#do I know even half of what happens in this myth yet? no.

[zayne-li]

THEY CALL THIS MAN THE MASTER OF FATE AND THEN PROCEED TO MAKE HIM THE MOST BABYGIRL VERSION OF ZAYNE TO DATE

I know almost nothing about what happens in this myth yet. All I know is that he's my wife.

[aventurineswife]

Dan Heng with a reader who has an interest for dragons, collecting small, detailed sculptures or legends from different cultures, including media (books, movies, shows) etc. But after the Xianzhou Luofu arc, reader seems to suddenly shut up altogether about dragons, especially around Dan Heng. And distance themselves a little from Dan Heng for a while. Reader is dealing with an internal conflict, on one hand having feelings for him, on the other hand, they want to ask him about Vidyadharas, but dont want to come across as only interested in him because of his draconic features.

So, Dan Heng confronts them and maybe an eventual confession?

(Hope I'm making sense, pls take your time with this one, you dont need to rush it)

What lies Beneath

Summary: After the events of the Xianzhou Luofu arc, you, a passionate collector of dragon lore and mythology, begin to distance yourself from Dan Heng. Wrestling with feelings for him, you're afraid he'll think you only care about him for his draconic features and Vidyadhara heritage. Dan Heng notices the change and, worried about the growing distance, confronts you.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Xianzhou Luofu Arc, Mutual Pining, Confession, Light Angst with a Happy, Dragon Enthusiast!Reader, Internal Conflict, Gentle Romance.

Warnings: Slight angst, Mention of identity struggles, Brief emotional vulnerability.

A/N: I'M SORRY IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG, I MOSTLY HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE LOUFU ARC!! 😭😭

You hadn’t realized how quiet you’d become around Dan Heng—not at first, anyway. But the weight of it sat on your chest like a stone, an invisible divide that hadn’t been there before. The journey to the Xianzhou Luofu had changed everything. Your fascination with dragons and mythical creatures, once an easy passion you shared with him, had now grown complex and tangled. Knowing Dan Heng’s true nature—that he was the Imbibitor Lunae, that he was once something more than he claimed to be—changed it all.

Days passed, and you found yourself drawing back, not out of disinterest but out of fear. You could barely meet his eyes, feeling too aware of every question and curiosity still buzzing in your head, all revolving around dragons and Vidyadhara and…him. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him about any of it, feeling an unwelcome twist in your stomach at the thought. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you only saw him as a curiosity, some myth you could pin down like one of the small, polished figurines you collected.

So, instead, you distanced yourself, let conversations trail off when they veered toward your interests, gave half-hearted smiles when he looked your way. You couldn’t explain why it hurt so much or why the silence between you felt like a wound you couldn’t bring yourself to bandage.

One evening, you slipped into the archives to distract yourself, seeking solace in the worn pages of one of your favorite books on myths. As your fingers traced the lines of an old story about a guardian dragon, you felt a familiar presence at the door.

“Mind if I join you?” Dan Heng’s voice was low, quiet, yet it pierced the air with a clarity that made your pulse quicken. He stepped inside before you could answer, closing the distance between you with his usual, measured calm.

“Dan Heng, I…” You scrambled to shut the book and turned away, but he was already watching you with that piercing, steady gaze.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently, his eyes searching yours. “I thought… perhaps it was because of what happened on the Luofu.”

You shook your head, laughing faintly, though it lacked any real humor. “No, no, that’s not it. Or… maybe it is, but not how you think.”

“Then why?” He took a step closer, looking down at you, his gaze unreadable but not cold. “I thought you might understand.”

“I do understand,” you said, swallowing, fighting the lump in your throat. “Or, I’m trying to. But, after everything… I didn’t want you to think that… that I just—” You faltered, clenching your fists as you looked down, frustrated with your own lack of words.

“That you just what?” he asked softly, closing the distance until he was standing only a step away. His voice was gentle but unyielding, patient but unwilling to let this go.

“That I’m only interested in you because of… because of your Vidyadhara heritage,” you finally said, barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you by treating you like something out of one of my books, like some… myth I could admire from a distance.”

Dan Heng’s expression softened, a hint of sadness and understanding tracing the edges of his gaze. “Do you really think that’s how I see myself to you?”

You swallowed, struggling to find your voice. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I care about you, Dan Heng. And I didn’t want you to think that what you told me, what you shared, changed anything between us.”

He took another step forward, his fingers reaching out to gently lift your chin so your gaze met his. His touch was warm, his eyes holding an intensity that made your pulse race. “What I am… the part of me that’s Vidyadhara, Imbibitor Lunae—that is part of my past. But it doesn’t define everything I am. Not to you, not to the Astral Express.”

You hesitated, feeling your heart beat faster at his words. “I just… I didn’t want to make you feel like I saw you any differently because of it.”

Dan Heng’s hand lingered, his gaze unwavering. “But if I’m honest, I’ve been hoping you would see me differently. Just not in the way you fear.” His thumb brushed your cheek, and he looked away, almost shyly, as if revealing more than he intended. “Because I… I want to mean something to you beyond all that.”

Your heart raced, the weight of your own unspoken feelings swelling within you. “Dan Heng, I… I didn’t think you—”

He silenced you with a small, almost self-conscious smile. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt… conflicted about this, too. But when I’m with you, it feels simple.” His gaze softened, vulnerability shining through the walls he so often held up. “I don’t need you to see me as something mythical or fascinating. I just want you to see… me.”

Something in his words broke through the last of your restraint, and you felt your hand move on its own, reaching up to cup his face. “Dan Heng,” you breathed, smiling softly. “I’ve always seen you. Just… you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, as though searching for something, his own uncertainty fading into a quiet calm. Then, he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that left you breathless. The kiss was soft, hesitant, as though he feared losing you the moment he dared to let himself feel this.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his hands steadying you as he let out a soft, almost contented sigh. “Then let’s leave the myths in the books, at least for tonight.” he murmured, his voice as gentle as the warmth that surrounded you.

You nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you looked up at him, feeling the weight of everything between you finally fall away. “I think that sounds perfect.”

Damn Dan Heng getting on my ask page a lot 🤭, I hope I didn't butcher his character up!

[thatonebirdwrites]

Spookycorp

"Oró mo leanbh beag Fan na luí ag mo thaobh Ná scar uaim

(Oh, my little baby Always stay by my side Do not part from me),"

Lena wakes to pain. She shudders and opens her eyes, only to wince at the glare of green light.

When she'd gone to bed that night, she'd curled under her covers in her bed, in her penthouse, where no green light existed. She'd been crying herself to sleep, broken and alone, knowing that no one was coming to save her. Not after what she did to Kara. Not after Non Nocere. Not after Hope-Eve was arrested in her place.

Her fingers sink into loam, the texture fluffy and gritty. Not her bed.

Her head aches, and she pushes herself to her knees.

Opening her eyes cautiously, she realizes she's in a forest. Or what might be a forest. Bright orange tree bark melds into the red and yellow leaves, each fluorescent and glowing. The green light seems to come through the rays of sunlight that curls around the branches like a sensuous light snake.

What the hell?

She's pretty certain she did not take any drugs last night. Nor did she drink much more than two glasses of scotch. That's not enough to cause hallucinations. Surely not? Unless someone poisoned her? She wouldn't put it past Alex, if she felt the need to eliminate Lena due to what she'd done.

She'd deserve it. Guilt merges with her fear and confusion.

The crack of a twig catches her attention. She turns her head to see several mice crawl out from under a bush. They line up in a row and stand on their hind legs to sniff the air.

"A human." They say in what sounds like a foreign language but the words translate in Lena's mind. Which is preposterous, and yet here they are talking.

Their words bounce between each of them. "What's a human doing here?" says one. Another interrupts, "A human! Humans are a myth." A third cuts in, "no, look, it's looking at us. It's real." A fourth adds, "A human here? How strange!"

Lena blinks and wonders if she's lost her mind. "Talking mice?" she says out loud. Considering all that has happened, maybe she has lost her mind. Seems the Luthor way.

The mice hop backward at her words. "It speaks!" One squeaks. Another, who wears pants on its lower half and a vest on is top half like some sort of Disney character, chatters, "Is it intelligent?"

"Yes," Lena says, irritated. "Where am I?" She really is mad for talking to mice, but she needs to figure this place out so she can return home.

"She doesn't know?" Says the smallest one. "How does she not know?" the clothed one replies. A third one, the roundest of the quartet, says "They must not be intelligent." The fourth one interrupts, "Oh, but they are here. We must answer."

The way they talk over one another annoys Lena further. She grips the bark of the nearest tree to leverage herself to her feet. Dizziness assaults her, and she has to briefly close her eyes until the world steadies. When she opens them, nothing has changed. The mice still argue, the colors are all wrong, and the sun beams seem almost alive.

"You seek answers. Seek the Mad Hatter," the clothed mice says. "Yes, yes!" chatter the others, "The mad hatter knows all!"

What the fuck? "That's a children's story. Alice in Wonderland." This must be a tripped out dream. There's no way she was in wonderland.

The mice hop back and forth in excitement, chanting, "the human knows after all! Smart human. Good human. See the mad hatter!" They dart back into the bush.

Lena's left wondering how in hell she'll find this mad hatter, and why would she want to talk to someone mad. That sounds like an opportunity for disaster.

But considering she has no idea where she is, she dusts off her pajamas -- the Supergirl ones she'd bought years ago as a guilty pleasure, ironic that she'd worn it last night. Even after everything, she can't let go of Kara. She starts down the narrow trail through the psychedelic forest.

Whispers and crinkles of creatures in the forest herald her progress. One sounds suspiciously like a lullaby she hasn't heard in years.

"Oró mo stóirín Thug tú dochas mo stóirín Go mbeidh mé slán

(Oh my darling You give me hope, my darling May I be safe)"

The sun beams continue to snake and seethe with an alarming energy. Several times, one of the beams slithers over her shoulder, and it burns. She jerks away, her clothes smoking and a charred mark on her garment.

The path curls around massively colorful trees, their roots seeming to appear out of nowhere as if to purposely trip Lena. Branches catch locks of her hair, and she has to untangle herself in a fit of fury. She starts to duck each time a branch moves even a quarter of an inch.

The path stops abruptly at a massive stone wall. The stones are layered like an old medieval fence, and it looms at least ten feet if not taller. Trees crowd her right and left, and Lena can't see any other way forward.

Unless she climbs.

Her feet ache in time with her head, as she's barefoot and the ground a litany of bruises and cuts with each step. Sure, why not add climbing to her soreness?

She grips a stone above her head, and nestles her foot on a lower one close to the ground. Slowly, she maneuvers up the stone wall. As she progresses she feels the middle of the wall expand outward then retract, almost like it breathes.

The fuck?

"Oh," a deep voice echoes around her. "Oh... feels good." The words are said slowly as if the creature chews on each.

Lena freezes, clinging to the wall. "Who are you?" She scans the area, but she can't see anything beyond the wall and the trees, who crowd the wall as if the path she'd taken never existed.

"Oh... you climb me...." the wall expands and retracts as each word takes almost a minute to complete.

"You got to be shitting me," Lena mutters. "A talking wall. Talking mice. Light snakes. What's next?"

"Haaaaats," the wall replies. "Preeetty haaats. Climb human. Seeeeee for yourself."

Lena frowns and resumes her climb. Better to get the fuck off this creature before it decides to eat her or something. She scrambles up the last few feet and pulls herself atop it. Her breath catches in her throat.

Bright blue grass flows outward from the wall and coats rolling hills. In the distance she can see clusters of buildings around a stream that glows green, and beyond that, farther away, a massive red and white tower looms like a threatening sentinel. Dark clouds with lightning hover above the castle, but the sky above the rolling hills is cloudless and bright. The sun above a green hue with the faint imprint of what looks almost like a face.

Lena looks away before the sun can burn her eyesight. She turns and looks behind her, only to see the canopy of the psychedelic forest stretch for miles until they reach what looks like massive mountain peaks, or more like rocky spires.

She doesn't see any hats though. She wonders if she misheard the wall. It did speak far too slow.

Right. She's pondering what a speaking wall said. Great. Definitely losing her mind.

The wind whistles around her, and for a moment, that song returns.

"Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…

(Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully Sleep peacefully, my sweet child…)"

Hadn't her birth mother sang that to her when she was alive?

Unnerved, she hurries down the pasture-side of the wall. Because she's in a rush, she misses one of her footrests and slips. She tumbles and lands on her side. Pain blossoms in her arm.

"What a fall!" an unfamiliar voice says. "Beautiful fall. But not graceful fall. Eight out of ten. Yes, yes, eight out of ten."

She pushes herself upright and comes face to face with a massive rabbit, who wears a bright red top hat and a scarlet vest with blue pants. Stunned, she stares at rabbit, speechless.

"Aw, what do you see?" The rabbit hops around her. "What captures your eye, fall-er? Do you wish to fall again? Improve your score? What a game! Let us fall, tumble, prance, dive." The rabbit leaps upward, bounces off the wall, and crashes to the ground next to her in a badly done roll.

"Who the hell are you?" Lena dusts dirt off her pants and tries to adjust her clothes to look at least somewhat dignified, and not at all like she stood in pajamas in a tripped-up world.

"Ah, she asks questions! Questions require answers. Oh, how shall we answer?" The rabbit hops up to her, and beady black eyes survey Lena. "Mad. We are mad. You are mad. We are all mad. Come. You require tea. Everyone requires tea. Tea requires tea."

The rabbit pulls a golden watch out of their vest and looks at it. "Oh dear, oh dear indeed! We will be late. We cannot be late. Come, come, we must be tea. Tea must be us. We will drink tea. Tea requires us." It hops up a hill and pauses to look back at Lena.

What the hell, she has no idea what else to do. "Fine, I'm coming." She stomps up the hill, angry and irritated. The pain in her arm throbs in tune with her feet and head.

The rabbit moves far faster than Lena. She struggles to keep pace and resorts to a jog. The rabbit -- Mad Hatter maybe? -- keeps up a strange commentary that dances between topics faster than Lena's grumbling protests.

"-- look at the sky. Clouds hide from the sun. Did you know the sun is a sun? What is a sun? The sun is the sun. What a strange word, sun. Three letters, like the three of the sun."

What the hell does that even mean? "Slow down," Lena grumbles under her breath.

The rabbit ignores her. "Humans. What is a human? You are a human. Humans are human. No a sun. Not me. I am not human. Or am I human? Tea is tea, and humans like tea. I like tea. Is that enough to be human? What suffices?"

"Humans are more than tea-drinkers," Lena retorts, somewhat offended.

The rabbit finally slows as it approaches a clearing with wooden walls and vines hanging along the walls. Once they're within three feet, the walls open and the rabbit darts through. Lena stumbles through, only to stop in surprise.

A table and chairs are set up atop checkered tiles. Tea pots litter the table, and tea cups sit in front of each place setting. A few other animals sit at some of the chairs -- mice, a giraffe (she's baffled as to how the giraffe fits on that tiny chair), an elephant (half of it doesn't seem to exist in this world as it keeps fading in and out), a dog, a cat, and a tall, golden-haired person with her back to Lena.

The person hovers over a stove and hums a tune that sounds strangely like the song Kara used to sing all the time during her pop-techno phase. This one hits her hard as Kara sang it each time they'd cooked together.

"Tell me, how do you fight a machine? You follow the sound of your heart in the dream Áddjá I've got change in my eyes But I'm singing for you Mun jearán áddjás."

The golden hair sweeps down the person's back in tight ringlets. Voluminous pants swish as the person moves back and forth as if dancing to the tune. The shirt has ruffles around the neck and large, balloon like sleeves. The colors are blue and red, and the person feels familiar.

Yet, it can't be. Lena stares, stunned, motionless.

The rabbit tugs on her arm. "Aha, tea party! It is nearly time. Time, time, time, we can't be late now." The Mad Hatter taps its pocket watch. "Come, we mustn't be late. Late is poor etiquette, bad. Not good. We cannot allow not good. We must be good. Wonderful. Happy. Come!"

She lets the rabbit pull her across the short distance to the table.

When she reaches an empty chair, that's when the person turns with a ridiculously ornate pot of tea in their hands -- a pot that looks oddly like a tea with a bulb-like base. Sapphire eyes meet Lena's, and a smile curves the rosy-pink lips. Her tanned skin glows almost in the green-tinted light.

She looks like Kara Danvers, but that can't be.

She stares, frozen to the ground, unable to move.

The last time she saw Kara had been at that icy fortress. She'd unleashed her anger and pain, but even as she had told Kara the truth, poured out what she'd done, what Kara had done to hurt her, she'd desperately wanted Kara to fix it.

Or was that just a dream? She struggles to remember, but the memory feels hazy. Indistinct.

Maybe the last time was when she pressed the signal watch to trick Kara into coming to her so Andrea could infiltrate the DEO.

Or did that happen? Is it another dream? Her memory feels patchy, unreal, and the world around her seeps through her with a chill that leaves her trembling with fear.

Is this really Kara? The one she loves? The one she hates? The one she can't escape?

"Kara?" she breathes out. She trembles and looks around for a way out, but the wooden trellis that circles them has no doorway. Only wood and vines.

The person tilts her head. "Kara?" she repeats. "Odd." She pours tea into one of the animals' cups. She realizes that the animals all wear hats of different colors and styles, and their vests are glittering. "You are a funny human," the Kara-like person says in Kara's voice.

"If -- if you're not Kara, then who are you?" Lena feels unmoored.

"Who am I indeed?" Kara-like person grins. "Come, join us. It's tea time. We mustn't be late."

Fear drips down Lena's spine. She sits down gingerly. Something is majorly wrong here, but she can't figure out what to do. How to break whatever spell has her trapped in this hell place.

"Ah, tea!" cries the rabbit. It raises its cup, this one decorated with flowers that writhe across the porcelain. "Tea invigorates. Rejuvenates. Tea is tea. Tea becomes us. We become tea. Drink, friends. Drink to the One Who Sees All!"

The chorus of animals cheer and raise their own intricately decorated cups. The Kara-like person approaches Lena and pours her tea. It's an amber-liquid, and her sapphire eyes bore into Lena. "Drink, Lena," she says. "Drink and be one with the tea. Becomes the tea, the tea becomes you. The One Who Sees All delights in your presence."

Lena pushes away from the table. "No." The world around her flickers as if an unsteady television show. All the animals turn and stare at her.

One in particular-- the violet-hued cat, grows in size, and its grin expands dramatically. "Ah, the humans fears us. How delightful. Come, come, drink, human. Drink and be tea." Its body starts to slowly vanish until only its grin and blood-red eyes glare into Lena's soul. "Wash away your troubles. No more pain. No more suffering."

Lena backs away until her back hits the vine-crusted trellises. "No. No, that's not right."

The cat blinks out of existence. The giraffe turns to her next, its body rippling like water. "You call to us. The drink calls you. The One Who Sees All appreciates your work." The giraffe laughs, until its body fades into a silhouette of its outline, but then that too fades.

She has to get out of here. "Kara, please," she turns to the only other human. "You said my name. We need to get out of here."

The Kara-look-alike tilts her head, only to tilt it more and more until it's almost at a ninety-degree angle with her body. "Kara, Kara, you say Kara, but is it Kara you desire? Or Kara you wish to dominate you? Kara you wish to destroy? Kara you seek, you reject, you hurt, you save."

Terror grips her, and she tries to climb the trellis, but the vines whip around her wrists. Tugs her firm against the wood, and she's trapped. Tied up and unable to pull free. It holds her fast.

The Kara-like person jerks back into a more human form and then briefly vanishes, only to reappear closer. A teacup is in her hands. The liquid isn't amber-hued anymore. It's blood-red.

Lena clamps her mouth shut and turns her face away.

"Drink. Drink. No more pain. No more suffering. No more life. All is one. We see all. We are the One." Kara's voice sounds sweet, gentle almost, but her words carry a horror that twists Lena's stomach. "The One Who Sees All gives us life. Is that not what you desire?"

She's only a foot away, and she raises the cup of blood-like liquid. "If not tea, perhaps wine? You love wine. Wine loves you. We all are wine too." She grins, her teeth sparkling white, and her eyes crescents almost in her face.

The feel of this fake-Kara's hands on her face gives her a strength she didn't know she had. She screams and tears one leg free. She kicks the interloper and rips free an arm. She punches that perfect face.

"No. You aren't Kara!" She tears free of the vines and bats away the cup. Blood splashes across the blue grass and it wilts into brown.

The Fake-Kara stumbles backward. All the animals vanish, except for the rabbit, who jumps on the table and cackles.

"You fight! Human fights! Fighting human. Can you free yourself? Stop the madness? Go, go, and fight the One Who Sees All. Then and only then truth will appear."

It won't shut up. Lena throws a fist of soil at it, but the rabbits dodges. "The truth tea, the Tea of truth. The tea to end all teas. Ha, the human is foolish. Foolish and late. Late, late, late." The rabbit bounds up and over the vine-encrusted walls.

She's suddenly alone.

Her breathes come fast and ragged. Soil dribbles from her fingers. The table is empty except for cups and wine bottles, the tea pots gone. Red liquid spills across the table and stains the wood.

Lena's angry. Furious. How dare this place mimic Kara. How dare it! Kara of all people doesn't deserve this vile imitation.

"One Who Sees All!" Lena shouts. "Show your measly face! And leave Kara alone!"

The sky clouds over, and lightning flashes. Thunder roars and rain erupts. It floods the ground, washes away the vine-trellises, and the table floats away like a boat. The water tugs and pulls at her legs, threatening to toss her asunder.

The wind howls its song. "Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…"

Distracted by the song, she loses sight of the table. Something slimy grabs her legs and tugs her under. Water gushes into her mouth, and horror pierces her chest.

NO! She thrashes against the cold hand on her leg, and slams her foot into something soft.

Abruptly, she's released. She breaks the surface with a gasp.

Desperately, Lena struggles to stay afloat, but then the table floats just close enough for her to snag it. The wood splinters pierce her skin. Blood dribbles as she hauls herself atop it. She shivers and stares at what almost became her grave.

The waters raise higher. Her raft floats and spins as the waters continue to rise. Bits and pieces of debris litter the waves, and the lightning cavorts as if laughing above her, forming eerie grins.

She clings to her make-shift raft with all her strength. Hands pierce the water's surface, and she's drenched by another wave that forms into hands that tug and pull at her clothes and hair. She kicks the watery arms away.

The massive red and white tower looms before her, still a few miles away, but as the lightning grins once more, she sees a figure atop the tower. One with black hair pulled into a ponytail, and a large white cloak across their shoulders. The face is clouded in shadow, and the vision splinters at the next crack of thunder.

Lena's head splinters with pain. She grabs the table, and holds on for dear life as it spins and splashes. Water soaking her to the bone.

Time ceases to hold meaning. She knows not how long the table spins out of control on the raging waters, but it eventually comes to a stop against a massive boulder. She shivers and looks up to see black rock, shiny like obsidian almost. The table is lodged between two boulders. The waters have receded, and a path forms between the massive rocks.

Lena tries to wring out her pajamas to no avail. Giving up, she slides off the table and hits the mud. It squelches under her feet.

There's no where else she can go but forward. She clenches her fists and stalks up the winding path.

Exhaustion weighs on her. Her feet crunch against the gravel, and the creepy silence wraps tight around her. She feels blocked in, trapped, as the black rocks loom over her. Only a small sliver of sky peers into the gorge, the sunbeam twisting and turning but not quite reaching her.

She walks in gloom. It saturates her with a growing despair.

That's when the whispers start.

"Don't you dare, Alex!" Kara's voice echoes softly, despite her tone sounding like she shouts, and yet it's so faint, Lena almost misses it. "We haven't exhausted our options! I won't let you do this."

Another voice whispers. "We don't have time to deal with this. She chose this. Let her face the consequences." Cold, calculated Alex.

"Lena, Lena, what's wrong?" Kara again.

"Goddammit Lena, answer your damn phone! Don't make me come out there. You don't get to ghost your own goddaughter." This time it's Sam.

"Why won't she reply, Mom? Something's wrong, isn't it?" Ruby whispers.

"I'm sorry," Lena chokes out the words and tears sting her eyes. She'd avoided answering Sam's calls, and well, everyone's calls. She'd focused only on Non Nocere, her single-minded focus turning her into a spear of revenge and anger.

"What do you think is happening?" It's a voice she doesn't quite recognize. "I liked our project. This isn't solar energy. You don't think she's losing her mind like her brother?"

Workers. Her workers at L-Corp.

"This doesn't make sense. What could this part be for?"

"I won't do it. I'm quitting. She's just like her brother. Just hid it longer."

She shivers and puts her hands over her ears but it doesn't keep the whispers out. If anything they grow louder with each step she takes.

And weirder. As if now they shift from past to potential futures.

"I feel strange, Mom," Ruby says. "Like I can't think."

"I know, hun. It's..." Sam's voice sounds confused. "We are safe. Everything is okay. We are free now." Her voice changes to a dull tone, one that echoes eerily with some of the animals at that tea-wine party.

"Mom! Mom, what's wrong with you? What's wrong with everyone?" Ruby cries.

"Hush, we are all fine. We are all fine." Sam's tone is calm, unrelenting.

"Stop it!" Lena shouts. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want Sam and Ruby hurt. "Leave them alone!"

More whispers trickles through the black walls that enclose her in darkness. She stumbles over rocks she can't see, forced to feel her way forward.

"Alex? Alex, what's wrong with you?" Kara frantically says.

"Nothing is wrong, Kara. I feel wonderful." Alex's voice intones in that same dull tone Sam had. "I feel free. Unburdened. Don't you?"

"No, no." Horror sour Lena's stomach, and she stifles a sob. She has to get out of here. She begins to run, but she trips over an unseen boulder. "This isn't real!" She screams at the invisible voices, the black walls, the darkness that throttles her with despair. "Stop being a coward! Face me!"

Her words echo through the dark tunnel, and for a moment, the whispers stop.

Instead, the sound of something large being dragged starts up behind her. She turns and squints. A faint light pulses behind her, and with each pulse, she briefly sees the obsidian path light up. The road lifts up and rolls like paper.

She turns and runs away from the rolling ground. It squelches closer. She keeps tripping, the darkness pitch-black and makes her eyes ache.

"Kara, please," Lena whispers. She pushes off the ground after another fall. Her knees and hands are bloody, and her head throbs with pain. "Please, I'm sorry. I never wanted this..."

But did she? She made Non Nocere. She'd forced Eve to become her AI's body. She'd done horrors that rival Lex's.

Or was that all a dream too? Lena's not sure anymore. Her memories feel destabilized, like she's dropping backward in time, losing bits of herself the longer she's trapped in this nightmare.

This is all her fault, isn't it?

Everyone she loves is in danger, aren't they? Darkness smothers her, and steals the breath from her lungs. She chokes on her hubris, her foolishness, her horror.

Despair brings her to her knees, and she sways, ready for the horror behind her to pierce her chest. To end this torment finally.

"Lena..." a soft voice murmurs her name with a tenderness that Lena rarely heard. "Lena, luv, keep fighting. Keep moving. This is not your end."

That Irish accent -- it sounds almost like her birth mother. Or what Lena had imagined was her mother's voice. "Mom?" she gasps out. Pain sears through her wounds, and she struggles to her feet.

A wind brushes against her cheek from further up the path. A soft melody ripples along its currents.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you.)"

A glow of yellow appears up ahead. A woman who looks eerily like herself, but with softer cheekbones and jaw. She smiles, and it's a tender one. "Follow, luv. Don't look back. Come." As she moves, she sings the same song the wind whispers.

Lena stumbles to her feet. Behind her, the grinding of collapsing roads and boulders echo with a growing cacophony, but she doesn't look back. She pushes toward the glowing figure, who turns to walk steadily up the steepening road.

Up and up she climbs. The ground shakes under her feet. She falls against the obsidian wall, it's stone freezing cold. She jerks away and keeps moving.

A soft Irish lullaby serenades her ears from the figure ahead. The Irish Lena can't remember how to speak, but it soothes her despair, gives her courage to keep moving, to keep trying.

"Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…"

She tumbles out of the obsidian paths and onto a tundra studded with flowers. The sudden sunlight nearly blinds her, and she shields her eyes at first. As her eyes adjust, she lowers her hand.

"Mammy?" the Irish slang for mother falls from her lips, and she feels small and scared.

Her mother stands a few feet away and smiles at her. "You are okay, luv. You don't face this alone."

"Mammy," Lena stumbles toward her, the ground uneven. "Why am I here? I just want to go home."

"Luv, I wish I could take this pain from you, but I cannot." Her mother's smile turns sad, and her green eyes pierce through to Lena's soul. "To return home, you must defeat the darkness within. Let light fill you, luv. Don't look back. Do not give in to the temptations."

"Mammy...." Lena reaches for her, but her hand passes through her mother's arm. Tears cloud her vision. "Mammy, please..."

"I'm always with you, luv. Just close your eyes and listen to the wind sing." Her mother's ghostly hand tenderly touches her cheek. It's warm, far warmer than she expected. "Now go, luv. Save your the ones you love."

Lena closes her eyes and feels the warmth of her mother's hand, and that's when she hears it -- the wind sings the Irish Lullaby as it sweeps across the mossy rocks and flowers.

Oró mo leanbh beag Glac mo chomhairle cinnte Mo grá go sámh

(Oh my little babe Take my sure advice My peaceful love)."

Determination cements within, and Lena opens her eyes with a smile. Her mother has faded, but the gold of her form swirls along the wind and flows across the tundra toward the red-white tower.

The tower raises high above the mountainscape, and its windows glare with a darkness that oozes and crawls down its walls like streaks of mold.

Lena takes a deep breath and walks toward it. Behind her, she hears the crunch of boots. The swish of something slicing the air, and its screeching howls chills her bones.

She refuses to look back. Her pace quickens into a jog, but the one pursuing her persists.

"At least I won't die a fool," Lex's voice taunts her from behind. "You can't even see what's in front of you!"

"No." Lena starts to run. She's so close to the tower now. "I see clearly for once!"

"Fool. You think you act of your own volition? I seeded your project, planted and nurtured it, and it blooms. Oh, how it blooms. You are my final weapon, Lena."

Lena grits her teeth with a growl. "Not anymore, Lex!" She skids around a boulder. A whistling sound hurls toward her, and she ducks instinctively. A spear embeds itself in the stones ahead of her. She starts to dodge back and forth, to keep herself as harder target.

More spears whistle and shatter against boulders.

One nicks her shoulder when she fails to dodge in time. Pain blooms, and blood trickles from the wound. Still she refuses to look behind her.

Stay focused. Keep moving. Don't look behind her. That's what her mother told her.

So she keeps pushing forward. The tower leers down at her, and that silhouetted figure atop it stands at its turrets, their hands on the stone, and their body leaning outward to watch her. Black hair billows in the wind, but the face stays shrouded in shadow.

Distracted, a spear slices along her side, and she gasps with a stumble. Her hand presses against the cut, blood staining her pajamas.

She hears the whistling of a throw, and lurches to the left.

Another spear slices through the air just where her head had been. Laughter surges behind her as her assailant closes the distance between them.

She scrambles to her feet and rushes forward.

Ahead the doorway to the tower glows a blood-red, its doorknob white-hot. Steam rises from it.

Another spear slices through the fabric of her pajamas, barely missing her skin. Shit. She dodges to the left, then right.

"You can't escape destiny, Lena." Her brother cackles behind her, his voice loud. "We are Luthors. We destroy. We conquer. We are Power, and we will rule. Give in. Become us. Become our weapon."

"Never!" Lena throws herself at the door. It burns her hand, but she twists the knob and shoves her shoulder against the wood. "I'm not a full Luthor, Lex. I'm part Irish, and I won't forget my roots."

The door creaks and a gap appears. She ducks at another whistling sound, and a spear embeds in the wood above her head. Another crash of her shoulder against the door, and the gap widens just enough. She slithers through, and quickly slams it shut behind her.

Darkness greets her along with an all-encompassing silence.

No, not fully dark. She sees a sapphire and emerald lights at what appears to be the start of a spiral staircase. The light casts long shadows, and she sees bodies.

So many bodies, many of them distorted and twisted in on themselves. Like someone had turned them into living knots. They moan and groan in pain.

"Save us," they whisper.

She shivers.

These aren't all humans. Some are aliens.

Aliens that Lex tortured in Kasnia. Others who'd been trapped in the power plant, and still others who died by Medusa or Lex's Red Sun attack.

"I'm sorry," Lena whispers. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to touch one of them. Warm skin under her hand.

The alien looks at her with wide brown eyes. Their body untwists at her touch, and they breath in relief. The warmth drains into a deathly cold. "Thank you..." Their body stiffens in death.

Tears scalds her, but she walks the length of the room and touches each victim. Each one whispers a thank you and fades into death. She can't save them.

She was too late to save them.

The stairs loom, and when she looks up, she sees the coils of darkness that swirl just out of reach of the burning torches. The blue one burns brighter than the green.

That's the one Lena grabs. As her fingers curl around its metal base, she feels a surge of warmth and the soft, brief whisper of the Irish lullaby.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you)."

As she climbs, her torch spills blue light over her body and in a circle that is at least a foot in radii.

Beyond the light, the shadows seethe and howl like banshees. Faces loom in the walls, and as her torch light plays over their sunken features, she realizes they are yet more dead, more innocents tortured by Lex.

One she recognizes as the man who died during her Harun-el trials, the one who'd eagerly joined the trial in hopes of walking again.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, in pain. She hadn't meant for him to die. She'd been so sure it was safe enough for human trials. And yet, his face glares back at her. Judging her.

She looks away and climbs higher.

Whispers tug at her eardrums, but they make no sense, most gibberish, but others sound almost like past conversations she's had.

She hears her own voice speaking to Andrea, how she'd used Andrea to hurt Kara. Another memory surges of her speaking to Kara and Kara's mother, where she'd handed over the Harun-el and its recipe.

"Stop it!" she shouts. But the voices continue.

"Leave me! Save the chemicals!" she hears herself shout.

"No, never! Climb Lena, Climb!" Supergirl -- no Kara -- shouted back.

Tears dampen her cheeks. How many times had Kara saved her? How many times had she saved Kara?

Each step weighs her down, and she struggles to lift her feet for the next step. The torch sputters in her hand.

Each segment of memory haunts her, each shared moment a reminder of the bonds she has with Kara, Sam, Ruby, and Kara's friends.

She can't escape them.

She doesn't want to escape them.

She wants to go home.

"Home," her own voice growls. "There is no such thing. We can trust no one."

"No," Lena says, weakly. She's so, so tired. More and more steps await her, and the top of the spire looks impossibly far. More and more faces are etched in the walls, some trapped in a screaming pose.

"Yes, all we trust betrays. They will all pay."

"No." Lena says more firmly. "No, I will not fall for this." Her mother told her to keep going. To defeat the darkness within, and she refuses to let her mother down. She'll finish this even if it takes all of her strength and willpower.

She clenches her jaw and looks ahead at the gloom. Shadows dance at the edges of her light. Squelches and screams echo around her, and behind her, she hears the clomp of another set of feet.

Don't look back. She picks up her pace and raises her torch higher.

"Turn around. Around you turn. See the truth." The faint Irish accent sounds like her birth mother, but there's an odd echoing quality.

"No. I won't." Lena resists the urge to check.

The voice changes to Kara's sweet tones. "Lena, I'm here, just look back. I can help."

"Nice try, nope." Up another set of stairs, higher she holds the torch. Each step shakier, her legs trembling from the strain. Cold bites into her, and she shivers violently.

"Oh come on, Luthor, you can't do this alone. Let us help." It sounds like Alex and yet not.

"Hun, we're here. Just look back." This time it's Kelly.

Something stalks her, and hurls the voices of those she cares about like spears.

Lena resists and scrambles up a set of steps that are strewn with bones. Most don't look human, but instead are too long or too thick or too bird-like. Alien bones.

Cold air brushes across her skin, and laughter cackles around her. The footsteps grow closer.

Sweat dampens her roots, and she almost trips at the next step. Her torch flickers dangerously as it tumbles out of her hand, rolling to the edge of the step.

For a brief moment, darkness descends. Slimy tentacles curl over her body, around her throat and arms.

"Get away!" She leaps forward and snags the torch before it falls. The blue light flickers but steadies, and she desperately waves it back and forth.

The shadows hiss and dissipate into a sour smoke.

She shudders.

The footsteps behind her clomp just below her, and she hears the sound of creaking. She staggers to her feet and leaps up the steps. The thud of metal on stone echoes behind her.

Shit. She looks over the walls, but there's no other weapon. Only faces twisted in agony, the blue light of her flickering torch, and endless stairs.

"Fuck." She scrambles upward, frantically. The footsteps continue, each thrust of its weapon clanging against stone, her dodges barely in time.

That's when the whispers start up again. "Save us, please." The faces plead from their stone coffins. "Release us. Save us. Please"

"I'm trying." Lena scrambles up another set of stairs. Her muscles ache, and her head throbs. She's too slow in her dodge, and metal cuts along her leg.

She gasps at the burning pain.

No, she can't stop. She pushes forward.

"Avenge us. Release us." The chorus of dead surge in volume. She is deafened. She can no longer hear the sound of movement behind her, but still she races upward, dodging right and left to keep herself from being an easy target.

Pain seethes through her, and the shadows whip at the edges of her light.

A landing up ahead. Lena takes the steps two at a time and reaches it just as a spear embeds in the wall to her left. The face pierced screams.

She runs along the landing, toward a door ahead. Shadows screech around her. Tendrils dance into her light to pull at her hair and clothes. The blue light sears them, and with a scream, they retreat.

The metallic stomps sound like armor, and her pursuer persists.

Don't look back. She chants it to herself, but the urge to check grows with each dash forward. There's no places to hide here, and her light's circle has shrunk. More tendrils rip at her clothes and hair.

A monstrous body slithers into her light, no arms or eyes. Its legs propel it forward. Lena leaps away from it, but it squelches behind her to circle around and reappear on her left. She waves her torch at it, and embers fly off.

The creature screeches when the embers touch it. It slithers away.

Lena's feet hits against scattered stone. She nabs one, and when it slithers back, she hurls the rock at is faceless face. The rock sends it skidding into the wall. Lena snatches another and hurls two more for good measure. The creature lays motionless.

Breathing heavily, Lena picks up another rock and holds it like a knife. The door glows in front of her. With a running start, she slams herself against the door, and it swings open at her momentum.

She stumbles out of the stairwell and into a large room full of bookcases, red carpet, a piano, but dust coats it all. A sheet covers the piano and the sofa. The books smell of mildrew, many ruined, but a few glow softly.

Confused, she walks up to one and studies is spine. She can't make out any words. She reaches up to touch it, but a chill emits from the tome, it frosts her hand, burning with cold. She snatches her hand away.

The books and her torch are the only lights.

"Come now, Lena, don't slouch. Shoulders back, chin up." Lillian's voice emits from a different book.

"Honestly, you are hopeless. Did you think you'd ever amount to your brother's greatness?" The hiss of anger sears through her. She recoils from the bookcases.

But Lillian's voice stalks her. "You took my family from me. I never wanted you, but here we are. All that's left." Hatred mixed with love coats Lillian's words.

Lena freezes in the center of the room. Beyond the piano, she sees another door, this one metal and ornately carved with Luthor symbols.

"You're a Luthor, Lena. Act like one. It's time you take up the mantle. Become us."

"No..." Lena shakes her head.

A creaking of a rusted joint catches her attention. She looks to her right, and barely dodges the punch of a Lexosuit.

It twists and dives at her. She throws herself forward just in time. It crashes into another bookcase.

Green energy lights up its right arm, and the headless suit turns to point its cannon at her. She throws her rock, but it only harmlessly dents its side.

Lena dives behind the piano. The blast incinerates part of the bookcase. Her torch sputters. Dammit, low on fuel.

Clomps as the suit rounds the piano to face her again. She looks down the barrel of the cannon.

"Not this time," she growls. She shoves the torch into the cannon and sprints for the door. An explosion rocks the room, and she stumbles. Shards of metal cascade around her, several slicing into her arms and legs. One cuts her cheek.

She reaches the door and tugs it open with all her might.

Green-yellow light floods the room, and she steps onto the wide balcony at the top of the tower.

The figure with black hair stands with her back to her, her hands clasped at her back. "So you've made it," she says in Lena's voice.

Wind whips her hair around her face in a veil of black. It howls a despairing lullaby, one that sounds like her mother's but distorted by pain.

She's coated in bruises and cuts. She has no weapons, no torch, and the wind tugs at her ripped pajamas.

"Who are you? And what do you want?" Lena lifts her chin and speaks with a confidence she doesn't feel.

"Don't you know?" The figure turns.

Lena takes a step backward in horror.

It's her face. The Other-Lena smiles, but it's a twisted grin, one born of malice.

"Ah, so you do recognize me. You are not as stupid as I assumed." The Other-Lena stalks toward her. Her clothes are hidden by the sheets of armor, pieces of a lexosuit forged into a more lithe and compact suit. Except for her right forearm, where a cannon sits attached, it's green pulsing along its wires.

"You're my darkness," Lena says.

"I am more than you could ever be," Other-Lena snarls. "I will finish what we started. No more pain. No more suffering. All will be at peace."

Lena shakes her head. "That's not possible. I see that now. Suffering can't be erased. But we can do better. We can make people's lives better without stealing their free will."

Other-Lena laughs. "Fool. You have nothing with which to defeat me." She stops a foot away and raises her right arm.

Exhaustion and pain coats Lena's body. She needs to dodge, to find a place to hide, to figure out how to fight back, but she's so tired.

The wind curls around her, and with it comes her mother's lullaby.

Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…

(Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully Sleep peacefully, my sweet child…)

Warmth and love saturates her from the sweet melody. Her mother's love gives her strength, and she holds up her arm.

The green erupts from the cannon, but a yellow shield appears on Lena's arm and the blast sweeps around her, leaving her unharmed.

Other-Lena snarls and rushes her.

Lena holds her ground, her shield arm still upraised. A verse from the lullaby ripples again along the wind.

"Oró mo leanbh beag Glac mo chomhairle cinnte Mo grá go sámh.

(Oh my little babe Take my sure advice My peaceful love)."

Her Mammy's advice: Don't look back. Keep fighting. Lena raises her other hand, and a spear of light forms in her hand.

Other-Lena slices down with a sword pulled from her back. Lena blocks and pirouettes to the side for a lunge.

Other-Lena blocks with her arm and slices faster than Lena can dodge. The blade cuts into her skin, but she tears herself away. Blood drips down her shield arm.

Her vision splinters, and for a moment, there's two Other-Lena's. Both rush her in a flunge.

Lena brings up her shield. The crash pushes her backward, and she stumbles, pain along her arm. The shield flickers, a crack along its horizontal axis.

Again and again, Other-Lena beats her back with fencing moves so swift, that Lena can barely block in time. Her energy flags, and blood and sweat coats her pajamas and her hair.

She can't lose, but she's so tired.

Again the wind swirls around them, and the song starts up once more.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you)."

Love pours from the lyrics and revitalizes Lena. This time, when Other-Lena attacks, Lena drops in a Passata Sotto, where she evades under the blade, one hand briefly on the ground, while she straightens her sword and plunges it forward.

It cuts deep into Other-Lena's side. Her adversary hisses and staggers backward.

Lena straightens and shifts her stance. The buzz of her mother's love tingles through her still. She's not alone in this.

She lunges, and her slice cuts into Other-Lena's shoulder. Her opponent growls and rips free. She stumbles backward, raises her sword, and dives into a remise.

Lena parries each attack, but the force of them forces her backward. She has no armor, and her wounds slow her far too much. She searches for an opening, but Other-Lena's suit seems to rejuvenate her.

She needs to destroy it's power source, but where is it? She parries yet again, but this time performs a second intention, where she first feints and provokes an attack. She glides through another parry and strikes at the opening on the left. Her sword slices between armor pieces, and this time blood flows from the wound.

Other-Lena jerks away and scrambles backward. "Foolish." She lifts her cannon. "You can't win this." The colors on the cannon had been faint, but it pulses brighter again.

It'd been recharging this entire time. Shit.

The blast slams into Lena and throws her hard against stone. She slides to the ground, dazed. Laughter assaults her eardrums, and her vision splinters again.

She needs to get up. She can't lose.

She can't lose.

But the pain throbs through her, and she struggles against the crushing fatigue. It'd be so easy to let go.

Other-Lena laughs again and stalks closer, her emerald eyes burning with a fury, her sword upraised, and her cannon slowly recharging.

The wind buffets them, whips their hair to the left.

Another voice swirls along the wind, but this time it's Kara's voice singing. This time one of Kara's favorites.

"I will take the fight, I will stay up all night I'm not running away Mun jearán áddjás Chain me to the wall They cannot break us all I'm not running away."

That's right. Lena pushes off the wall with a surge of Adrenalin. She's not running away. Not anymore. They can't break her or those she loves. No matter how many times they try to chain her down, to use her, she fights back.

She'll always fight back, but this time, she does so with love burning in her heart.

"No more will you haunt me," Lena says. "You cannot break me!" She charges with a shout.

The cannon glows again, but Lena sees the bulge along the belt. The battery pack, and the wires flow up along Other-Lena's side and into the arm cannon. She aims, and in a swift feint, she catches Other-Lena off guard.

Long enough to slice through the wires.

The cannon spins down.

Other-Lena howls as if in pain. Lena pushes forward and her sword cuts deep into Other-Lena's side.

She drops with a gasp. Darkness wafts off her form. Glassy emerald eyes regard Lena. "Kill me then," she taunts, her voice hoarse.

She thinks of her mother's words. She hadn't said "kill" but "defeat." And isn't darkness apart of everyone? Even Kara harbors it, she's seen that darkness.

But that doesn't mean she needs to let it rule her.

She drops to her knees in front of her dark self and brushes her hand against her cheek. "I don't need you anymore. It's over. I choose love."

Yellow light pierces through the clouds, and the storm breaks apart. It floods the top of the spire, and light shears through her dark self. Other-Lena shouts and evaporates into dark dust that swirls on the wind above Lena's head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the dim figure of a man, standing atop the wall of the tower. He winks at her and vanishes in a puff of blue smoke.

She frowns, but she can't stand. The pain and exhaustion swamps all of Lena's senses. She falls forward and tumbles through the stone.

Down, down, down, until she hits a soft surface.

Her fingers curl into the fibers of a carpet. She struggles to push herself upright, but she's too weak. There's a door, a familiar door in front of her.

It's Kara's apartment door.

She grunts and pulls herself forward. Blood blinds her in one eye, and her head burns with pain. She raises her fist and knocks.

The door swings open.

At first silence greets her, but then she hears a gasp. "Lena! Oh no, Lena..." Kara's arms circle around her, pulls her against her chest. "Oh gosh, okay, gonna get you to Alex. Please, stay with me." Her voice shakes with a tender emotion, one that pulls at Lena's heart.

Her eyelids flutter, and she raises her hand to touch Kara's cheek. Blood cakes her hand still. "I chose love, Kara," Lena whispers, her voice hoarse. "It's going to be okay now." 

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

i miss who i used to be

Summary: In the aftermath of Ultron, two Sokovians find themselves contemplating their pasts and their loneliness in the present. When their paths cross again, they might just find comfort in one another's company.

Word Count: 1379 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: grief/loneliness/a lot of reflection on topics of that nature A/N: First part of a short series of sorts? Childhood friends to lovers kinda vibe which maybe could have been a one shot but I wanted to try something different! I have the next part written but after that, let me know what you'd like to see happen between Wanda and R (any interactions/conversations to be had/etc.) and it might influence where this story goes 👀

Part 1 of 'half of my hometown' series masterlist next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

If there’s one thing she knows, it’s grief.

Wanda Maximoff was born and raised in a war-torn country; she’s borne witness to a lifetime of destruction, endured suffering, and experienced the slow death of dreams. It seemed like there could be no worse feeling since she’d already experienced it all, but life seemed determined to prove her wrong.

After all that, it took her brother.

If her life were to be likened to the myth of Pandora’s Box, then Pietro Maximoff would have been her hope – the one bright light in her life that she believed could never fade, that would never leave her. From the second she was born, and for 26 years thereafter, Pietro had always been by her side; no matter what happened, they went through it together, reacted together, and emerged alive on the other side together. For all their disagreements, Wanda couldn’t think of a single experience she hadn’t shared with Pietro. Which makes this new feeling – the painful, unenviable knot of loneliness in her heart – all the more terrifying.

Pietro will never share it.

Months continue to pass, with Wanda taking notice of nothing but herself becoming more withdrawn, avoiding Stark's parties and spending more time in her room, where she can let the loneliness consume her. She really did try when the Avengers first brought her to America, but Pietro had always been the social twin, and the conversations only made his absence more pronounced.

Wanda's mood worsens as her loneliness grows, but only she can see the change in herself. The team hardly noticed the difference -- they hadn't even known her before her grief, so how could they see what it had caused in her?

Lingering on the thought, Wanda realises there is no one left who remembers the girl she used to be before the pain and grief and suffering. She used to believe that her childhood friendships would last forever, but those friends are likely gone, she thinks, lost to the rubble just as her family were. Wanda Maximoff is the last person alive who could ever remember her true personality, but now, even she isn’t so sure.

»»————-　★　————-««

On that same night, in that same building, you suffer from the same line of thought. Brought from Sokovia to America in your early teens, joining SHIELD was your way of doing good in a world you knew firsthand needed help. You hadn’t expected it to be your own teammates and colleagues who had been causing the troubles in the first place; some went under with HYDRA’s exposition, but many remained, passing test after test because, despite the presence of their names on documents approving the bombing of your birth city, they truly had no allegiance to HYDRA. They are SHIELD agents throughout, but that doesn’t make them ‘good’.

Your sense of hope is naive, really. It’s a remnant of the lingering childhood sentiment that you would make the most of your escape to America, to make real change and bring peace to the friends you left behind. By now, you’ve seen the worst of SHIELD, endured mockery for your opinions, watched the organisation fall and then rise again only somewhat cleansed to assist the Avengers, yet you still work for them. Perhaps it’s fear that keeps you here, perhaps it’s delusion, but either way, you find your workarounds and do your best to progress.

That’s the situation that leads you to now, patrolling the halls of the Avengers Compound at 2am, pondering what you are even working for now that the only evidence left of your country’s capital city is a crater full of rubble. 

Loneliness takes centre stage when you work night shifts – an unfortunate coincidence considering loneliness is what caused you to take the time slot in the first place. You don’t want to work with your colleagues, always feeling like you’re on the sidelines of the group, never quite as close to them as they are to each other – now exacerbated by the seed of doubt that any one of them may have seen your country as a necessary sacrifice, an inevitable fatality in a world of war. 

It’s easier to work alone, you tell yourself again, but you begin to doubt it.

With no country to return to, no relatives, and no friends at work, you wonder how else you can change yourself before you finally fit in. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone.

»»————-　★　————-««

Those thoughts are interrupted by whirring machinery, and you suddenly snap to attention and creep towards the Avengers’ gym. An intruder wouldn’t settle down for a quick training session, you imagine, and lower your guard marginally, but still ready yourself for a confrontation – there shouldn’t be anyone around at 2 am.

You walk in, only to stall immediately when you see a familiar brunette on the treadmill. She’s not one of the Avengers you’ve met before, nor one of the ones you’ve only seen on TV despite living in the same building – she’s new then, you conclude, or an intruder, but that doesn’t explain why you feel like you’ve seen her face before. 

She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees you, before she shuts the treadmill off and quickly ducks her head. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters while she hurriedly gathers her things, “I didn’t think anyone would come in here.”

You know why you recognise her now, the accent giving it all away.

“You’re Sokovian.” The woman clearly wants to leave; her belongings are bundled in her arm and she’s taken several quick paces aiming to pass you to get to the door, but she pauses at your statement and finally raises her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you reply, somewhat indignantly.

“You don’t sound it.”

Your natural accent had slipped over the years, it was true, a mix of natural evolution and forced acclimatisation on your behalf as an attempt to better fit in had led to the accent you now had. Not good enough to fool your American-born colleagues, but enough, it seems, to fool your fellow Sokovian. You think carefully, the new accent is so well practised that you struggle to separate what comes naturally and which parts you condition yourself to speak with. Eventually though, you speak and let the traces of your Sokovian past shine through.

“It’s been a while,” you tell her, “13 years since I last saw Novi Grad. I thought I’d return one day but… I guess not.”

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly, the action once again striking you with a sense of familiarity. She seems to shake herself out of it eventually. She tightens her grip on her belongings and finally inches past you, not speaking again until her hand is on the door handle. 

“I suppose neither of us can ever return home… your accent is rusty, Y/N, but it’s nice to see someone else survived.”

You jolt suddenly at her use of your name, but she’s gone before you can even turn around and acknowledge that she recognises you too; all that remains of her is the door slamming shut in her wake. 

Memories crash back to you of the first half of your life, it's enough that you need to take a seat before allowing yourself to reminisce. It's been thirteen years since you last saw Wanda, but you'd never forgotten the shy brunette you used to run to and from school with; the girl whose apartment you would visit whenever the power went out, to huddle together and make up stories to entertain yourselves.

You wonder briefly why she left the gym so suddenly, rather than staying and catching up, but you realise that even you need a moment to process the fact that one of your friends, a memory from your past, is not only still alive, but also living in the same building as you. It seems likely that you'll see her again, and you hope it's something that she wants too.

You're already planning to give her time, but no matter how the night started, the encounter plants a seed of hope in you that the future might just be a little less lonely.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

(Might do a series taglist for this too - let me know if you'd like to be added! @family-house-of-m you have no choice but to be tagged)

[pinkeos]

The Tides Beckon || Freminet x Merman!Reader (Pt. 1)

Warning/s: Mentions of blood, Fremi almost died, not much dialogue, author's first language ain't english

Notes: WAKE UP BABE ITS MERMAY -my brain last night so i decided to write this one with my favorite fontaine boy. also there's more to this story so i'll write more ehe

Whenever the world grew louder alongside his thoughts, Freminet would often seek refuge in the ocean. While others feared the unknown depths of the waters, the diver knew the nation’s hydrology like the back of his hand. The deep waters and the creatures within became his sanctuary for when everything was just too much.

This didn't come naturally, however. Because there was a time where he, too, grew anxious of what could happen whenever he dived deeper than the last. This was when the beings above hadn't bestowed him a vision yet, when he had to rely on his trusty helmet to dive. Who knew what could happen, his diving suit could malfunction while he was swimming and it would be too late to ascend by the time he noticed it.

There was a specific moment, at night, when he scampered into the waters, drowned in his thoughts and wanting nothing more than to surround himself with the waves that pushed his worries away for even just a moment. It was a mistake to not check his gear beforehand, a mistake that could've easily cost him his life. He was younger then, much less experienced of a diver than he was now.

He tried to swim upwards when water began to flood into his diving helmet, however, fate had something else planned as a bunch of seaweed vines caught his ankle, preventing him from swimming any further. The boy, calm as he may always seem to be, began to panic. His hands started to tug and pull at the seaweed vines to free his foot.

It was dark out, he shouldn't have left and dived into the ocean by himself. He had sneaked away from the House, not informing anyone of his whereabouts, so the chances of someone miraculously arriving just in time to help him was zero to none.

Or that's what he thought. It was when his vision began to blur, his body growing weak as water prevented him from breathing. His body had gone limp, eyelashes drooping, his consciousness slipping slowly and surely.

It was then that a shadow began to swim closer to him. The full moon’s light beamed from the surface of the water, providing decent enough lighting to help him in his blurry vision to make out that this shadow was a person. What they were doing in the ocean in the middle of the night, he didn't know. But they were there to save him.

He couldn't remember clearly nor did his vision help when it came to reveal his savior’s identity. What he was quite sure of was their long hair swaying prettily in the water, their tail moving as they swam— wait, tail? Before he could comprehend what he had managed to see, he blacked out.

Those memories would forever haunt Freminet’s mind. Even in the present, where he sat on a large boulder by the shore, Pers in his hands as he watched the waves roll in and the white seafoam appear and disappear. After that fateful night, he began to rack his brain on what happened.

Little knew of how fond Freminet was with fairy tales, and how often he would imagine this world in his mind where he had companions that would bring color and life to this imagination of his. He has books and stories stored away in his room, away from prying eyes that he would read whenever he wanted to.

That's when he came across the myths and tales of mermaids. Creatures that were half human and half fish, with ethereal beauty and a voice capable of luring many with their angelic singing. They lived in the depths of the ocean, far away from the humans, they served the hydro dragon and his many incarnations. But for some reason unclear in the books, their kin had begun to dwindle over the centuries. It wasn't clearly stated where they came from, or if they even were true, but Freminet was quite sure the person he saw that night was a mermaid.

He hadn't spoken a word to Lyney or Lynette, he was afraid they wouldn't believe him. Heck, sometimes he thought he didn't believe himself. Perhaps it was just an illusion? But then how did he survive? Who saved him?

The soft wind that blew on his cheek managed to pull the boy out of his thoughts. He sighed, hugging his legs closer to his chest as he placed his chin on his knees. The ocean was peaceful today.

At least that was until a loud splash erupted from not too far away. Usually, the salty scent of the sea breeze overwhelmed any other scent when near the shore. But it was different today. 

Freminet could smell it. The familiar scent of blood. And it was so strong. The boy gulped, standing up and silently making his way off the boulder. The splash wasn't too far, possibly from the other side of the large rocks. 

Trained in stealth and being naturally good at keeping quiet, he had easily managed to sneak his way to the other side, peeking over a boulder to see what was going on. 

The boy suppressed a gasp, but his lips still parted in shock, eyes turning wide. A small splash sounded from when the tail came into contact with the surface of the water. A tail, similar to that of a fish, but long and connecting to an upper human body.

The scales were covered in blood, staining its color and the water with it. A groan ripped Freminet’s attention from the tail and towards the human part of the creature. If he wasn't already shocked with the tail, he was even more surprised at the sight of the pained face of a familiar member of the Marechaussee Phantom meeting his view.

It was the face of the young influential official that almost everyone in Fontaine knew of. How could they not when he worked directly with the Iudex?

Though his appearance was far from the usual, because he was a freaking mermaid right now.

Freminet did not know what to think of this. He was just thinking about this a moment ago, even thinking what he could possibly do or say if he were to meet one in real life, as slim the chances are. But that was happening now and he was absolutely speechless.

“Who’s there?” The mermaid’s sharp voice cut through the silence. He was spotted.

Seeing as he was busted, the diver decided to reveal himself, though keeping his distance.

“It’s you…”

Ending note: I haven't written in a while so I'm trying my best because I really like this story😭

[lya-dustin]

The Stone Table

or a rewrite of a one shot i did when rings of power first came out in my now deleted lotr blog erinti-of-the-maiar

Gil-galad x Erinti(oc)

could be read as part of both The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin(silmarilion version)and I Sang of Leaves of Gold(Rings of power verision

inspired by this post made by @queenmeriadoc

summary: Gil-galad’s Maia wife wants a baby but his schedule is too busy so she uses their bond to spice things up during a feast to get what she wants.

cw: sex, telepathic dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, breeding, table sex, breast play

Her husband has always been too serious.

He had been serious and sensible with a perpetually stern brow despite his youth when they first married. While Ereinion Gil-galad had never been wild, he has always been bold.

The burden of kingship weighs heavily on him as does a strange hint of evil growing in the air. He smiles less and less these days, rarely takes a day off and Erinti has found him too tired to seek pleasure as of late.

She aches for him, to feel him move within her and see his troubles melt away as he sows his seed into her womb.

The Maia wants a child, to have their feä join and create a life inside her that will become a babe in her arms for them to love and nurture for the rest of their days.

And that cannot happen if her husband refuses to fuck that baby into her. To have him be rough with her, to have him overpower her and fuck her until all of Lindon feels the effect of their orgasms.

It would soon be autumn, but no plant would die nor leaf fall if the High King were to take her bent over his desk, or against the wall or on the balcony like they did a while ago.

Gil-galad’s hand on his glass tightens as his wife’s desire is felt through their bond.

Elves can hold a strong bond to the point of feeling one live and die no matter the distance, a Maiar could even manipulate a person so long as there is an opening.

Erinti and her husband have a bond so strong she knows the Halls of Mandos wouldn’t stand a chance against it. Sometimes they do not even need to speak out loud, his thoughts and hers can be heard and even seen as clearly as if each other were part of their psyche.

She is half expecting him to ask her to stop and yet her husband does not. Instead, her stick in the mud husband matches her desire with his.

Despite the regal and rigid as stone aspect he has, Gil-galad has quite a filthy mind. And, of course, the stamina to tire his maiar wife.

Something he reminds her with a hidden smile as he drinks his wine. Wine he claims is not as fine as that nectar that flows from her womb.

A womb he will fill the moment the feast is cleared, or so he promises.

But it does not end there, no, he doesn’t allow her to concentrate on the things said by those speaking to her as he takes his revenge.

He likes the low cut of her dress, the swell of her bosom on display like that for him, the fact that she wore no shift, or any other undergarments, had not gone unnoticed by him.

The king wants to tease her over the clothes, to knead and brush his thumb over her sensitive nipples as he kissed his way down her fair neck and collarbone until he is tearing off the dress to free her body from its confines. He intended to lavish her perfect breasts and use his mouth and fingers to string out that beautiful melody she makes when she comes.

A good prelude for what he had planned after the feast is over. By the time she’s readied for him to breed her Erinti of the Flowers would be naked and exposed to the cool autumn air.

The stone table would suffice, stone does not grow roots and leaves when he fucks his queen on it. Their bed had become a living tree with great roots and thick foliage with how attentive her husband usually is.

This particular stone was of great strength, carved from deep inside the mountains of Eregion and able to withstand the might of an Ent if it is to be believed.

A maia in the throes of passion may test that myth. Erinti’s hands had broken many things when her control slipped, while her ability was to nurture the earth as a servant of Yavanna and Nessa, her strength could destroy towers and castles with ease.

Gil-galad prided himself in making her lose control and admire his handiwork after. Not all furniture survived after he and his Queen were done.

It would not end with the table; he wants to take under the stars like he did when they wed. To have her ride him as the stars frame her like the goddess she is. To have the heavens and the earth witness the creation of a second Lúthien Tinúviel.

Not a princess, she corrects, but a son, a prince whose name she has seen from the moment she first laid with Gil-Galad.

Finnellach, flame of hair and eye.

The feast is scarcely over when the king makes good on his promise.

The king wastes no time in picking her up and setting her at the edge of the table, hiking up her dress until she could feel his hardness pressing between the heavy robes separating it from her cunt, feel how their game and his victory have affected him.

If she was as wet as the Lhûn before the final course had begun, the Maia Queen was sure to drown her husband with the waters from her womb.

“Has your husband been remiss in his duties, Lothíriel?” he asks between kisses with his sharp eyes dark and voice dripping with arousal.

Lothíriel, maiden crowned with flowers. The name he gave her when they first met, the name she wears as his wife just as he is Rodnor to her and the only name he cries out in pleasure.

“Our bed has wilted from your neglect, Rodnor.” The maia locked her long legs at his waist and let her hands roam up his chest and breaking the gorget he was wearing and tossing it aside as if it were nothing. “The leaves have begun to change color, but you’d notice that if you didn’t come so late and leave so early each day. I had half a mind to file a petition and demand a private audience with his grace to fix the issue.”

“You should have, I would have remedied the issue right there on my throne.” The vivid memory of all those times they had defiled his throne had her as wet as the Lhûn. “Her grace shall be crowned with oak blooms before dawn tomorrow.”

There is no promise of him taking the day off tomorrow, but the maia will fix that before the night is over.

“I better be, or his grace will not be leaving our bed.” The red haired being struggled to contain her desperation for him and effortlessly tore his robe of him to leave him only in his breeches.

He was built like an ox, trained in the same weapon that killed his beloved sister and as darkness grew around them, ready for war.

The scars from the Wrath have long since faded, you would not be able to tell he is a seasoned warrior and commander from looks alone. His physical strength could almost match her own, something Erinti Lothíriel has always loved.

“I won’t leave it either way.” With a smile he tears her dress apart until it pools around her waist on the table, and he is free to kiss his way down her neck and collar to her chest.

Gil-galad loves her breasts, the way they fit perfectly in his hands and their rosy peaks stiffen even more in the autumn air after he’d taken each of them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, the high king pushed her gently down to lie on the stone table as he continued down to her cunt as her hands threaded themselves in his dark mane.

The first time he had done this, the maia had turned made the meadow bloom to its fullest and remain so despite summer turning to fall soon after. The other times had resurrected the oak trees their bed had been.

Now as he threw her long bare leg over his shoulder, they would see how the stone would fare against the Scion of Kings putting his mouth and fingers to better use.

He is not the stern king with the weight of the world bearing down on him when they make love. He is simply her husband, her lover who knows exactly how to make her lose control of this fair form she made to be with him.

Her hand gripping the rough edge of the table feels nothing of the discomfort the stone against her soft palm nor does the stone show any sign of crumbling in her hold. Who was to say what would happen when Gil-galad makes her come undone?

She tries to hold back, not an easy task when Gil-galad uses every trick he knows to have her unravel with pleasure.

As great a singer and orator her husband is, Erinti things tongue fucking may be his best talent. The first time he had pleasured her this way the ground had shaken in tandem to her first orgasm and the hold on his hand had resulted in a hard to explain injury.

Still the stone does not break when the crescendo comes to its grand finish. They may have to procure more of it now.

“It passed the first test, but can it pass the second?” Gil-galad wiped her spent from his chin with the torn fabric of her gown, it won’t be of use anymore either way.

His manhood needs little help in reaching full mast, but the sight of it with some seed at its tip has desperate to feel it inside her. To feel it hitting those places only Gil-galad knows as they fuck hard and loud in open air without a drop of shame.

It was far too difficult to stop people from taking notice of their rulers’ sexual habits when their queen’s moods affected the life around them. So difficult it no longer mortified them almost two thousand years after.

“Only one way to find out.” The Maia breathes hard from the peak he brought her to, leaned back on her hands and spread her legs wide for her husband waiting for him to plow into her until Elbereth herself feels as if she too has been fucked senseless.

“The way her grace behaves, one would think she was a courtesan of the Edain and not a holy being.” he snaked an arm around her waist as the other pulled her face to his.

“Perhaps this holy being likes to be worshipped differently.” The maia kissed her husband deeply, tasting herself in his mouth as she pulled him closer to her until he dropped the hand on her chin to guide himself into her.

The wholeness that comes with being with him like this is heavenly, their feä melds into each other’s own as their bodies join in ways forbidden to anyone else.

“Then I will make this table a second altar to worship you on, Lothíriel.” His voice is low with desire and groans as he begins to move within her. Slow and steady, savoring every contour of her perfect body and driving her slowly to madness.

She may be Maiar, but Valar, did she find sexual compatibility the best thing Ilúvatar could bless his creations with. Her womanhood fit him like a glove, or so he says.

Perfection even Valinor would envy, his thoughts fill her head as he goes deeper and harder and brings his deft fingers to her button as his mouth seeks out her breast.

Their lovemaking brings the much-needed release Gil-galad desperately needed. Too many troubles coming seemingly out of nowhere and the lack of respite to find the why of it.

He is not the stone king teetering on the edge of a burst vein in his cerebrum, he is the elf groaning his wife’s name as their lewd sounds and smells fill the air. Time passes by around them and yet nothing exists beyond the two of them and their bliss.

Gil-galad comes just as he brings her to a second climax, a beautiful melody ending with a kindling of a new life.

“The stone didn’t break.” The King of the Noldor is still catching his breath when they remember to see if his theory proved correct. “We shall need more of this stone.”

“The table at your war room will need replacement.” The Maia grins hoping to see how they break that great round table hewn from a weaker stone.

[chrysanthemumgames]

Hi again!

This time I come back after re-reading the entire thing! Of course, aside from fixes to small continuity error and other stuff like that, it didn't change much from the last time I've read it, so I won't be saying anything new in terms of how much I love it and so on! It's just awesome as usual!

But I have a few questions I'd love to delve into, that I just didn't ask when the book wasn't finished, either because I didn't think of them or because I sort of preferred to wait for it to be actually done.

Sorry in advance for the long post though! It seems I'm unable to keep things short!

On a Hades romance playthrough, especially with a reserved MC who doesn't overtly flirt… Who among the other ROs and other people close to the main cast notices or suspects that there's a spark of "something" between Hades and the MC at the end of book 1? Considering just how much of a slow burn this route is, there isn't much to see yet, romance wise, but I feel like some people may realize something is starting to "shift" there.

When dining with Hera during her visit in chapter 6, if the MC tells her they like the Undeworld and what not, she ends up commenting "A shame". This line always had me reeling, but I didn't re-ask about it after first reading the entirety of the book so I'll do it now. Did she know what Demeter had planned to do? I always wondered why she'd think it's a shame, and it's pretty clear from the climax of the story that Zeus prefers the MC to stay in the Underworld, so I don't imagine it would be something like Hera knowing her husband wants to bring the MC back against their will. And there is no reason for her to have wanted MC to be unhappy for whatever reason. So it only leaves the option of her knowing about Demeter's plan in my mind, but maybe I'm missing something?

After the whole Eurydice and Orpheus thing, Hades says "There are some fates which very much deserve the fight. I know not what yours is, but if it turns out to be one you don't want, I am glad you have the power to change it. Not that this means I wouldn't do everything I could to help as well, of course." - it makes me wonder… Since for the duo of lovers their fate should have been for Orpheus to fail and that changed in my playthrough's case with my Dionysus' influence, I was wondering if in the scope of this story, the MC's "fate" should be the original outcome of the Persephone myth, with the "spending half a year in one realm the other half in another", and any other outcome is a result of having changed fate? Or is this not a part of their story that's truly decided by Fate in this interpretation of the myth? Also side note if it's the case, I think it's funny and kind of poetic that my MC basically traded his fate with Eurydice? Because his fate should have been spending half a year here and half there, and her fate should have been being separated from the one who came for her again after he failed and returning to the Underworld alone. But here, she managed to make Orpheus sort of succeed thanks to MC and now THESE TWO will spend half a year in one realm and half in another, while my MC managed to make Demeter fail and make it so he could go back and stay in the Underworld full time.

And final one! How much did Pirithous and Theseus get to know about what happened after Demeter dismissed them? At the very least in a scenario where they actually kidnapped the MC, not one where MC followed willingly. Not only I'm curious of Pirithous reflected upon his actions, but I'm also intrigued as if Theseus was "satisfied" of sorts that MC managed to go back (if that was indeed the case), considering he seemed against the kidnapping at least to a degree. If they even COULD keep informed, since they are demi-gods living as mortals as far as I understand their situation. I was just always interested in these two since they only appear in that short part of the story but what they do is HUGE.

And that's it. Sorry again for such a long post, and thanks for indulging me if you decide to answer even only some of the questions!

So!

I think a few of the others have picked up on things. I would say Charon and Hekate definitely know something is going on there, and friend!Hermes might have picked up some vibes as well. Even Alekto might have had a passing suspicion, though she doesn't quite consider it her business, and so doesn't devote much thought to it. People will tell her things when they want her to know them, you know?

Hera didn't have specific information about Demeter's plans, but she did know that it was likely she would take some form of drastic action. From her point of view, the arranged marriage was something Zeus did to screw with her (Demeter), and he was likely to reverse his decision once he'd had his fun with it/gotten some kind of concession from Demeter. So to Hera it seemed likely the PC had just found someplace they enjoyed, but their being taken away from it was basically a given.

There isn't really an assumed or default end for the story (or rather, not one that is more mechanically likely than another), but sort of yes! The PC ending up with a different outcome from the source story could be seen as their fate-subverting power at work. :)

Pirithous and Theseus are basically aware of the trajectory of events after they left, and this is because they're eventually brought to the Underworld for trial by the Erinyes. This is dealt with in the first chapter of the sequel.

Thanks as always for your kind words, and no worries about the questions!

[dufferpuffer]

I have read some of your long and comprehensive meta on symptoms of lycantrophy, but this is more of a headcanon question:

Remus suggests Bill might have some “wolfish traits” after his attacks. Could werewolves in their human form have enhanced sense of smell or hearing, or immunity for some water borne diseases, or other “wolfish traits”?

Would they be immune to Polyjuice just like Hagrid? Could they be immune to other potions and poisons? Or even spells or curses?

There’s also the moon factor - some people attribute Remus peakiness to the dread he feels before every transformation, some to the “pull of the moon”. So much to explore.

What I sense is that people are trying to give an overlooked side to lycantrophy that might not be that bad or painful, and sometimes I rather like that.

I’ve read some interesting works (some good some bad) that indicated that lycanthropes carry a magic of their own, more intuitive and primal. Personally, I find that exciting to explore, as the myth of the werewolf is really ancient and could be linked to some really cool lore. I also like the idea that shouting latin words and shooting sparks from a wand is only one way of doing things, and that magic itself can be manifested in more mysterious ways that prejudiced, self-important wizards don’t bother to explore.

Half my opinion and half asking for yours, the lycanthrope expert! Beyond uncomfortable pathological symptoms, how do you think the biology of a non transformed werewolf might change?

Thanks for reading my ramblings B^) I'm gonna engage with everything you brought up because thats what I feel like doing, its really really fun to talk HCs and theories

WEREWOLF HCs AND THEORIES

Like... 2000 words or something idk

The Moons Effect My theory is that symptoms are caused not by the Full Moon itself but a culmination of magic the moon puts into the atmosphere, getting stronger through the month until the Werewolf 'pops'.

You don't need to be touched by the Full Moonlight to transform, it happens regardless of where you hide... so it's in the air.

Yet Remus seems to be triggered by Moonlight when nobody expected him to be in PoA. (Part 3 is my theory on that in more detail.)

When they get symptoms before the Full Moon, even during the day, its like something is building up in them.

Their Lycanthropy (Dark Magic curse or Virus or both… perhaps a Virus with its own magic?) seems to feed on the Moon's energy.

I'm sure Remus feels dread before his Full Moon, but I think his peakiness is more than that. I doubt someone like Fenrir would feel that dread - but still has recognizable symptoms pre-Full Moon by Lyall (according to the 'Remus Lupin' Pottermore page)

'Pull of the Moon' is a good phrase. I like that. The moon is getting stronger and their Lycanthropy is responding in their cells, affecting them physically, preparing…

What are 'Wolfish Traits' in canon...? It is SO FRUSTRATING we don't hear more of this, ONLY that Bill likes his steak bloody. The story is teasing me. Leading me on. REMUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WOLFISH TRAITS' DARLING PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING YOU FUCKING FLIRT

Remus is not ''obviously'' a werewolf. He puts a lot of work into that. Whenever people have worked him out (James/Sirius, Snape, Hermione) it has been based on his disappearances, not on how he looks or acts otherwise.

+ There are vague symptoms pre-Full Moon (as Harry notices in a memory and that Lyall Pottermore thing), + Weakness and loss of weight post-Full Moon (though that could be directly tied to exhaustion from transforming) + And of course - the transformation itself. The psychotic break of becoming a violent bite-hungry wolf. ...Thats it. Thats is all we know about what traits are definitely caused by Lycanthropy.

I can only assume Bill goes through some minor version of this: Maybe he feels a bit off around the Full Moon. Maybe he gets a bit hairy, maybe the moon gives him insomnia and a bad mood… ...I like to think so. As you said - sometimes its nice to think about over-looked sides of Lycanthropy that aren't 'as bad'.

After all, while still horrible, the Full Moon isn't the most major 'disabling' trait Remus suffers. Sometimes he even LIKES the transformation. No, the worst symptom... Is probably the fatigue. Even on Wolfsbane he needs multiple days off work, feeling too horrible to show up for Christmas lunch. The thing that stops him from working, that reveals what he is to a bigoted society, extending beyond a night of delirium and pain into days of suffering… are his 'less bad' symptoms. (That's something often overlook with disabilities: it's often not the loudest symptom that are the biggest problem - but the management of them, the complications of it, side effects from treatments, poor mental health from dealing with it physically and socially... I love you Remus Lupin)

Potential Wolfish Traits There is no evidence that, even transformed, Werewolves have heightened senses. Pottermore says their eyes and snouts are 'more human' than a True Wolf - though that doesn't like… mean much. They could still have wolf-like smell and night vision and stuff. Or they could not. Apparently Muggle and Wizard blood tastes different - whether that is Lycanthropic instinct, heightened taste/smell or sensing magic… who knows.

In any case, I don't think in Human form they do. If Remus had heightened senses he could surely have smelled Scabbers. He could have smelled Padfoot. If heightened senses are a known trait then surely Remus could be sent out to pick up Sirius' scent and track him. (unless it isn't quite strong enough for that...)

In terms of fun HC - I do like it. B^) + I like the idea of Remus being able to hear people approach his office from further away, so he is always prepared. + I like the idea of him being not-so-good at potions because the smells are overwhelming. + I like the idea of him, and all Werewolves, being more active in the dark without Lumos because they can see better. Sneaky.

We get hints that there are 'Wolfish traits' one can tell a Werewolf by, even when in Human form… and I like the idea of them being subtle habits. Or you just blow a dog whistle and they flinch.

There's more evidence against this than for it, though. I don't think it is canon… but it is fun :) In any case it would most likely get stronger around the Full Moon and weaken by New Moon, as all his symptoms do.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE SOME CANON MERIT THOUGH: Magical resilience; Physical dexterity/strength; Healing; Greying.

Fenrir seems to take more powerful magical hits. Maybe he's just a badass. (He is. Punk grandpa is an icon tbh.)

Fenrir can run FAST on four legs in his Human form. Normally people run kinda slow and awkwardly on four legs. Added strength and flexibility from Lycanthropy...? Perhaps he's just a REALLY intense furry and has trained meticulously. No shade - that's impressive

Remus was attacked around the neck and clawed at by Sirius Black, enough to scare him off from a bunch of human prey - but shows no injury the next day. Maybe Sirius didn't break skin. Maybe accelerated healing is just a Transformation thing. Maybe... Lycanthropy wants to help keep it's host alive.

What do Remus and Fenrir have in common...? Grey hair. What colour is werewolf fur? Grey. Could this just be that Fenrir is old/used to be stressed, and Remus is so stressed now that he is going grey? Yes. But honestly if most werewolves go grey early from the stress of life... that's kinda a symptom by itself anyway.

4. Polyjuice Polyjuice is a dangerous potion - as we saw with Hermione. Cat fur messed her form up and prevented her from shifting back easily, because it was a different animal. It seems the only way to cleanly shift your physical appearance is with 'matching' species DNA or whatever.

Hagrid would be the same: he is a different animal. If Hermione became part-cat when she had cat fur and got stuck… I think if someone had Hagrid's hair they would become part-half-giant and get stuck. (same for Hagrid into a full-human, his Giant genes wouldn't know what to do.)

Remus is full-human. I don't think there would be any issue.

Whether or not someone disguised as him would have Lycanthropy symptoms… I'm not sure, but I don't think so. The potion takes into account physical damage and deformities. It copied Harry's eyesight, Alastor's amputation and disfigurements… but copying an infection? If you took hair from someone who had the Flu, would you feel the Flu when you turned into them?

I don't think so - because things like infection and viruses are living creatures in their own right. Like you wouldn't sprout head lice if you turned into a kid with head lice. (Whether virus' are 'alive' is debated a bit, though I see no reason not to consider them alive just because they need to be parasitic to cells to function.)

If Lycanthropy is more like a curse than alive - does a curse transfer through Polyjuice? I doubt it. No curse on Alastor is injested by Barty through his hair. Magic is very intent-based, and the intent of Lycanthropy is spit-to-blood.

Also I just think its more interesting if, like personality and habits, you had to pretend to be sick to pass at the person you disguise as.

HOWEVER - if you took werewolf FUR… Polyjuice takes into account ones current physical state, right? Remus' physical state changes dramatically, painfully, magically - into a wolf-like creature.

A change has happened that is different to what a non-infected human can experiences. Taking werewolf fur, I think, would result in a cat-Hermione that gets stuck in a non-human shape. Same with Animagus fur/feathers/etc: they are humans, but they are in a shape and size that is not what a human that hasn't magically trained their body through the procedure can mimic.

The question I want answered is whether Minerva can have cat-fur Polyjuice and turn into a different looking cat. She's on the registry as a tabby, so she sneaks around disguised as a Calico…

Wolf Magic Magic isn't just latin words and wand sparks. Wands are a European thing - they aren't used much in Africa etc, where they use their hands more. We even see that, as a Wizard becomes more skilled, they don't need to say anything. Wandless magic is advanced. it seems wand movements, words and even wands themselves are just tools to aid in learning, to focus ones magic.

You can follow a recipe to bake a cake - but if you're good at baking, you can just throw that shit together, experiment on the fly.

Since Werewolves are a very old phenomenon with a magical root - whether that be some ancient curse, or Lycanthropy is some sort of magical creature virus - magic only available to Werewolves sounds pretty cool.

I don't like how it further differentiates werewolves from other humans, because the theme is that they ARE humans like everyone else and are being treated as 'other'. I wouldn't want to make them superheroes by accident, yknow?

But like… there's a million cool ways to take werewolf magic. I like the idea of utilizing the magic within the virus/curse itself. It's evidently incredibly powerful, physical, draws and stores energy from the moon, using a human as its puppet to spread itself... What if there were ways to utilize parts of that…? A symbiotic relationship with ones parasite, for better or for worse?

6. Biological changes of a Werewolf - headcanons B^)

I'm a big fan of the idea that Remus is living unhealthily by stifling his Lycanthropy while Fenrir is living healthy by indulging it. Remus is thin, pale, bags under his eyes - despite being young. Fenrir is rangy, tall, heavy, strong - despite being older.

It is a negative experience to take Wolfsbane and stifle the transformation - it is a positive experience to run around with Animagus friends and embrace it.

Lycanthropy is a severe thing. Once a month, EVERY month, you go through a complete physical change. It is painful to endure, you get into fights or self-harm - and Remus at least comes out thinner. There's no way that doesn't do anything. Especially as you get older.

So, my HC, is that Remus - being unhealthy - gets a lot of aches and pains. His body doesn't transform well. + He doesn't eat enough because he wants to be as weak as possible. It's safer. + His fatigue afterwards is worse. His small bones like his fingers sometimes don't set right, costing him more in potions... unless he just puts up with it. + His Wolfish-Form looks like shit. Patchy fur, thin, always panting... + He looks a little wonky from a childhood spent transforming every month - on less food than he should have had. Like he is on the short-average side, but has a stretched spine that makes him look a little taller. Nothing much visually - but can give him joint pain.

Fenrir DELIGHTS in his form. I don't think he has aches or pains much at all - his body transforms well. He encourages it so much, as he gets older, it's leaking into his Human form. + He is described as having 'whiskers' - and I take that literally. Nobody else has their facial hair described in that way, and he is a hairy man with long unkempt hair - he aint shaving... and somehow I doubt he has a patchy enough beard to be called 'whiskers'. I kinda think he straight up has whiskers. + Hairy. He has enough hair to be called fur. + Wolfish form is epic. Strong, noble, heavy, vicious, huge... + I can accept he sharpens his nails - but his teeth? He sharpens his teeth? I think they're natural, because sharpening teeth makes them weaker. His body is getting used to biting outside the Full Moon. + His fatigue afterwards is better than most, but his pre-Full Moon symptoms are stronger, his body AMPED UP in anticipation. + His body is more flexible, more used to different movements, that biting, scratching, prowling, walking on four limbs... its easier. + His voice is ravaged. A unique coarse, rough, barking voice.

Fenrir is a chad who can chase down a rabbit on all fours and catch it in his teeth - while Remus grunts a few times trying to tie his laces. Fenrir shows the signs of his Lycanthopy outwardly as he gets older, while Remus shows them internally as he fails to look after himself.

Regardless of how 'healthy' a werewolf is: + Snarling, growling, whining... all something you get used to. Deep chesty rumbles. A few years of being a werewolf and you're so practiced at it it's second nature. Fenrir embraces it - Remus takes careful control of his emotions so he NEVER slips up. + Hairier in general. Even Remus. They just have more body hair. Because I am biased towards typically masculine traits? Yes. + The bloody meat thing. A heightened desire for protein, better at tasting different things in meat and blood. Safer to eat, too.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: In the Dead of Night

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

The Long Road Masterlist

Summary: Soon after your fiance's murder you find yourself diving face first into enacting a plan to avenge his death. Regardless of your friend's approval, your wellbeing, livelihood, or future, you find yourself in it for the long-con.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes,

A/N: This is... sooooo self-indulgent and utterly crack, tbh. I'd thought it up a while ago and keep thinking about it. I kept trying to think of a way to make it realistic, but... I just feel like there is no way of doing that, so I'm just gonna write it. However it goes, it goes. Also fyi I am using google translate so I really hope it's coming out okay. I do speak Russian, but only Duolingo tiny bit. divider by @saradika

You were prepared for this, you knew it was bound to happen one day, you just didn't know when that day would be. It only looks like, now, it's finally come. As you sit at the counter, stirring the bowl of oatmeal you'd just made and are trying your best to get to cool down, you can't help but think about the man currently in the other room.

You'd expected an entrance something akin to that of a Mission Impossible movie: a loud boom, doors knocked down, guns blazing, venomous words shouted in a language you've hardly begun to understand despite the tedious month of learning to the best of your abilities. Thunder cracks in the distance, rattling the windowpane in the next room; you don't know when the heavy downpour started, but it hasn't given any sign of yield since his arrival only a half hour ago now. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your husband... husband--your fiance--you remind yourself, mentally scolding as this isn't the first, and you doubt it's the last time you're going to mentally interchange the two words. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your fiance used to tell you.

The rain reminds you of the the way the Vikings would personify the Norse Gods to Earthly elements. Sure, you know some of the comics, like Thor, and Loki... but nevertheless, with your upbringing, the heavy pounding of the rain against the tin roof and the approaching thunder only makes your thoughts drift back to him. Johnny.

What would he think? What would he do? If he knew you were here... Maybe it's the spiritual part of you that never quite left, possibly having been ingrained from your grandparents when you were younger, or an aunt, an uncle of some sort, perhaps... but you think he'd do something silly like this. Come back as a thunderstorm, manifesting himself as something so threatening and dangerous, symbolizing his distress, unhappiness, and worry for you with torrents of rain, yet trying to protect you from the beyond even with lightning. Yet, you know that's impossible, and certainly not the case. Your heart begins to ache once more as you think of him, not wanting to get caught up, again, in the overwhelming grief you hadn't fully let yourself fall into. This is for him, you remind yourself once again.

"What are you giving her?" The voice comes from the doorway, and you're not entirely surprised by the venom in his tone, albeit taken aback. While he's not loud due to the (presumably) resting woman in the next room, you know that the lack of volume doesn't mean he wouldn't yell if the situation were anywhere else.

"What do you mean? This?" You quirk an eyebrow as you continue to stir in the little additives you'd put into the oatmeal: honey, sugar, and a pinch of salt. "It's oatmeal?" You explain, the confusion obvious in your tone as you hold the bowl up a bit, angling it for him to better see. As if the man has never seen oatmeal in his life; the thought would elicit a whirlwind of laughter from you any other time, or, more accurately, if it were any other person... but this was him. Makarov.

Vladimir Makarov: Thirty-six years old; born in Moscow Russia. Commander of Konni; the ultranationalistic private 'military contractor' group.

You'd done what research you could, found what information you had access to, some you didn't. Utilized what connections, resources, and favors were owed to you. Maybe some of them did it out of pity, out of guilt, or some other sense of failure on behalf of the SAS. Regardless, you'd set your plans into action, intent on making your promise to your late fiance come true. You will kill the man before you. It won't be today. No. After all, that'd be too soon, you have to earn his trust first. Only then, after he's comfortable, and settled, will you pursue your slow and agonizing torture.

"Христос," he curses, "she said you're poisoning her," he speaks slowly, a menacing quality to his tone as he unravels the crossed arms from his chest. Anger is evident in his irises as he stalks toward you with each step, eyebrows in a thick and harsh line. "I ask again-"

"The medication? Is that what you're talking about?" You ask. Feeling your own anger continuing to effervesce in your gut, you turn to face him on the stool, sliding from the counter. While he's still a couple feet away, you have to be more than a handful of feet shorter than him. Of that, you're sure. "Because from what I've deduced so far from being here, she bribed the last caretaker to not give her the medication on the agreement that she'd get more time off!"

He shifts his weight onto his left foot, eyes widening ever so imperceptibly, yet he remains quiet, so you continue. "They gave me her medication, told me to give it to her twice a day, so I'm doing that because she's been prescribed that medication. She clearly needs it, as per her doctor's orders. So unless you think the doctor isn't right, then, that's not my problem! I, however, am not surprised if she's telling you that since she obviously didn't even want me here in the first place."

Rounding the counter, you continue about your--at this point it could be considered daily--routine. Hand grasping your cool blue glass of water, you take a few sips while silently studying him. Despite having infiltrated his life and unknowingly (to him, ethically) disposed of his mother's last caretaker, you haven't officially met your late fiance's murderer till tonight.

KILLER

Slaughterer...! You destroyed him... You took him away from me. You're the reason he's gone. All the thoughts continue to run through your head rampantly, and you can't help but turn to face the wall opposite of him. Pretending to be busy with some of the drying dishes, you try to calm yourself. Acting on impulse and emotion will get you nowhere, you know this.

A heavy sigh permeates the silence that'd fallen between you, and there are the following taps of approaching dress shoes against hardwood floors. Quickly turning to make sure he neither invades your personal space nor dares to touch you, you're met with the visage of Makarov slumped at the counter, head in his hands.

You don't speak, you don't know what to say. Silence fills the space between you. Seeing him like this is weird considering all the stories you'd heard about him. Though you suppose even the most evil of men are still that... human. "How long have you worked as a caretaker?" He suddenly questions.

"A few years," you answer, swallowing the anxiety that starts to bubble up in your throat. "I started as a nurse and thought maybe I'd become a doctor, but it was... too much for me, and... not what I wanted to do. I discovered I liked helping people better as a nurse." It's not all lies, in fact, most of it is true. The only thing that meets your admission is silence, and that fact only raises the tension building within the cottage. Wincing at the rumbling outside, the sound does nothing to help the obvious discomfort you're experiencing finally facing him in person.

"And would you say you're good at your job?" He asks, eyes slightly narrowed in questioning as he slowly raises his head from his hands. The intensity of his dark brown eyes scream hostility and a hurt you can't immediately place your fingers on. Yet despite it all you refuse to waiver underneath his gaze.

"Yes. They wouldn't send me all the way out here otherwise. Not with a case like hers, Sir," you reply.

"Then what-" he tests, pronouncing each word clearly, "would you suggest I do?" He asks. There's a slight breathiness to his voice; with the thin windows, you can't help but feel as though the torrents of northern lake air through the meadow with its water.

Eyebrow raising in response, you're honestly shocked he'd ask such a thing. You're a complete stranger! A whirlwind of emotions go through you; excitement, bewilderment, shock, curiosity... you can't get ahead of yourself. With a sigh out, you shake your head. It may come across like disappointment to him, but really, it's to clear your head and collect yourself.

"Look... it's not something anyone wants to hear, bu-"

"Tell me!" He interrupts, demanding.

"But..." you emphasize, considering you were only putting up polite pretenses for show anyhow. "Really, family members do better when they're living with the family, even with caretakers to help. Whether you can't do it because you're busy or have other priorities, I understand."

"But at the end of the day, family members usually pass more quickly estranged like this on their own in a separate house because they feel lonely and like no one comes to visit. Maybe they have no one, or maybe they feel like they have nothing to live for anymore? She said you only visit her once or twice a year, if that... and while you write letters, that sometimes isn't enough for people, unfortunately. If you really want the truth."

Finished while your spiel, you shift your weight to the other foot as you place the finished oatmeal on the tray you reserve for his Mother. While, yes, you may despise him to the end's of the Earth... his Mother didn't do anything besides give birth to him. You accepted that the night you met her. Afraid to take another sip of your water, you stand in waiting, observant as Makarov seems to silently process everything you've said, his eyes shifting back and forth for a moment.

"I'll be back," he declares before sliding from the stool and rounding the corner into the small living space his Mother used to use more frequently. Shoulders sagging, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. Onto your nightly routine with dinner, you attempt to distract yourself from the continuous torment of thunderstorm outside, meanwhile inside you can hear urgent demands in Russian faintly from the next room. It's clear he's on the phone... but with who? His goons, of course... right? Who else? But to kill you? To background check you? Do you need to prepare to flee?

As you stir the pot of soup you've just put on the stove, you can feel yourself start to sweat and panic. In an attempt to switch gears, you finish her dinner. Oatmeal ready, medication on the tray, you grab the lemonade you two had made the day prior and pour a glass for her before getting a steady grip on the tray and taking it down the hall. With a gentle rap of your foot as best you can against the doorframe, you announce your presence.

"Привет, Как вы себя чувствуете?" You ask, knowing the word for 'hi' and having figured out early on with the help of technology to ask how she's feeling.

"лучше теперь, когда он здесь." She responds with a soft but tired smile. It's a good sign that she's sitting up and alert at this time of night too. You don't understand the first part of what she says as she's talking too fast and you also don't have your phone out to capture what she says into your real time translation app, however you can grasp the last part. 'He's here.'

Placing the tray down on her lap, you shake your head and signal behind you with a frown. A second attempt, pointing to her, you give her a thumbs up and a smiling face for a moment, and then do the opposite. With a thumbs down and a sad face, you try again. "как дела?"

With a wave of her hand, she shakes her head now with a chuckle. "хорошо," she responds, lifting the spoon. "мой Володя!"

Whipping your head around, you find him standing there leaning against the doorframe most likely having been observing the two of you. Hopefully not for long... or maybe not at all since she would've said something. "она так просто с тобой разговаривает?" He says to his Mother, walking up to the bed and into her outstretched arms for the hug she craves.

"она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски," she quietly answers, holding him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back before letting go. With a pat on the bed next to her, she looks between the two of you. "My baby," she struggles to pronounce the word, "Vladimir." A proud smile sits upon her lips for a moment as she gestures to him. He smiles at her, too, and you nod.

"Yes, да. I have met your son just briefly. But it is good to officially meet," you tell her, even if you know she doesn't understand all of it. Shifting your gaze, he meets it with animosity. "Vladimir," you repeat.

"My mother tells me you are," he repeats your name, to which you nod, "it's a pleasure to officially meet you. Now that you're both here, I have news."

"News?" The question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Yes, news. Since you're taking care of my mother, you technically work for me. What you said stuck with me. You're right-" he shifts his speaking from you to his mother. "I've been a bad son to you, Mama. ты собираешься жить со мной." Again, he shifts his focus back to you. "We have to pack. You will both live on my compound from now."

~~~~~~~~

acronyms|translations:

Христос = christ

Привет = hi

Как вы себя чувствуете = how are you feeling

лучше теперь, когда он здесь = better now that he's here.

как дела = how are you

хорошо = good / fine / ok

мой Володя = my voldoya (nickname for vladimir)

она так просто с тобой разговаривает = she speaks to you so simply

она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски = she does not speak very much Russian

да = yes

ты собираешься жить со мной = you're coming to live with me

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[cantorpike]

Dear Friend,

When I was a teenager, I told my dad I wanted to be an actor. In response, he gave me the only piece of advice he ever offered me—“Learn to play the accordion.” And he was serious. He said, “You can always make a living with an accordion.”

Because I ignored his advice, I never found out if he was right. Instead, I’ve lived 80 creative years pursuing acting and photography, and working as a director and poet.

If I had listened to my father, and hadn’t done any of those things, chances are you wouldn’t have recognized my name and you wouldn’t be reading this. Now that you are, I’d like to ask you to consider what I have to say. I reach out to you as someone who is troubled to see the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continue apparently without an end in sight.

In fact, there is an end in sight. It’s known as the two-state solution—a secure, democratic Israel as the Jewish State alongside an independent Palestinian state. Even Israel’s nationalist Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, has come to see this as the shape of the future. The problem is how to reach that end point. It’s something we should be concerned about—not only as world citizens, but as Americans.

You might recall the episode in the original Star Trek series called, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield.” Two men, half black, half white, are the last survivors of their peoples who have been at war with each other for thousands of years, yet the Enterprise crew could find no differences separating these two raging men.

But the antagonists were keenly aware of their differences—one man was white on the right side, the other was black on the right side. And they were prepared to battle to the death to defend the memory of their people who died from the atrocities committed by the other.

The story was a myth, of course, and by invoking it I don’t mean to belittle the very real issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians. What I do mean to suggest is that the time for recriminations is over. Assigning blame over all other priorities is self-defeating. Myth can be a snare. The two sides need our help to evade the snare and search for a way to compromise.

This is the message that Americans for Peace Now seeks to spread. I’m a strong supporter of APN and the work it does. It is a leading voice for Americans who support Israel and know that a negotiated peace will ensure Israel’s security, prosperity, and continued viability as a Jewish and democratic state.

The Middle East is only getting more tumultuous. The upheavals throughout the region show that what happens in the Middle East can’t help but affect us in the United States. This year, we’ve seen oil prices rise sharply and America become involved militarily in Libya. The cost to American lives and our economy continues to rise at a time when unemployment and deficits are sapping our country’s strength.

“If we can solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then that will make it easier for Arab states and the Gulf states to support us when it comes to issues like Iraq and Afghanistan. It will also weaken Iran, which has been using Hamas and Hezbollah as a way to stir up mischief in the region.”

Those are the words of candidate Barack Obama in 2008. And although they’re just as accurate today, time has not stood still.

We’ve also seen a marked increase in violence: a Jewish family was murdered in the West Bank and a woman was killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem. A rocket attack on southern Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip resulted in a school bus being hit and a teen died of his wounds. Israel, in turn, has retaliated. We need strong American leadership now to pivot from the zero-sum mentality of violence to an attitude that focuses on the parties shared interests: security and prosperity.

If you’ve learned something from this letter, I’ve succeeded in my preliminary task. Now I ask for your support to continue APN’s educational efforts in this country—to spread the message that there is a peace solution, and to let Congress and the White House know it’s preferable for America to be part of the solution than to be drawn into another conflict.

There is a sizable number of influential voices in Israel saying the same thing. In April, a group of 50 prominent Israelis, including the former heads of the Mossad (Israel’s CIA), the Shin Bet (its FBI), and the military, issued a call for two states for two nations. Their plan includes a Palestinian state alongside Israel with agreed-upon land swaps. The Palestinian-populated areas of Jerusalem would become the capital of Palestine; the Jewish-populated areas the capital of Israel.

These experts are not naïve. They know that even if the Palestinian pragmatists of Fatah reconcile with Hamas, there will be extremists who will try to sabotage any future peace deal. They know how to deal with violent extremists. These people were entrusted with Israel’s security and are saying that the work they did alone isn’t enough to bring Israel security. We cannot know yet what this unification of Hamas with Fatah means and we have to wait and see what emerges. Regardless, the principle of establishing two independent states, one Jewish and the other Palestinian, is still critical in this region for both Israel and the Palestinian people. That is the goal, to support the rational and moderate course.

Their action plan echoes the 348 senior Israeli reserve army officers and combat soldiers who came together in 1978 to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt. They formed Shalom Achshav, Israel’s Peace Now movement which APN provides nearly 50 percent of their funding.

Peace Now’s activities and programs—such as Settlement Watch, the ongoing monitoring of settlement construction on the West Bank—keeps peace on the world’s agenda. Peace Now gathers and publishes detailed information on settlements and is widely cited in Israeli and international media as the foremost authority on settlements. Peace Now is likewise well known for mobilizing demonstrations and organizing grassroots pro-peace activities. Innovations include an interactive online map of the settlements, “Facts on the Ground,” also available as an app for iPhone and iPad developed by APN applying Peace Now’s courageous work.

Like those Israelis who issued the peace plan, the members of Peace Now have their boots on the ground. They serve in Israel’s military reserves and see every day what life is like without a negotiated peace with the Palestinians.

That’s why I’m a supporter of APN and Peace Now.

I hope you’ll join me, and lend your voice to the influential and credible peace lobby that exists here as well as in Israel. Please give the tax-deductible contribution you can afford.

Dare I say it? It’s the logical thing to do.

Leonard Nimoy

5/11/2011

[calisources]

TAYLOR   JENKINS   REID   BOOK   QUOTES.   all   sentences   are   taken   from   various   of   taylor   jenkins   reid's   books.   mentions   of   sex,   marriage,cheating,   divorce,   soulmates   and   heartbreak.   change   names,   locations   and   pronouns   as   you   see   fit.

"People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth."

"When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy."

"I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else's muse. I am not a muse. I am the somebody."

"Never let anyone make you feel ordinary."

“Men often think they deserve a sticker for treating women like people.”

“Don't ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box. Don't do that.”

“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”

“It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.”

“Sometimes reality comes crashing down on you. Other times reality simply waits, patiently, for you to run out of the energy it takes to deny it.”

“Heartbreak is a loss. Divorce is a piece of paper.”

“I spent half my time loving her and the other half hiding how much I loved her.”

“I think you have to have faith in people before they earn it. Otherwise it's not faith, right?”

“When you're given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn't give things, you take things.”

“Passion is...it's fire. And fire is great, man. But we're made of water. Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive.”

“If she knew how often I was thinking about her, she wouldn't feel lonely.”

And my heart breaks for every single version of me that didn't end up with you.”

“No matter who you choose to go down the road with, you're gonna get hurt. That's just the nature of caring about someone. No matter who you love, they will break your heart along the way.”

“When you think of me, I hope it ruins rock 'n' roll”

“No one is just a victim or a victor. Everyone is somewhere in between.

“People are messy, and love can be ugly. I’m inclined to always err on the side of compassion.”

“Confidence is being okay being bad, not being okay being good.”

“How were you supposed to change- in ways both big and small- when your family was always there to remind you of exactly the person you apparently signed an ironclad contract to be?”

“You're all sorts of things you don't even know yet.”

“We love broken, beautiful people. And it doesn't get much more obviously broken and more classically beautiful than Daisy Jones.”

“We live in a world where exceptional women have to sit around waiting for mediocre men.”

“Just because something isn’t meant to last a lifetime doesn’t mean it wasn’t meant to be.”

“It hurts to care about someone more than they care about themselves.”

“Family is found...whether it be blood or circumstance or choice, what binds us does not matter. All that matters is that we are bound.”

“Nobody deserves anything,”

“It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?”

“Isn’t it nice … once you’ve outgrown the ideas of what life should be and you just enjoy what it is.”

“Our family histories are simply stories. They are myths we create about the people who came before us, in order to make sense of ourselves.”

“I am absolutely positive that I need you more than I’ve ever needed another living soul,”

“If there are all different types of soul mates, then you are one of mine.”

“And taking pride in your beauty is a damning act. 

“Must be nice. To be able to be weak. I wouldn’t know.”

Better just to stay in the now and focus on what you can do better in the future.”

“Forgiveness is different from absolution.”

“There’s no room for you in my life anymore. And I don’t owe it to you to make any space.”

“That's what you do when you want something. You don't look for reasons why it won't work. You look for reasons why it will.”

“It's the ones who never loved you enough that come to you when you can't sleep. 

“Just because you can live without someone doesn’t mean you want to.”

“History is what you did, not what you almost did, not what you thought about doing. And I was proud of what I did”

“Alcoholism is a disease with many faces, and some of them look beautiful.”

I used to care when men called me difficult. I really did. Then I stopped. This way is better.”

“The truth often lies, unclaimed, in the middle.”

“I guess what I’m saying is it’s not all luck. It’s luck and being a son of a bitch.”

“But a good life is knowing people care about you, knowing you can take care of the people that count on you.”

“There was finally enough air within her for a fire to ignite.”

“Everything that made Daisy burn, made me burn. Everything I loved about the world, Daisy loved about the world. Everything I struggled with, Daisy struggled with. We were two halves. We were the same.”

“Love and pride don't mix.”

“I’m cynical and I’m bossy, and most people would consider me vaguely immoral.”

“When you find that rare person who really knows who you are and they still don't love you... I was burning.”

“Fate or not, our lives are still the results of our choices.”

“I have changed over time. That’s what people do.People aren’t stagnant. We evolve in reaction to our pleasures and our pains.”

“We are two people who are madly in love with our old selves. And that is not the same as being in love.”

“It’s a hard business, reconciling what the truth used to be with what the truth is now.”

But she was always the person I loved the most. She was always the person I would choose.

Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive. My family was my water. I picked water. I'll pick water every time. And I wanted Daisy to find her water. Because I couldn't be it

“My heart hurts when you hurt because you are my heart.”

“You don’t need to find the perfect thing all the time. Just find one that works, and go with it.”

“You can only forgive yourself for the mistakes you made in the past once you know you’ll never make them again.”

“I'm not perfect. I'll never be perfect. I don't expect anything to be perfect. But things don't have to be perfect to be strong. 

“We loved each other and we lost each other. And now, even though we still love each other, the pieces don’t fit like they used to.”

“What's that saying? Behind every gorgeous woman, there's a man sick of screwing her? Well, it works both ways. No one mentions that part.”

“The Chosen ones never know they are chosen. They think everyone gets a gold carpet rolled out for them.”

“Your whole world can be falling apart, she thought, but then Springsteen will start playing on the radio.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,”

“...if you redeem yourself, then believe in your own redemption.”

“I want to be with someone who lives for me. I want to be with someone who considers me the love of her life. I deserve that.”

“No one goes around throwing caution to the wind unless the wind is blowing their way.”

“You are happier to have known him than you are sad to have lost him.”

“Love is forgiveness and patience and faith and every once in a while, it’s a gut punch.”

“It seems as if you see me exactly as I wish to be seen. There is no greater gift than that.”

“I've seen a lot of marriages where everyone is faithful and no one is happy.”

[jasminedragonart]

I don't want to get EXCITED excited yet but one of my favourite book series from when i was a kid is getting its own tv show/ maybe movie.

It's early days and it's not a renowned film company that's took it but I will still sign up to watch it when it comes out.

That being said I am now going to gush about this book series because this literally shaped my childhood.

I don't know what people's experience with young adult horror is but Darren Shan's Demonata series reshaped everything for me.

I remember being young, in secondary school (year 7 I think) and being invited to those free book fairs that they sometimes have. For some reason Wolf Island, the ninth book in the series was on the table. Now, I have always been interested in werewolves and vampires and everything supernatural, I literally spent all of my year nine years reading twilight on my morning and lunch breaks because it was twilight and that was the hype back then. So, naturally, when I saw that cover of a werewolf with a half man half wolf face I had to pick it up.

I read it in like a week, and it was... confusing. But I liked it. I really liked it.

Then I found out it was the ninth book in a series and I had that lightbulb moment that this was the reason I didn't understand half of what was going on. I set about buying the rest of the books and reading them.

My first read around I skipped the second and fourth books in the series. In my opinion even now when I go to read the series I always skip them because I'm more interested in Grub's story than I am theirs. That being said when I did read the second and fourth books I did enjoy them, they were fun and I thought that if they were maybe just like extras instead of actually joining into the main plot I would have probably read them after I finished reading the others and not avoided them the first read around.

Now, onto the good stuff.

So I, as an adult, have been putting off rereading the Demonata series because they are for younger readers and I was afraid they wouldn't hold up. This is slightly true and it's making me wary of reading the vampire series (which I also read as a child but didn't enjoy as much as this one.) My main issues with these books are how they're written. Darren Shan has a very interesting writing style that often feels like it's third person even if it's told from a first person perspective. His sentence structure is short and snappy and oftentimes will be the odd word that works in some parts but not in others.

It's not bad. But it does sometimes bother me when I'm reading. Again, this is because I'm older and reading this. For kids, this is great. It works and it makes the books easy to read. I literally finished the first and third book in like a day because of this.

Another gripe I have is that after the fifth book the series kind of goes down hill. It's fine. But, like the vampire series I don't think Darren Shan had a definitive end for these series and ended up cobbling something together to maybe satisfy whatever time frame he had been given to write these books in.

But, again, it's a fine series and the first, third and fifth books are amazing.

I don't want to get too into it because I don't want to spoil anything if you do want to go and read it. All I will say is that it is an extremely interesting take on the werewolf myth. Also, magic and demons and, it's so good and I'm very excited.

Also, if they even end up making another Cirque Du Freak movie I think that would be cool too. I did see the one they made but I think it would have worked better as a series than a movie. Too much happens to whittle it down to an hour and a half and also Darren is like 12.

But the Demonata series could easily be movies and I... if they made Slawter a movie I would actually scream from the meta take of it all.

[a-random-person-on-the-interent]

CALLING ALL PEOPLE WHO DISLIKE THE LOST CITIES AND THINK THEY'RE SHIT

we need to make like a discord or something to talk about it, or like write essays which I think I'm planning on doing, because the lost cities is shit, I feel very strongly about this as a disabled person, and you might ask why would me being disabled have anything to do with it, EUGENICS and the Talentless and even how disabled people are treated by the narrative. Because didn't Keefe descripe feeling talentless people as being hollow and not quite complete, WHICH IS WHAT DISABLED PEOPLE (or at least people with Autism like myself) HAVE BEEN CALLED FOR YEARS. I really want a charcter to have been born with a disability (ADHD, ASD, EDS, down syndrome, Dyslexia, dysgraphia, ect) or for the series to recognize that being talentless is having a disability or even the series to recongize mental health conditions (PTSD, BPD, Depression Schizoprenia, delusions) like Sophie has all the symptoms for PTSD, and one could argue she's dyslexic with her not being able to read runes. Also back to the eugenics talk, eugenics in history have been useally used on disabled people, like myself. There are no LGBTQ characters which can be fine, I'd like some but it's not a big problem expect... EUGENICS. the elves soiciety is based on Eugenics meaning that if someone was gay or lesbian or aroace, they probably would be scorned if not it being banned to be gay or lesbian. What about trans people? well the lost cities seem to function on that they are perfect the way they're born, and if one is not born perfect (Like the talentless) you are socially exiled. The susicde rates must be massive there, but I doubt anyone will talk about them because they'll be shamed.

Let's not even get into Exile cause that is just Touture, and I'm not kidding solitary confine meant is torture, fintans cell tourture, I'm not saying it isn't effective cause it is. but the elves claim to be morally superior to humans than do that. Memory breaks would also count as tourture as you are breaking someones mind till they are practically dead. And we saw how that effected Aladin. What about the white room tourture they had Vesperia be in for centuries. there politcal system is fucked too, Cause a friendship is just as important as a romantic relationship so if they wanted them to be completey unbiased the councliers shouldn't be allowed to have friends or family, and that doesn't stop the heart from from falling in love with someone and giving them special treatment.

I think anyone with half a brain could tell you that feeding carniverous animals strickly vegan diet is bad, so let's move on to the education system and I'm 90% sure that elves are just lying about how much they helped humans, like I'm 100% sure that Mr. Forkle only thinks he inspired Loki, cause if you know any myths about him you'd know they are not similar at all well maybe aside from the shapeshifting like didn't at one point they say they helped them discover electicity, like eceletricity was ORGINALLY discovered in 600 BCE they at that time were probbaly still living among humans, like I'm sorry but you guys probbaly didn't help with anything and might've actually prolonged the process because you thought you knew better. and y'know what they probbaly haven't even gotten to the center of the earth yet which is 2,9000 KM down, but back to education, it's so heavily bias, that all the other speices that aren't elves are like what the fuck is this, this isn't how it happened, so my best guess is that it's full of misinformation. Y'know what I should make a skit of, "If I was in the lost cities"

[dingodad]

trolls sleep in sopor slime to help with nightmares, but the text is not really explicit about the meaning or origin of these nightmares so i guess it makes sense that there is some confusion about their nature. but the way i see it there are two main ways of looking at it.

a) the "terrible visions of blood and carnage that plague the dark subconscious of [trolls]" do not occur through some supernatural means. they are just the natural result of trolls being forced to take part in a baby arena as soon as they are born and then being subjected to unrelenting retraumatisation throughout their whole lives. this has always been the answer i have found the most compelling, and though i think it is perhaps the answer that is the least beholden to homestuck's themes, i don't necessarily think it is mutually exclusive with any of the other answers, particularly on a symbolic level.

b) the "terrible visions of blood and carnage" are "because of" something. generally this answer is related to the idea that was popular some years ago (but whose origin i do not really understand) that "trolls being violent is a myth" or "doc scratch (supernaturally) made the trolls violent", and itself has two main arguments.

first and by far the most popular is the horrorterror explanation. this has some merit as a widely held belief because it is fundamentally based on stuff that is in the text. we know - or can at the very least surmise - that horrorterrors are the source of nightmares, and that although they are not strictly malevolent their messages tend to be frightening thanks to their 1) forms which are hard for a mortal mind to comprehend (i would not strictly call this a 'vision of blood and carnage') and 2) ongoing slaughter at the hands of lord english (which i would consider to be such). we also know doc scratch provided alternia with its own personal emissary to the horrorterrors as part of his own design, and gl'bgolyb was known to provide feferi with cautions about trollkind's oncoming extinction, in a way which would seem to mirror the noble circle's own warnings. gl'bgolyb needs to fed to keep her voice at a whisper, because anything louder than a whisper results in widespread psychic death; it makes sense, to an extent, that a much more subdued version of this glub might result in horrifying nightmares.

but i am not convinced this is the main reason trolls suffer nightmares in their sleep, for two key reasons. first is karkat's reaction to the nightmares he experiences after his dream self dies, causing him to bump up against the horrorterrors for the first time:

KARKAT: THE BOTTOM LINE IS, EVERYONE HERE IS FORBIDDEN FROM GOING TO SLEEP. [...] KARKAT: YES, AS YOUR LEADER, I AM ORDERING ALL PROSPIT DREAMERS TO STAY AWAKE, NO MATTER HOW TIRED YOU GET.

what is markedly lacking, here, is any sense of recognition or callback from karkat. though there is a logic to assuming this new onset of nightmares is related to the nightmares experienced by trolls back on their home planet, karkat never draws the connection, instead speaking as if these nightmares are actually news to the trolls and not something they are already familiar with. and there is a key reason for this: at least half of the trolls, including karkat, have some kind of natural buffer between themselves and the horrorterrors, that being that they dream on prospit, with proximity to skaia, rather than derse in proximity to the void. and feferi's negotiation of more stable dream bubbles becomes yet another buffer between dreamers and nightmares, even for the dead; so having nightmares caused by the horrorterrors is something that happens under very particular circumstances, and these circumstances do not seem widespread enough to justify a whole race sleeping in slime to stem them.

the second reason i veer away from the horrorterror explanation is related to the second supernatural source these dark visions may stem from, which is the one hussie himself seems to endorse thanks to its appearance in the text:

For the subjugglators in their small numbers to keep such a large population under their control, it would be very useful to have the ability to psychically amplify fears through dreams. They may have directed their chucklevoodoos on every susceptible mind in the population. Each lowblood may have a little highblood voodoo doll lurking in their subconscious, making them too terrified to organize any sort of rebellion.

this commentary is from 2011, so it's close enough to the time the text was written that I can be pretty confident it was authorial intent; and it's also something we know for sure can cause nightmares even among prospit's dreamers. a fear of jesters psychically debilitated john for years, even where he was safe from the horrorterrors. it makes perfect sense that a bath of soothing slime might assuage the urge to crawl out of bed and deface your room with the visage of your deepest fears.

but i think this option does raise a really interesting question that perhaps opens up a third way of looking at why the recuperacoon exists... presumably it's the same alternian authority that both forces trolls to sleep with clown-related nightmares, and then makes them sleep in the same drugged cocoons that dim these nightmares. the alternian machine is seemingly both causing and solving its own problem to net zero effect. why?

we need to dispense, for a second, with the idea that trolls sleep in cocoons because slime helps them with their nightmares, and look at the more obvious justification. trolls sleep in cocoons because a cocoon is the troll version of a bed. beds are where humans go to sleep/die (in the case of a Quest Bed - but in homestuck, dying and going to sleep are symbolically the same act), receive spiritual knowledge in the realm of sleep/death, and then wake up enlightened. and for an insect, the cocoon performs the exact same function of death and rebirth.

so my theory is that the slime's purpose isn't really to help trolls feel better about their nightmares at all. i think its very purpose is to cut off the connection between the sleeping troll and the dreaming world entirely, suppressing their spiritual enlightenment. it's a buffer between trolls and the horrorterrors just like prospit is - not because the horrorterrors are somehow psychically detrimental, but precisely because they are the enemies of lord english. in the same way a lick of the trickster lollipop obscures the meat of reality with a veneer of reality, the soporific - i.e. drugged - slime obscures the frightening truth which horrorterrors represent. no doubt the chucklevoodoo puppets in every trolls' dreams are real, but they're just pretense; scare trolls away from their own dreams enough to make them reliant on the slime that will ensure they never dream any deeper.

this relates to the "computer beds" idea i reference regularly on my theory blog, but without going into too much detail: i think recuperacoons have slime in them because they're supposed to visually evoke the computers trolls use, which are also cocoon-like and filled with slime; which, in turn, is supposed to evoke jade harley's computer bed, which created a buffer between her waking self and her dreaming self in the form of the dreambot.

[hello-nichya-here]

What's your favourite godly parent/demigods child relationship? Except Percy and Poseidon cause that's too easy. What dynamic do you find the most interesting?

I love Percy and Poseidon's dynamic (especially because it led to Sally's brain going blue screen when her ex randomly showed up at her house one day to eat a birthday cake with their baby boy), but it is actually my second favorite.

Hades and Nico is my number 1 pick because it is MESSY. Like, Hades was totally in love with Nico and Bianca's mom and wanted to protect her and their babies. Then after her death, and him assuring they're hidden and safe he just... never sees his kids again, even though no one else knows they exist and thus at least checking on them wouldn't be too dangerous.

Then they're found and taken to camp half-blood, Bianca goes on a mission and dies - and Nico moves in with his dad. His dad that gives lots of cool things and awesome powers (and leading to bizarre chapter name/plot that was "Nico Buys Happy Meals For The Dead")... yet that casually says something as horrible as "I wish your sister had been the one to survive, by the way."

Yet despite this, Nico is the one who manages to talk Hades into helping the other gods win the war. BUT Hades is annoyed his son is interested in a descendent of Poseidon who just also happens to be the hero that made his life mission to annoy as many greek (and roman) gods as possible. And Nico literally admits to himself that he is constantly fighting the urge to just kick his dad in the balls and run.

And, finally, there's the scene in the catacombs. It's my favorite scene in the book, in that particular saga, and one of my favorites in everything Riordan ever wrote.

Hades just drops the act and cuts through the bullshit to give his son non-cryptic advice/answers and finally opens up a bit, full on saying that most of his kids don't have happy lives and that he wants Nico to be an exception because he cares, and Nico finds comfort in the thought that one day he'll die and be fully under his father's rule...

...And there's also the silly part of them talking about Hades's decoration choices, and both thinking "Is this dude serious or is he fucking with me?" and it ends with Hades seemingly happy about the things his son has in common with him.

Hades just goes from "Dad of the year" to "Neglectful/absent father" to "Completely awful parent that deserves to be bitch-slapped" and then back to awesome so fucking fast, is crazy, and I love every second of it. Plus, they're two of my favorite characters in the story, and Hades is my favorite god (and I mean it both in the books and in the actual myths) so I'm extremelly biased,

[robotsdeservebetter]

Накипело и терпеть я больше не хочу.

Rewriting Kidnapping of Persephone into a romantic/melodramatic story with consensual love is one of the most disgusting and disrespectful things I’ve seen.

I’ve been there too. You and I live in modern world and in modern world edgelords, goths, emos, etc have been trendy for a while. Liking them is cool. Hades, the god of the dead, is close to those things and he has a cool dog, so liking him will make you “not like other mythology fans” (we ended up being the same, what an irony). Despite that, we, idiots, wish for romantic love and project that on Hades. Who’s he with canonically? Persephone? She MUST be so happy to have him uwu 🥰

Do you not understand that if today life gives you extra kicks for being a woman, then 2000 years ago it was ultimately worse? How low must you think of victims of kidnappings, if you see actual fcking love in that? How little must you think of family bonds that you put it below yet another abusive romance? Why are willing to sacrifice a mother character in favour of a kidnapper?

It’s a love story, but not about a romantic one. Demeter, a woman in Ancient Greece, managed to stand up to the Zues, king of gods, and his older brother, and return Persephone at least half of her freedom. Yes, freedom, not a demand to be near mommy, they are that kind of parent and child who love each other. A funny gig about marriage between kidnapper and kidnapped: the latter might never see her family again, she now belongs to the groom and it’s Antient times so guess which “might” is more likely to happen.

Zeus GAVE Persephone to Hades. Like a trophy. A lot of people desire to justify Hades (the dude never even was an outcast, you just Americanised him into a high school antisocial goth. I don’t see that much people making up same stories about Poseidon, who spends most of his time in the sea — his domain. Underworld is Hades’ domain, he’s not unhappy nor judged by other gods, ok? And trust me, an immortal being wouldn’t give a sh*t about us fearing and railing death) and overlook harmful antiquities. Whether the number is small or big, the fact they exist is terrifying.

That myth was above its time and, as we can see, above out time as well. Stories like Lore Olympus and Punderworld, that claim to be feminist rewriting, belittle, demonise Demeter, the only person who truly cares about Persephone’s well-being.

A feminist rewriting demonises a woman who left everything and everyone to save a woman from a kidnapper. If you don’t understand this whole concept is dumb sh*t, I’m not gonna explain why.

Kidnapping of Persephone, much like Hunters of Arthemis, was told to soothe and encourage women, let them know that despite being lower than men, they still have each other, they still can protect each other. Kidnapping of Persephone is a love story, love between mother and daughter. Please, don’t try convincing people it needs to be rewritten, it’s perfect as it is.

And for all what’s holy, don’t demonise Demeter, the exact person who truly loved Persephone, who saved Persephone, who wished her happiness.