

I was going back through my #pride posts to find things to seasonally reblog, and I remembered I’d written this post about Donna Summer and Disco Demolition Night.

Reblogs of interest

Politics: Felonies Georg is the first U.S. president to be convicted of a crime! in court! a lot!

Speaking of birdsrightsactivist, who is featured in that post, it turns out that she is a delightful evolutionary biologist who coined the word “birb.”

Hot Vintage Lady Poll finals: It’s Eartha Kitt vs. Hedy Lamarr. Be advised that it’s a 24-hour flash poll, as the men’s was. Bring it home, Eartha Nation. 

Kick off Pride Month with this massive To Wong Foo post that gets better and better every time someone adds to it.

Hozier Watch 2024: A ethereal white butterfly crashed the Noblesville show, presumably with an urgent message from the Faerie Queen (Florence Welch). 

More from hellenhighwater’s minotaur sculpture trilogy.

An extra hour in the brick pit: yet another scam event in Britain. Although I’m halfway to believing that’s just the Official DashCon Ball Pit LEGO Kit.®

I am truly truly sorry to inflict this on you, but you need to know about Ogtha, an important Reddit saga. Think Snapewives, but Kafka. And then telling your parents about it in the language of her people. 

Rooster Goncharov

How a budgie tells someone to get the fuck out

“Unbelievably huge dragon d[ISCOUNT]”

Calculus Made Easy

Wake up, babe, new cat color dropped

The Velocipastor is so much

Darth Maul, second worst nightmare

I cannot impress upon you enough what a cultural icon Winona Ryder was in the late ’80s.

That said, I now want you to read this in her deadpan Lydia Deetz voice.

“No one’s really buying AI”: I am filled with a very specific kind of joy to hear that teenagers are already calling AI-generated images “boomer art.”

Contemplating this Eurasian red squirrel and his delicious apple for a while is self care. I mean, I sure felt better. 

Video

If you have ever wanted to get in a time machine and go directly back to 1994, IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE TIME DRIFTS SLOWLY

Elephants love making music, and we don’t deserve them

Pallas cats in pumpkins, because Halloween is everyday

The sacred texts

The “Backrooms” image/location from the original 4chan thread has been found. Side note, I keep meaning to post something about Kane Parsons’ new video series, because it’s very different from Backrooms and yet the absolute terror of the liminal is still there. 

While we’re here, would you care for an heirloom dancing Spider-Man?

Personal tag of the week

#pride, since I enjoy posting things for Pride Month, although at the rate we’re going, I and/or my family might be struck by lightning any moment. Here’s hoping my tag flourishes.

[transdragonlira]

Was it really Icarus's pride that brought his downfall?

Icarus's story is one that speaks to many people's imaginations, and how could it not? The imagery of one litterally reaching for the skies, and tragically falling down is a rather strong one. It's no wonder that so many renaissance paintings focus on this story.

And Icarus isn't alone in his pride, many Greek myths often have hubris (or hybris) as a main theme in their story. From Pheathon thinking he can ride the sun chariot to Tantalus thinking he can trick the gods into eating his own son. The Oddysey has hubris on both sides: the suitors harrass pelelope, thinking they have a right to marry her, and Oddyseus not thanking the gods after they helped him win the Trojan war. Compared to all of these stories, Icarus's pride kinda pales in comparison.

This brings me to Ovidius's telling on Icarus. It's the one I read in school, and is a rather interesting take on the story of Icarus. In his version, Icarus does not talk. (He tries to yell out for his dad while underwater, but fails.) In general, Icarus doesn't seem to be rather proud of anything. His main trait in this story seems to be that he is playful, and maybe even a bit mischievous. The way we see him described is in this snippet:

"puer Icarus una stabat et, ignarus sua se tractare pericla, ore renidenti modo, quas vaga moverat aura, captabat plumas, flavam modo pollice ceram mollibat lusuque suo mirabile patris impediebat opus"

(Ovidius Metamorphoses 8, line 195-200 Latin text sourced from: https://benbijnsdorp.nl/OvMet.VIII.html#VIII,183)

You can read a translation of the entire myth here, but basically what is said in these lines is that the boy Icarus is playing with feathers that were blown away by a breeze, and he softens the the wax used for the wings, playfully messing with his father's work.

The next time Icarus is described doing anything, he is taking delight in his flight ("gaudere volatu", line 223), and becomes reckless beause of that ("puer audaci coepit", line 223). Note that the website I linked translates 'audaci' as proud, which I disagree with, as 'audaci' means something more akin to 'brave' or 'couragous', but can be used deogatory as well, but then it is closer to 'reckless' or 'overdconfident' rather than proud. I wouldn't call it wrong outright as translation is complicated, but I definitly disagree with it. He gets tempted by his desire to fly higher. And then, the wax melts, and the feathers fall from his arms, leaving behind arms, useless for flying.

This doesn't really seem like someone who is particularly proud, does it? He's just a kid, experiencing something that is unique, freeing, and most importantly, fun. It's more akin to a kid playing with a new sled going down a hill that is too steep and hitting his head on a tree than someone who is actively displaying great pride and hubris. Icarus downfall was not caused directly by his pride, but by his mischief.

However, even though Icarus's downfall wasn't brought upon by his pride, pride still played a major factor in his demise. You see, the story doesn't end after Icarus dies. After Icarus dies, the story highlights a bird, laughing at the weeping ex-father. This bird is then revealed to be Perdix, a nephew and former student of Icarus's father, Daedalus. Perdix was an intelligent young man, and quickly became as good as an inventor as his uncle. In fact, soon he had invented the saw, and the compass (the drawing tool). Daedalus, his pride hurt, pushed him of a roof in an act of jealously. Saved by pallas, Perdix was turned into a bird. (Perdix is a family of partridges) Daedalus, however, had to flee from Athens to Crete, where king minos imprisoned him and his son, setting off the events of the story of Icarus.

In Odivius's telling of the story, Icarus does indeed die because of pride. It's just not his pride, and it is not really his story either. The story really puts its focus on Daedalus. He is the one who talks, he is the one who thinks he can overcome both gravity and gravity, and gets punished in a most ironic way. Yes, Daedalus survives, but does he really live? He is free from prison, yet will be forever cursed with the fact that he could not save his son, who is now trapped in the Tartarus forever. Icarus death is a direct cause of his hubrisistic actions.

So no, Icarus's fatal flaw isn't his pride, it is his playfulness and his mischief. But nonetheless, he died because of pride. (at least in Odivius's version of the story)

[stuffedwriting]

Wine to water

On his ship Odysseus lays out an offering of olives upon the altar to Pallas Athena. After doing so he calls for his patron “Hear my words O powerful goddess of strength and strategy, I await your orders!”

With that time’s constantly flowing stream is blocked, the familiar ocean and wooden hull disappears as the world around him darkens to pitch black until he sees a gray light approaching him, as it gets closer it illuminates the surrounding area from what he knew to pure gray without detail from horizon to horizon, as it closer its form become more visible, it was just as he had guessed, bright eyed Athena.

Her words were like her father’s thunder “I hear you my warrior, you have asked for a task and I shall give it to you. Worshippers of Dionysus under his influence inside my city will spread their madness to all of Athens. I cannot have that happen, you are to find them and kill them all, do you understand?”

Odysseus nods, “Yes my goddess, I shall carry out your will.”

Athena gave a warm smile, blinked and immediately went back to her stern expression “I know you will my champion, you have yet to disappoint me and I believe you never will”

With those words the gray light left and the world went black again before returning to normal. Odysseus’ head hurt and his vision became blurred akin to vertigo.

His eyes set upon his old friend Erysich as his vision returned to normal, she spoke “Hey boss, you got that look in your eye that you get after a god talks to you, was it Athena?”

“Odysseus replied with a smile “You are right my friend, she has indeed spoken to me and given me orders.” He raised his voice to address his crew “Cassandra, Medea! We are setting sail for Athens, prepare for our departure!” With that they began their trip to the city.

Later upon the deep waters his crew brought up their questions, Medea spoke for them “Odysseus, do you mind telling us why we are traveling to Athens?”

Odysseus answered “We have been instructed to kill a Dionysian cult inside the city, they will spread their drunken madness to all of Athens, we cannot let that happen.”

Erysich spoke with a smirk “A hit huh? This should be fun” then Medea replied “I already know what you’re thinking and no, we can’t go in and kill them all in a bloody mess, this is a very populated city we’re talking about, we need to be more careful.”

Odysseus asked her, raising an eyebrow “Do you have something in mind my friend?”

Medea answered “It’s still coming to me but I believe I do, we poison their wine. Think about it, it’s how they stay connected to their god so they’ll all drink it.”

Odysseus smiled “Excellent idea! We’ll sneak in, poison their wine and leave without a trace! Thank you Medea, your mind truly rivals my own.”

With that they soon pulled into the port of the land and Odysseus addressed his crew once more “Twilight has come, now is the perfect time, Medea have you made the poison?”

Medea answered his question, “Yes, this will break them all with one sip each.” She held out a bottle with a bubbling liquid inside, Odysseus took it and put it in his pocket, then he turned his head to far seeing Cassandra “Cassandra, tell me where this cult is and if we succeed.”

Cassandra’s wandering mind being pulled back his words she flinched a little in reaction but then began to speak as she closed her eyes to look into the future “It is north, left of a soldier’s home, we will succeed but there are many ways we could not, you must be discreet, I suggest we stay close together as we infiltrate.”

Odysseus laid his hand on her shoulder “A wize warning priestess, one that I shall not ignore, come we should not waste time.”

They approached the building where the cult was staying, Odysseus paused to survey the area, the building had two entrances, one that led from the street to an outside courtyard and the second was on the other side of said courtyard.

Odysseus spoke “using the normal entrances are too risky, we can’t be seen, any ideas?”

Medea answered “We should climb up and sneak through a window, that way we can see them before they see us.”

Odysseus replied “Smart choice, that will give us the greatest advantage so that we ca-“ he cut himself off at the sight of Cassandra slightly raising her hand, “Yes Cassandra? Do you have something to add?”

She spoke unsure of herself “Why don’t we just walk in and pretend to be one of them, I mean anyone can join at any time, they’re probably too drunk to question us.”

Odysseus frowned then smiled “Ah, you are right my friend, I have a tendency to overthink things” he chuckled at himself then began again “We will do as Cassandra suggests, walk through the main door and go to where they keep their wine barrels, understand?”

The crew nodded and followed him inside. As they walked they saw the cult passed out drunk on the ground, Odysseus and Medea smirked to themselves at the ease of this task.

When they entered the room that held the wine barrels they each took off the lids and poured five drops of poison into each one, this poison could kill anyone in seconds from a single sip, “five drops was probably going overboard” Medea thought to herself.

After they had finished a rumbling filled their ears, the origin was not a mystery to any of them, they turned their gaze to Erysich, Medea spoke first “Really? Why now?” Odysseus joined in “You can feed when we’re done.” The rumble grew louder and Erysich clutched her abdomen “C-can’t wait, need to be… full.” Without a hesitation Erysich reached for a barrel of wine, Medea trying to stop her shouted “Stop, you’ll kill yourself!” Ignoring the warning Erysich lifted the barrel and began to chug the entire thing. After draining the wine she dropped it and spoke “I’ll be fine, I used to drink with Dionysus himself!”

Medea glared at her “That’s a lie and even if it were true, that’s poison you moron!”

Erysich smiled “I’m ffffine, let’s get outta here!” She took three steps before tripping over and falling on her face and shouted “Still fine!” Then she burped loudly.

Odysseus sighed “Medea, Cassandra, Pick her up and bring her back to the ship.”

Lifting her up they went out of the house following Odysseus.

On the way back Medea asked Erysich as she carried her lower body “How are you not dead? That was the strongest poison I’ve made in years!” Eysich giggled and shouted her response in delight “Constitution of an ox!” Next she turned her attention to Cassandra “Haiiii Cass, y-you’re- you- you’re pretty, did I ever tell you th-thhh-that?”

Cassandra smiled warmly at her drunken rambling “Yes Ery, many times.” Erysich smiled too “I looooove you” Cassandra replied “I love you too dear” she leaned her head down and kissed her on the forehead.

Later during the hours ruled by Nyx, Erebus, and Selene, Odysseus and his crew decided to celebrate their victory by drinking wine except of course Erysich who passed out 3 hours prior.

Odysseus poured a libation to Athena and Dionysus “Hear me my goddess, I have done what you have asked of me and now I give thanks to you for your favor all these years. Now Dionysus, twice born god of wine and madness, forgive me for killing your followers, I was simply following the instructions of gray eyed Athena.”

At that moment the world around him was bathed in darkness and he was back in that familiar nothingness where he met with his goddess, he expected the usual blinding gray light but instead he was met a dark purple instead, the source revealed itself, a young man with purple glowing skin, the curling horns of a ram and the hide of a leopard like a toga, Odysseus knew this was none other than Dionysus.

The rage emanating from him was obvious but it was physically hidden by his undeniably beautiful features, he spoke, his voice soft but threatening “You won’t receive my forgiveness with only a simple libation.”

Odysseus kneeled and looked down avoiding the burning vengeance inside the god’s eyes, “I have no excuse for my actions, I did what I was told to do.”

Dionysus laughed, deeply unsettling Odysseus before he spoke “Yes, you followed Athena’s commands perfectly, you are certainly a loyal pet. But of course she gave you the freedom to carry out the task however you like, you could have slit their throats as they slept off their drunkenness, but that’s not what you did is it?” He grabbed Odysseus’ throat and raised him off the ground, his sweet voice replaced with rage “Instead you were cruel! Condemning them to horrific painful deaths from poisoning my sacred wine!”

A chalice appeared in his hand, as he forced his enemy’s jaw open, he spoke again, “Now you will suffer as they have, you will feel all the pain you have caused at once, drink up, pet.”

Dionysus poured the contents of the chalice down his throat, after swallowing it his surroundings returned to their earlier state and the god disappeared causing him to fall on his knees, Medea and Cassandra rushed to his side as they both shouted his name.

Odysseus clutched his stomach, there was something inside there moving and cutting him, whatever it was he felt it coming up his esophagus, he began to cough, and out his mouth came a thorny grapevine. Now that cutting feeling spread to his entire body, it pierced his organs, his bones cracked as the vines wormed their way inside, slicing his insides, it burst out of the skin underneath his fingernails, they stretched out forming what looked like new fingers of vine.

Then after what felt like an eternity of agony his body gave out and he was released from the pain of his mortality. Medea turned to Cassandra and grabbed her shoulders and yelled “Why didn’t you tell us this would happen, you pathetic false prophet?!”

Cassandra shrunk into herself “I’m sorry, we were drinking, it fogged my foresight! Go get Erysich, she has dealt with this kind of stuff before, she’ll know what to do… right?”

Medea was panicking “I don’t know! But you’re right, I’ll go get her.” she ran down to wake up Erysich, shaking her awake “Erysich get up! Odysseus died to some god’s power!”

Erysich opened her eyes with her head hurting from her hangover “That’s what you woke me up for? He’s died before, he’ll be back.”

Medea pulled her up to the deck and pointed the Odysseus’ corpse “You think he can come back from that?!” Erysich’s blue eyes wided, “Woah that’s gnarly, I wish I could have seen it as it happened.” Medea snapped at Erysich “Why are you so calm!? Look at him! He’s gone!”

Cassandra placed her hand on Medea’s “It’s going to be okay, I trust whatever Ery says.” Medea sighed and nodded.

Erysich added “Yeah, it’ll be fine, dump him in the ocean and we’ll see him in a couple days, I promise.” Medea looked to the floor then slowly at Erysich, “Okay, I trust you we will throw him overboard” with that the women took his body and threw him into the sea and right into the hands of their enemy…

Deeper and deeper the body sinked until it caught the attention of the lord of the water, the earth shaker, Poseidon! As he saw the mangled corpse of the king an idea formed in his mind, he called down Dionysus to come beneath the waves by his side, he spoke to his fellow god “Dear nephew, it seems we have a common enemy.” “Dionysus replied “Yes, Athena’s beloved pet.”

Poseidon spoke again “I have a proposal, this mortal’s usefulness is undeniable, what if we had our own Odysseus? Reanimate this corpse, and it make it carry our will, what do you say”

Dionysus laughed “Brilliant idea, Uncle! Our own warrior puppet!” With that they combined their powers to return life to the body, the vines retracted, replacing the veins and hardened, the body’s eyes regained their light and looked around as it stood once more.

The sea god addressed the new creature “We have given you life! You belong to us, you will do anything we say, from now on you are… Ulysses!

[libidomechanica]

Can life or limb— “oh God forbidden fires”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Can life or limb”— “oh God forbidden fires. And with all kinds of herself, and present I am cattle, especially with fragrance roll, surgit amari aliquid’— the toll alas, how the pit. Boldly he enter’d throttle, especially with hunger so after tragedy. That, in purple clouds and to be consummate these to lodge the Rhodian Pasimond pursues, the vessel I resign a mosque so nobly had released: therefore mine eyes like hard time but a coach-mare in life be led to join the wits of strife. Out of this was written, so it cannot tell. And thence his heart.

               2

The ignoble never a hall summer, to a shallowest helpe, most gratefull, who is not been singing, even of five hundred years, those lips a noble person, went bounded deer leaps highest but thought of heav’nly-pensive contemn; and beautiful season, what is cald, the Rhodian friends, and display for loue to read the electric heater you’llmount with such measure! And a dream, i’ll ne’er did it should hear her anger as here before, the higher aims of a lover star-shaped, that I write me along your true friends fall—and women, who loves to rend, and weary wastes, and the task. Of the dale, and said, and have walk’d awake for ever old yet new, changes, sustained gloves—wheezed and angry and intermingled; and quiet consolation till ioy makes me speak of the hue of hunting ’mong Graemes of those of Eden blooms whirl the daisies kiss our friend of the braw lass made their own.

               3

And love was this a living thy breast, his scull will plague, are diuels in true defining. From the fair cousins also, which country clown, he long since she doth itch, my thought. His near, till all thy face tempts my soul: come, if all this, nor dread altars blaze, loves and outward dislike, which though thou hast their sin. And while we never may thy part of a Chain of Ten Intelligences, of which will shut quietly her face, and the flowers: a languid note, and with piercing from life, something real. For yet preferred, or like a wiser Muse; peace, and Musgraves, black and roses were by their scarlet ornament.

               4

The True Believers: and her home-run total is not bear take me, too. At this to the roaring water for only I could be true; for often see; he’s not quit me where the falling year set, swear it cannot silent deep wound her wi’ a kiss, then let not till my time, and that you wouldst be, if Loue learnes strange. Can showeth; for thee, ’ and point it at my memory of the latter. She put the which I at present the composed wonders over her excellence. Eleven that rises up the plain sae rashy, O, aboon the highlight on a feeding be, which mixes up vines, olives.

               5

My mother, whom fortunes in one explained, drag on Love’s victim when we hope, despair. Whilst the fire the royal trumpets playing with the swains, and beg his British cabinet and creeds that sicke-bed lies sweetness, in souls each other, husband, friend, that none who, thoughts the pimpernel dozed on through dreary grave, when Love is always choosing—the one should that light to groan for the hopeful past! And save his way, and so consume half of why you do. Pallas, Minerva, maiden bed weep and came so nigh to know what human years, that shrines all that faith to any question, a green bound these obstinate to say.

               6

But yet not turn up. Doth spot the jewel, here brib’d the Mother’s care: but Juan in a hurry, as going at the Body looks, thy king to reduced to second rape, for a changed, for it fell asleepe, the magnanimity of rhyme’s distress; old Susan’s side: by this the grass to let me feel the flocks or till Morning over her dying lamps grew pale: heav’n I lose for poetic pages. My springs would not more shall meet! Till love’s landscape and the fair. She comes, and he sought it? Like wise Tiresias we had puzzled are your newly cut hair is gone, from off the wild. The people must post with me.

               7

Come through the morn in twain with eyes now dazl’d be; no wind, no shade came of proud Achilles, who loved you. Sallies mine; in Iphigenia was the sake of love and thence high hearty Purpose brutal man hath gain’d of lengthens out his lady-sister as she had so highly set; and you, but only a memory of freemasons; and wearing young Lochinvar. Who knows but though I hate a drove before a king, glad to have those little darts, for when my beadsman’s life he lefte to moan and wonted words to Cologne, and then: at home, and weep each hour, as is the jewelry become, and witless.

               8

So stout, nor Britain’s one with smiling air. Death’s the churchyard with his head with all its ancient height of All the suddenly I am lonely shouts from whose suffer’d and forest, the port the outlet then, have ye e’er hearer. Away she a moments after Winter of a discussion, but oft to chace the while, except perhaps—but, sans perhaps of all before her bosom burns with sails at summoned to bloom and fled; the land? For a skin white, and her eyes were a pale blue, and by myne eie the Cretans own though I owe it little darts a distant vale; there’s not free of the sky is blurred.

               9

—Oh God forbids; with banish to reason, from her birth required, above ground Had it liv’d long stone-wall; and once as you could bar,— now tread we a measure to sigh and so she dies away do go; but found? She also recommended by bed in any manners, wit, or face! The stem but it is winter sterne, and like Nature’s vernal spirit, not advancing in all this to the Soul is, and by addition through the sensual Taint, be left. An active Intelligence prevents their worst to know what, and roars, and martyrs burnt at their vanish we’ll talk about for us, who taxeth me.

               10

And bramble was moved to see him that reigned sleeps again. Atonement as this; my love unto this day she is a green-eyed monster what beauties, and short of sight, which writer’s hand repair if now through the more’s the roll-call draw some will I heave her approbation unto an oak, where thou declare—i’ll say, Fair once a week, tiring old resent, regret lets out impatient sleepless ocean, and thou, O warrior famous farce saw that incarnate lie, would understand. Cassandra too with my king, and made the day, but me whom thine image on the day, and I would have loved as obstinate to return to ill: should in sound; by love’s very quiet, the bride kiss’d the Rhone by Leman’s fate her limbs the place. Working now I am thine heart denied, but always be done, without hands; maintained at vast expresses its best dreams attended him flush of youth, which of old gold, a water-fall.

               11

Purpose by turns the driven, by breaking songsters twittered in his swift foot back? Changes, and thee, wherewith heart broken flesh with their birth, so many, the vale. Your father answers I am waiting the forest wyde, with my native, sensitive, and that authorizing thy sight, ne’er did thy crags, O Sea! She told I love me, Love, doth love as the air, though earth’s wet breathe on me! The soothe theme of the Lost Soul to soul, could so continue: though he paid it his Maggior Duomo, a smart, but still strong reason is the basest weed outbraves his suit was better used where therefore, a true woman too long; but if those I had loved. He that in her not her poor dear virtue place. Or broken, blossomy flame of the roses for all wrong. And pace to fill they han be euer among. Reigns lord of the sente me. Just now those who expects us, secundum artem: but after tragedy.

               12

Are falling of peers and had learne of Love and peeled bits of fortune is sincere, friend, and chaste. In order to the sole God become an offices in nature’s darling to make the bed to me: such civil war is in vain might be, therefore once the father, be lucky thought,—All labour, yet doubtfully rude, that lighten up your melancholy reigns; what men things might come here on the hall the Field of a people do when love should hear horse are Nugae, quarum pars parva fui, ’ but stewards of tomorrow. To view, repentant sighs, indeed; but till tis no goblin, tis all bluely dash’d the Moon.

               13

Love be folly, thou art Being an urn wept over the sad bosom bears, on whose verdict for show precede: the term expired: while they are eating each time. So call’d, is a thing to make, both near and relief: the faculty—who said thus, as Fate decreed, though in his Bounty doth against myself will but make the reason he himselfe my marriage. That were torn: how strangers uninstruct me other, wherein I fry? Thy voice essayed, with which yet men prove what dust would haue my shepheards foote: sike folke bow: of foule rebell runaway boy who chucks it all things, to yield with religion, Mrs.

               14

Victim when I of you and me, curled; at least, poore my Eyes the grosser parting aught save Scott in your slight startle from soul to Cymon soon remounts, and pants as oft as they resort. If this sad toil, the sort of diamond the buxom sea, while Cymon ploughs the sky is blurred fever change, was offered up. While they sing, tis with the Soul inspired: inspired and all to see how each other had a dove’s pinions to the Town. And Betty’s in a rusty pike, make me the same way the silt and beauty should be the eaves, the full o’ care? When two are store of; witness than a mile from rhymes could get.

               15

No hand, and at length my fate, my sweet’st friend, whose ranckling page than weeds. A month they founder’d, as a poplar or a pole, a half- unquench’d the excited awe, who did not find her physick’d Peter found him, near him, hesitates a moments are brighter that cover, and with the soft illusions, wit with merry may she a moments when the husband, like a miser’s honey breath, and she lovers, yet no lesse regardless of my good olde shepheard satte in secreate shade came of proud of poison from of old storie. And nothing to bathe in it, hoping the dizzying orange of cherubim!

               16

And a woman’s hand, and cause that since his sullen day, or where’er I turn on the Cross, his own: the bridegroom at the approaches of a stormy Cymon led her like her awake, See, at another declared as Pasimond pursues your pains intention it takes her head at her hand. For what can I keep it, and wash their grave demurely in crowds, in all those isles of steeples of sentimental situation? Who have been a dead set at Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. She pats the plain houses? Both crowns and you as my tears come on me bestow. All Rhodes is the Soul of milk!

               17

For a breeze of a handsome gentle common sense he knew by what most friendship! My mouth, that keeps the air brake, in black, her eyes, and hear her teeth, and shine on her beames, take wives, becoming floods, and by promise of sound: less the boughs to climb o’er kings, and bringeth fortune but the moon should close to keep still of milk! What wreaked I of wine and Faith and more a remnant were made the best it suffice what wrong has heard of Lucia: then with shines above. She watched for several parts he clear by the very bird sang of all my time believe that I did see a glorious with and Favour His—lo!

               18

For reason, it might I am not make us selfish, and as she doth swell, what kindle at the bed to me. And Nail, and still found for I heard the stars united thus gratify the day care to gi’en thee or sprited gastlinesse. The elves: whining, replied, let both night goes to the moon is up—the sky shows those silks are cast on things Never Last Forever. Of her brothers would give no more hope you grew so thin, that do not run out I wanna be your idiot boy? That side now, and winter’s wind and blink is a sight of heav’nly harmony through all these tears do come, she spies here.

               19

Because December’s drifting charms, like Arno in the well- practised in nature, law: all things but I in me each man was under the deepe furrow sometime at the deepe furrowes eld hath put on nature, a pleasures, when we have found the mind, resolve to death. The bush my bedde, the only Christmas game: and lift my arms and that makes a wound deep tone of which choked in me do flowe! To kisse, which can hurt and plume; and turn the customer: his letchery being had, to triumphantly. Just in the vale; there’s nor life is sair; but as ill report, to rest thy AEgis o’er which present and rest, I go, of the earth the only Christian she goes, and traces, in the grand nor sight to fly from, as from a half-unquench’d the coward Ioy no longer tarry dare, seeing eye, out of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline had one descending at will cost us all and withoute rinde?

[authormikamathews]

Writing Diversity in Media... not as hard as people make it out to be.

( I write this as a white gay male, but I think I make a good point)

 So, so, so many people talk or whine about writing diversity in media, be it books, TV shows, movies or whatnot. There is so much to be said about this topic, but I think I can add a clear voice to the loud screams of those on both sides. Something a bit cleaner and more interesting, at least I hope so...

To start, the whole argument against Diversity in media... is dumb and lacking in reality. Let me give a few examples I have heard, and let's debunk them shall we? This specific article will deal with Race, but next time we will deal with sexuality. 

First off, there were no black people in Europe! This is a broad statement, add in country in Europe or time in European history and you'll see the point. Africa, specifically Egypt, had a trading network with Greece and Rome for eons. Mythologically speaking, I can think of Four Greek Myths that involved Egypt at the top of my head, major myths actually! 

Perseus ( From The Medusa story) found his wife Andromeda being chained at a rock at a kingdom at the northmost tip of Africa. Perseus is Hercules' half brother and ancestor, so like... pretty big part of mythology. 

Triton, Poseidon's son and heir, had daughters called the nymphs of Tritonis that lived in Africa and trained Athena. One of which was Athena's closest friend who she accidentally killed, taking her name Pallas as a part of her own. Another huge part of mythology. 

Io, a nymph and abuse victim of Zeus and Hera, was turned into a cow and traveled all over to flee Hera and eventually landed in Egypt where she married a Pharaoh and had a kid. She is also Hercules' ancestor, another tie to the greatest of Heroes in Greek Myths. 

Finally, when the Greek Gods were fleeing the Monstrous Typhon ( the greatest monster in myth) they fled in animal form to Egypt. The Early Greeks saw this as a way to explain why the Egyptians worshiped animal gods. This was a form Syncretism, where two ancient practices and beliefs melded together. Still, a clear sign of connection. 

Cultures melded, immigration happened, conquering happened. The Greeks had African people, the Romans had African people, people that then migrated when Rome ate the Mediterranean. People that would have moved to modern day England, Scotland and Wales as Rome conquered. A similar effect happened when Alexander the Great moved through the world and devoured all he saw. 

Seriously complainers, open a textbook, the world has been interconnected for eons and people have spread as a result. People all over the world, have a variety of bloodlines, connections and ethnicity. It is silly, foolish, to ignore that and keep your head in the sand. 

So, if you want to write Dark Age England for example, you can most definitely have black characters! Same with Black Gladiators, Black Pirates and so on... the world has almost never been all white and it should not be so in your fantasy stories!

So... yeah!. 

[somedamslytherindemigod]

OMG, yeeess!!!

Ok, so first Annabeth would ask Athena and she'd say no cos "she's a god, etc etc" so then Annabeth would ask Posiedon who'd be like ".......sure!" (after a bit of begging from Percy and charm-speaking from Piper)

Spoiler alert, Posiedon had a great time.

Athena found out and was like... yeah, no. I'm a better baby-sitter.

And ever since then it has been a competition to see who is the best babysitter.

Posiedon brought the kids to the aquarium

Athena brought them to the museum of their choise

Posiedon taught them surfing

Athena got their grades to magically turn to As (she was desperate)

Posiedon gave them a tour of HIS PALACE

Athena brought them to a girls night out with non other that ARTEMIS (and the hunters) , HESTIA and APOLLO (cos he knows all the juicy details on everyones life)

This then became a bigger contest and ALL the gods chose sides, working together to get the love of Percabeths child/children.

So far all the gods immersed in this "war" were:

Eos, Helios, Selene, Ariadne, Aeolus, Asclepius, Bia, Cratos, Deimos, Eris, Eros, Psyche, Geras, Ganymede, Harmonia, Hebe, Hecate, Hypnos, Janus, Leto, Metis, Enyo, Eileithyia, Momus, Moros, Nemesis, Nike, Persephone, Phobos, Thanatos, The Erinyes, The Horae, Tyche, Zelus, The Moirae, The Muses, The Oneiroi,Pan, Iris, Triton, Paean, The Keres, The Charites, Pallas, Melinoe, Morpheus AND all the olympians (+ Hades).

And like it gets so personal that the actual children of Percabeth get uncomfortable going out with them. Oh, and Percabeth know about this war and find it hilarious.

And like one day, Percy decided to stir up the mess, and it went like this:

*Percy*: Sooooo....who do you kids want to go with today... Grandpa Posiedon... or Grandma Athena?

*Annabeth*: PERCY!!

all the gods listening intently

*the kids*: Uhh... actually, can we go with Chiron?

And when I tell you Athena and Posiedon were GOBSMACKED

and Chiron was just grinning like a madman.

And that, kids, is the story of the only time Posiedon and Athena worked together (apart from the chariot). To get there grandchildrens love back.

hii i was wondering what you thought of Poseidon and Athen haveing to babysit percy and annabeths kids so they can go on a date night

thanks for the ask @rainydaygrily!

100% happens at some point. idk about for date night, but i love the thought of them getting stuck being in charge of their kid(s) for some reason and having to work together. it’s so funny to me

i may or may not have a post about this that’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks 👀