#c: selene

[jaillir-des-etincelles]

closed starter for @vicletnight​. 

For those who lived off the thrill, they came in droves under the cover of darkness. Participants and audience alike went off road at the edge of a road that seemed to end. Beams off, you would only be guided by certain glow-in-the-dark markers. But you would only notice them if you knew they were there in the first place. The night was invite only, Of course, anybody invited could invite another - with the tacit understanding that if you ended up being a rat, it would be the last event that you ever attended in your life. The abandoned military airbase, no longer on the radar for authorities, whether out of a lack of care or a greased hand, lit up only once a month, but it had grown over time to be more than just passionate racing. From your regular street thug, to the delinquent kid to gangs alike, the Races were viewed as a central hub, an opportunity to connect, to buy and sell, to make a name, do business, and be entertained. Anyone who was anyone, directly or peripherally, in the underground liked to attend, even if sporadically.  Selene’s heels clattered on the ashphalt, inaudible against the engines revving throughout the crowded, as she got out of her black Dodge Charger. Already having placed her money for today’s roster, she was one of the many racing today, the crowd favourite. What new engine would she get when she won today’s races? Selene had made her name in the Races, being the youngest Rider to win. And then win five times in a row after that. Her face was calm, focused and expressionless, as she popped the front open to check on the new customisations she’d done on her vehicle, some more illegal than others. Pulling some grease from her duffel bag that she flung on the ground, she tightened one of the parts. Maybe a new V-8 engine for her Dodge, supercharged rather than going turbo. Or maybe a nitro-tank? Normally she was an overseas sort of girl with her cars, but the young girl had a guilty pleasure for sleek cars. And perhaps that guilty preference extended to men, she mused, as a group of men, too polished and sophisticated to fit into the illegal grunge scene, stopped to talk right by her car. One or two in the group seemed more used to the rowdiness, unfazed by the money and other contraband being handed around. But even then, they were clearly normies. Your average contributing productive citizen who decided their idea of fun would be to observe the underground. Dirty their soles a bit. Feel like they are living dangerously, just by feeling the evident undertone of aggression that hung in the air like a heavy blanket. People here didn’t play nice, and it gave people like them feel edgier than they actually were.  Her hand hovered just above the gear she was working on, as she glanced to take a better look at the group. Immediately her eyes were drawn to him - she could tell who was green in that group. He’d never attended, just in the way his eyes drank in the wild bustle around them. Too put together. Too out of place here, she told herself. He had an air of gentleness to him. She could tell that, even without interacting with him. He reminds me of Atticus. A jolt of guilt passed her chest, curling tightly like a fist. Suddenly finding herself more and more irritated, she glared at the man who looked most out of place before snapping, “Hey, this is the riders area. You’re in the way. If you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going, idiots like you shouldn’t come to places like this.” Her eyes hardened, taking in the man’s handsome features. “Especially you. This isn’t the opera or a walk in the park.”

[belialdior]

the ewer brimmeth.

[myriamas]

who: @purpleeyedwaters​ where: godsgrace, the princedom of dorne

The Consort of Dorne walked the same halls she had walked when the sound of the shehnai flutes rung through the courtyards of the family keep of Godsgrace, though this time it felt as though the family was once again in a time of transition. There had been news that Dastan had graced her with regarding his future and the happiness he had found within it, and yet, it was clear by the sound of her anklets that the woman walked with a sense of anger. Anger she attempted to keep at bay until she had spoken to the woman directly, to understand just how it was that a bastard of Driftmark had ended up within her family walls - the Allyrions of Godsgrace, so noble and dedicated to their lands. 

She walked with a sense of betrayal, as though there was a storm brewing in each of her footsteps. The bells that hung around her anklets rang not with holy charms and tunes, but almost as though it were a warning. 

Because there was; for she had looked this woman in the eye and spoken to her with nothing but kindness and respect, turning a blind eye to her presence whilst Dastan got through a period of intense mourning, for the sake of ensuring he was able to get out of those storm clouds that swirled around him. She had turned a blind eye at this woman being within her gaze so often around Godsgrace, almost as though she had seamlessly made a home of it, even finding herself sharing meals and spending time with her own Lady Mother, who continued attempting to heal her own broken heart following the death of their beloved father. 

It was moments like this where she missed him most; missed his firm hand and his firm voice of guidance, loving but clear in his expectations of what family meant and what family were expected. And what family had she found herself with, to look her in the eye as they openly deceived her, hid matters from her and smile in her face? Her very pride was in flames, and suddenly it had felt all too good to be true. Her page had gone forward to inform Selene of her intended presence within the hour, and the woman walked within the rooms of Selene with a sense of ease.

This was anything but easy. The Princess said nothing, but merely looked upon the woman through eyes lined with kohl, before flickering her gaze down to the woman’s stomach that would no doubt soon be swelling. With a bastard. For there was no way this union could end in marriage; or at least, there was no way she would ever be willing to admit and acknowledge this marriage. This child would always be her brother’s eldest bastard - and perhaps he would only have more, and more, and more. 

She said nothing. Only stood, and stared. Stared up, and stared down. 

[promisedliberator]

Lycoris’ Clergy!

Esther the Deer (she/her) , Chicory the Frog (she/they) , Zale the Crocodile (he/they) , Selene the Moth (they/them)

[jaillir-des-etincelles]

@vicletnight this is her thinking about johnnie, my poor heart.

“I don’t deserve you but god, I want to. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”

— (via gwavyyy)

[blu-ish]

How I look vs how I feel writing/drawing the most angsty and heartbreaking parts of my Project Selene AU. Putting Sonic through the horrors TM.

[vaguely-concerned]

returnal did not cure my depression but it did give me a strangely healing new perspective that makes it all a bit easier to bear. that perspective being 'I may be having a rough time right now, but at least I'm not inside the head of returnal protagonist selene vassos'

[deathlesssaints]

lizeth selene merci de créditer (c) pau.

[artmograine]

O homem exibiu um sorriso malicioso, levemente satisfeito com o comentário provocador dela. ''Eu sou muitas coisas.'' Murmurou, quase como um segredo sussurrado ao vento. Aquele sorriso travesso em seus lábios escondia segredos sombrios e motivos obscuros que a garota mal podia imaginar. Arthas era um enigma, uma mistura intrigante de mistério e sedução. Havia muito mais sob a superfície do que ele estava disposto a revelar, e a verdade oculta nas sombras era um fardo que ele carregava consigo silenciosamente. Ele poderia se justificar, dizer que a vida lhe trouxe amargos golpes que o moldaram até chegar naquele momento, mas a verdade era que suas motivações eram nebulosas, até mesmo para si mesmo. Mentiras eram seu escudo e a verdade raramente encontrava morada em sua boca. Ele escondia sua verdadeira essência de quase todas as pessoas ao seu redor, com exceção de um anjo caído, expulso do céu, que ocasionalmente cruzava seu caminho em seu abandonado apartamento nos extremos da cidade. As lembranças de uma vida passada, em uma mansão que pertencia a seus pais, ecoavam na mente de Arthas. Em algum momento, talvez anos atrás, ele poderia ter sido mais do que Selene poderia imaginar. No entanto, as escolhas que fez, os caminhos sombrios que trilhou, matando bruxas e mergulhando em um mundo de trevas, moldaram o homem que era agora. A realidade era implacável, e ele tinha feito escolhas irreversíveis, sabia que sua alma carregava cicatrizes que talvez afastassem a moça que agora o beijava nos lábios. No entanto, apesar de todas as trevas que o envolviam, ele se permitiu relaxar naquele momento, deixando-se envolver pelos movimentos suaves de Selene. Fechou os olhos, entregando-se à sensação que a presença dela lhe proporcionava. Após alguns minutos, ele finalmente quebrou o silêncio que pairava no ambiente. ''Espero que você se sinta melhor.'' Sussurrou, com uma voz carregada de um misto de preocupação e desejo. O olhar penetrante do homem percorria o corpo da mulher, como se ele pudesse enxergar cada pensamento e emoção que a dominava naquele momento. Havia algo hipnótico na maneira como ele se aproximava, como se estivesse envolto em uma aura de mistério e perigo.

☪ o selar de seus lábios em um beijo brando, a descontração, eram o sedimentar da companhia familiar do mograine. selene não conseguia importar-se suficientemente com os aspectos externos àquele: a intimidade particular que partilhavam tão fácil. esperava o intoxicar tanto quanto ele fazia. a interrupção que precedeu o apontar do gloss lhe retirou um sorriso fácil, estranhamente dócil, e não conseguiu evitar senão mordiscar a ponta do dedo masculino com o findar da ação, travessa. arthas deveria saber que qualquer distanciamento, a contragosto como demonstrava, somente a faria deslocar. acomodar suas reticências, apaziguá-las, para atender a vontade — a atração— que, no fim, pareciam compartilhar. o contato com a água morna era um contraste bem recebido ao banho gelado que seguiu os acontecimentos, agora distantes da mente ocupada, na floresta sombreada. a boca esticou-se, entregando a atenção que mantinha no corpo desnudo e figura atrativa até que ele ocupasse o lugar atrás de si. não vocalizou, mas quando finalmente optou por descanso mais cedo, não esperava verdadeiramente encontrar. melhor que estivesse, agora, positivamente surpresa. falhando em segurar um som entre um suspiro e gemido aliviado, as mãos foram até as pernas masculinas. ❛ é, secretamente, um massagista ou algo do tipo? ❜ o arfar dramático não tinha o propósito, exato, de evadir o fato de que fazia questão de manter o toque. o contato constante, momentos como aquele... torcia por compulsão, que as mãos afáveis e tudo que era capaz de oferecer se tornassem uma adição. pensamento rápido, teimoso; imaturo, talvez, mas sincero. como quem dizia eu ‘espero que não consiga se livrar de mim’. o trazer dos joelhos para perto desempenhou o papel único de facilitar o girar da própria figura, arrumando-os da melhor forma para que pudesse, então, alçar suas pernas sobre as dele. com as coxas dele entre as suas, aproximou o rosto, o lábio tocando o dele, seu maxilar, seu pescoço. não eram beijos, mas sim um unir rápido. ❛ me deixe fazer o mesmo por você. ❜ os dígitos foram até onde o ombro e pescoço se uniam, aplicando pressão nivelada.

[stygianoaths]

Luke Castellan and his team of godkillers but they don't kill with weapons stained with ichor, but with the illusive Mist that warps the mind of mortals so easily, it shakes their faith.

In eons past, these mortals revered the Olympians with offerings and prayers daily, told their stories that inspired fear and awe all the same. It was something the pantheon had gotten hooked on, something more addicting than the ambrosia and nectar the texts had waxed poetry over. And the council of twelve did their damn best to keep it around. After all, there was no other high out there that can compare to the feeling of being in control, of being powerful.

But like any high, it wears off, sooner or later.

So that's exactly what happens.

Alabaster C. Torrington, with the help of Dr. Claymore, "discovers" new texts that discuss Greek gods that have never been heard of before; gods who are kinder, wiser, more trustworthy, than the ones everyone has come to know in this era.

It's interesting, how the origins of these gods and their lives seem to have no relevance or connection to the other pantheon and its history. No Titanomachy or Gigantomachy to speak of. There are a few parallels, but they are pleasant, like the love stories of Dionysus and Ariadne or Pygmalion and Galatea. Otherwise, it's like an alternate timeline of its own, where every god present is named a god for a reason.

It's fake.

But the mortals don't need to know that. For what's false, if persisted in, would become true anyways. Furthermore, it isn't like a new pantheon will harm any of them. The lucky ones with clear sight may win the heart of a deity who would actually see them beyond their fleeting mortality, who would care for them.

It takes a while, though, for the mortals to adjust to this suddenly newfound information. They are stubborn creatures, Luke knows, who tend to fear the unknown and new. Yet the youth crave it like bears after a beehive laden with honey. With time, they'll come around, he knows. Maybe he might not be there to see if the plans work out for himself, but someone would, and that's all that matters to him. He just needed to be the one to start the movement.

Luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

The faith spreads through idealized modernized takes on the mythology, as silly as it sounds. It's very of the era, isn't it? Books are being published on these gods who endure hardships and come out irrevocably changed but for the better. Ethan flips through one by an author under the pen name S.J and devours it in three hours. It reads nicely and he wonders when he'll get a chance to meet the main character of the story, and ask her if the myth holds true. It is, obviously, but it's different hearing it from a god. The fanfictions are even better, but Lou Ellen Blackstone gets drowned out by Alabaster's "lalalalala" before she can start talking about the recent one that was updated a few hours ago. Eh, so what if it's a little spicy?

Nonetheless, the new band of believers grows, and it's like a sucker punch to the gut for the Greek pantheon.

Apollo comes to camp and drops to his knees before his own cabin, surprising the campers. He looks terrible. Dionysus had already looked miserable, but the children attributed that to his sour personality. And, as usual, no one noticed the girl by the hearth who had disappeared weeks ago. But Apollo, golden boy Apollo, well, he has eyes that are sunken and sickly yellow, matted hair, muscles shrunk, and hands that shake as if they are beyond his control.

"They're killing us," he whispers to Lee Fletcher, "all of us."

"What do you want us to do?" Lee asks. Apollo coughs into his fist and looks down to see a smear of gold staining it.

A nosebleed. Gods don't get nosebleeds.

His children, gods bless them, are trying to heal him, but to no avail. It's kind of funny, how on any other occasion, such an act would have been annoying. If the solution was to simply heal, don't you think he would have tried that? But, weak as he was, he felt touched. Loved, even.

But love wasn't always enough to save another. He, of all gods, should know that.

"Can you write?" he asks. Lee scratches his head.

"Write?"

"Stories. Poems. Songs. Anything."

"Um, no, not really. Dyslexia kicks my ass, and you know archery is more my thing. But Will does sometimes. Healing is his forte, but I always see him writing something in a notebook, though that could just be medical notes, now that I think about it-"

Apollo disregards that last part and begs Will Solace to take up the pen and fight back. It's their last hope. If nothing is done, this camp and its children will become all that is left of the Greek Pantheon, for textbooks and website links are not enough to keep the faith going, especially if left to collect dust or rot in an archive.

"Write us new myths. Stories that can happen now, that we can make happen. Redeem us, so that we can live. We'll do it. We'll do any of it," Apollo begs.

"Anything?" Will asks. Apollo nods.

"Anything."

The Fates looked at each other from above. How time has changed. In the past, battles were fought with swords. Now, they had to be fought with words.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Juliet and Ewan would never team up for a mission because Juliet frankly doesn't want to be involved in Ewan's work and it definitely doesn't fit in her sense of Right and Wrong and outside of definitely not having the right clearance, Ewan probably also doesn't want to drag her into it

BUT

if they did I would love to see them go undercover and Juliet pull her typical move of getting waaaaaaaaaayyy too into character

[queensparklekitten]

time princess players how do y'all picture the MCs of every story

like since every set and piece of official art has a different hair colour, length, and style with every picture of them, and sometimes there's descriptions that don't match the images, which one do you go with

and do you make half of them look like your avatar or have your own designs

[sandcastle-art]

your arrow goes straight through my heart! (without you everything just falls apart)

[brainrottingg]

Dia: I prevented a murder today.

Avas: Really? How’d you do that?

Dia: self control.

[sunburstlink]

life  could  just  hit  someone  right  in  the  nuts  at  any  time  and  then  they  would  be  gripping  onto  a  fucking  flying  horses'  mane  with  a  handful  of  personal  items  when  being  offered  an  opportunity  to  learn  about  that  feeling  that  pestered  you  your  whole  damn  life.  you  weren't  sure  why  but  people  gravitated  towards  you  and  things  seemed  to  always  work  out  —  well,  until  they  didn't.

  three  seriously  failed  relationships,  two  spawns  later  and  lincoln  was  a  thirty-one  year  old  who  seemingly  had  it  all  and  still  had  nothing  to  show  for  it.  a  successful  company  ;  clout  and  social  prestige  but,  everything  in  front  of  him  seemed  to  incinerate  as  soon  as  people  passed  a  threshold.

  after  dropping  his  things,  lincoln  briefly  took  a  look  around  and  mostly  saw  a  male-dominated  camp  and  he  groaned  thinking  that  there  seemed  to  be  skewed.

  "  where  the  fuck  are  all  the  women?  "  lincoln  groaned  while  entering  the  mess  hall,  hoping  perhaps  they  were  all  in  the  kitchen  cooking  or  something  that'd  explain  this  fiasco.  [  @abrakabullshlt  ]

[seaspraycd]

information,  ronan  craved  information  like  a  super  computer  needing  to  feed  and  engorge  himself  on  knowledge  in  a  way  to  help  him  compute  and  decide  when  all  he  had  sometimes  with  his  gut  decision.  ronan  wasn't  the  type  to  lean  too  heavily  on  emotion,  logic  and  reasoning  was  very  much  that  for  a  reason.

so  after  he  spent  some  time  within  the  infirmary,  the  son  of  poseidon  excused  himself  and  went  to  look  for  the  other  person  who  looked  new.  "  hey,  new  guy!  "  ronan  simply  called  out,  the  evening  skies  made  it  hard  for  the  man  to  see  but  he  figured  with  such  a  direct  call  out,  the  other  would  make  himself  known.  [ @abrakabullshit ]