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pronounsrus · 3 years ago

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Plant/Flower theme

Warning: yet another long one

herd/spice pronouns here

Aga/Agave/Agaves/Agave's/Agaveself

Alchem/Alchemilla/Alchemillas/Alchemilla's/Alchemillaself

Alo/Aloe/Aloes/Aloe's/Aloeself

Aca/Acacia/Acacias/Acacia's/Acaciaself

As/Aster/Asters/Aster's/Asterself

Beg/Begonia/Begonias/Begonia's/Begoniaself

Bell/Bella/Belladonnas/Belladonna's/Belladonnaself

Bell/Bellflower/Bellflowers/Bellflower's/Bellfowerself

Blu/Bluebell/Bluebells/Bluebell's/Bluebellself

Bam/Bamboo/Bamboos/Bamboo's/Bambooself

Bam/Bamb/Bambs/Bamb's/Bambself

Butter/Buttercup/Buttercups/Buttercup's/Buttercupself

Bud/Bud/Buds/Bud's/Budself

Camel/Camelia/Camelias/Camelia's/Cameliaself

Cro/Crop/Crops/Crop's/Cropself

Cy/Cypress/Cypress'/Cypress's/Cypressself

Cy/Cyprus/Cyprus'/Cyprus's/Cyprusself

Cact/Cactus/Cacti/Cactus's/Cactiself/Cactusself

Car/Carnation/Carnations/Carnation's/Canationself

Chry/Chrys/Chrysanthemums/Chrysanthemum's/Chrysanthemumself

Clo/Clover/Clovers/Clover's/Cloverself/Cloveself

Co/Cone/Coneflowers/Coneflower's/Coneflowerself/Coneself

Di/Dio/Dionaeas/Dionaea's/Dionaeaself

Dan/Dandie/Dandelions/Dandelion's/Dandelionself

Dal/Dahlia/Dahlias/Dahlia's/Dahliaself

Da/Daisy/Daisys/Daisy's/Daisyself

Daph/Daphne/Daphnes/Daphne's/Daphneself

Des/Desert/Desert roses/Desert rose's/Desert roseself/Desertself/Roseself

Dia/Dianella/Dianellas/Dianella's/Dianellaself

Die/Dietes/Dietes'/Dietes'/Dietesself

Euch/Eucharis/Eaucharis'/Eaucharis's/Eaucharisself

Flo/Flora/Floras/Flora's/Floraself

Flo/Flower/Flowers/Flower's/Flowerself

Fleu/Fleur/Fleurs/Fleur's/Fleurself

Fle/Fleur/Fleur-de-lis/Fleur-de-lis'/Fleur-de-lis'/Fleur-de-lisself

Fox/Foxglove/Foxgloves/Foxglove's/Foxgloveself/Gloveself/Foxself

Fus/Fuschia/Fuschias/Fuschia's/Fuschiaself

Fun/Fungi/Fungus/Fungi's/Fungiself/Fungusself

Gar/Garden/Gardens/Garden's/Gardenself

Gar/Garden/Gardenias/Gardenia's/Gardeniaself

Gol/Golden/Goldenrods/Goldenrod's/Goldenrodself/Goldenself

Hed/Hedera/Hederas/Hedera's/Hederaself

He/Hebe/Hebes/Hebe's/Hebeself

Hel/Helio/Heliotropes/Heliotrope's/Heliotropeself

Hea/Heath/Heathers/Heather's/Heatherself

Hyd/Hydrangea/Hydrangeas/Hydrangea's/Hydrangeaself

Hibi/Hibiscus/Hibiscus'/Hibiscus's/Hibiscusself

Hol/Holly/Hollys/Holly's/Hollyself

Hol/Holly/Hollyhocks/Hollyhock's/Hollyhockself

Hon/Honest/Honestys/Honesty's/Honestyself/Honestself

Hon/Honey/Honeysuckles/Honeysuckle's/Honeysuckleself/Honeyself

Ir/Iris/Iris'/Iris's/Irisself

Iv/Ivy/Ivys/Ivy's/Ivyself

Jas/Jasmine/Jasminums/Jasminum's/Jasminumself/Jasmineself

Jac/Jacobs/Jacobs latters/Jacobs latter's/Jacobs latterself/Jacobself/Latterself

Kala/Kalanchoe/Kalanchoes/Kalanchoe's/Kalanchoeself

Lav/Lavander/Lavanders/Lavander's/Lavenderself

La/Lace/Laces/Lace's/Laceself

Lea/Leaf/Leafs/Leaf's/Leafself

Li/Lilac/Lilacs/Lilac's/Lilacself

Lil/Lily/Lilys/Lily's/Lilyself

Lil/Lily/Lily pads/Lily pad's/Lily padself

Lad/Lady/Ladys mantles/Ladys mantel's/Ladys mantelself/Ladyself/Mantleself

Lo/Lotus/Lotus'/Lotus'/Lotusself

Lun/Luna/Lunarias/Lunaria's/Lunariaself

Lu/Lupin/Lupins/Lupin's/Lupinself

Mag/Magnolia/Magnolias/Magnolia's/Magnoliaself

Mal/Mallow/Mallows/Mallow's/Mallowself

Myr/Myrtle/Myrtus/Myrtle's/Myrtusself/Myrtleself

May/Maple/Maples/Maple's/Mapleself

May/Mayflower/Mayflowers/Mayflower's/Mayflowerself/Mayself

Mari/Marigold/Marigolds/Marigold's/Marigoldself

Mush/Mushroom/Mushrooms/Mushroom's/Mushroomself/Shroomself/

Net/Nettle/Nettles/Nettle's/Nettleself

Nep/Nepet/Nepetas/Nepeta's/Nepetaself

Nym/Nymph/Nympheas/Nymphea's/Nymphiaself/Nymphself

Orc/ Orchid/Orchids/Orchid's/Orchidself

Pan/Pansy/Pansys/Pansy's/Pansyself

Pla/Plant/Plants/Plant's/Plantself

Plo/Plume/Plumes/Plume's/Plumeself

Peo/Peony/Peonys/Peony's/Peonyself

Pet/Petune/Petunias/Petunia's/Petuniaself

Pet/Petal/Petals/Petal's/Petalself

Prim/Primrose/Primroses/Primrose's/Primroseself

Pho/Phoenix/Phoenix plants/Phoenix plant's/Phoenix plantself/Phoenixself

Po/Poppy/Poppys/Poppy's/Poppyself

Po/Poppy/Poppy seeds/Poppy seed's/Poppy seedself

Poin/Pointset/Pointsettias/Pointsettia's/Pointsettiaself

Pow/Powder/Powder puffs/Powder puff's/Powder puffself/Powderself/Puffself

Que/Queen/Queens/Queen's/Queenself

Quin/Quince/Quinces/Quince's/Quinceself

Rai/Rain/Rain lilys/Rain lily's/Rain lilyself/Rainself/Lilyself

Ro/Rock/Rock roses/Rock rose's/Rock roseself/Rockself/Roseself

Ro/Rosa/Rosas/Rosa's/Rosaself

Ro/Rose/Roses/Rose's/Roseself

Snap/Snapdragon/Snapdragons/Snapdragon's/Snapdragonself/Snapself/Dragonself

Sti/Stick/Sticks/Stick's/Stickself

Snow/Snowdrop/Snowdrops/Snowdrop's/Snowdropself/Snowself/Dropself

Snow/Snowflake/Snowflakes/Snowflake's/Snowflakeself/Flakeself

Sun/Sundrop/Sundrops/Sundrop's/Sundropself

Sun/Sunflower/Sunflowers/Sunflower's/Sunflowerself

Sweet/Sweet pea/Sweet peas/Sweet pea's/Sweet peaself/Sweetself/Peaself

Shroo/Shroom/Shrooms/Shroom's/Shroomself

See/Seed/Seeds/Seed's/Seedself

See/Seed/Seedlings/Seedling's/Seedlingself

Sap/Sap/Saps/Sap's/Sapself

Sap/Sapling/Saplings/Sapling's/Saplingself

Tre/Tree/Trees/Tree's/Treeself

Twi/Twig/Twigs/Twig's/Twigself

Tu/Tulip/Tulips/Tulip's/Tulipself

Vio/Viola/Violas/Viola's/Violaself

Vio/Viola/Violets/Violet's/Violetself

Wall/Wallflower/Wallflowers/Wallflower's/Wallflowerself

Wat/Water/Waterlily/Waterlilys/Waterlily's/Waterlilyself/Waterself

Whe/Wheat/Wheats/Wheat's/Wheatself

Win/Winter/Winterberrys/Winterberry's/Winterberryself/Winterself/Berryself

Wist/Wisteria/Wisterias/Wisteria's/Wisteriaself

Yar/Yarrow/Yarrows/Yarrow's/Yarrowself

Zin/Zinni/Zinnias/Zinnia's/Zinniaself

💐/💐/💐s/💐's/💐self

🌸/🌸/🌸s/🌸's/🌸self

🌺/🌺/🌺s/🌺's/🌺self

🌷/🌷/🌷s/🌷's/🌷self

🏵/🏵/🏵s/🏵's/🏵self

💮/💮/💮s/💮's/💮self

🌹/🌹/🌹s/🌹's/🌹self

🥀/🥀/🥀s/🥀's/🥀self

🌻/🌻/🌻s/🌻's/🌻self

🌼/🌼/🌼s/🌼's/🌼self

🌱/🌱/🌱s/🌱's/🌱self

🌴/🌴/🌴s/🌴's/🌴self

🌲/🌲/🌲s/🌲's/🌲self

🌳/🌳/🌳s/🌳's/🌳self

🌵/🌵/🌵s/🌵's/🌵self

🌾/🌾/🌾s/🌾's/🌾self

🌿/🌿/🌿s/🌿's/🌿self

☘️/☘️/☘️s/☘️'s/☘️self

🍀/🍀/🍀s/🍀's/🍀self

🍃/🍃/🍃s/🍃's/🍃self

🍂/🍂/🍂s/🍂's/🍂self

🍁/🍁/🍁s/🍁's/🍁self

🍄/🍄/🍄s/🍄's/🍄self

🏵️/🏵️/🏵️s/🏵️'s/🏵️self

🌰/🌰/🌰s/🌰's/🌰self

⚜️/⚜️/⚜️s/⚜️'s/⚜️self

🎍/🎍/🎍s/🎍's/🎍self

🪷/🪷/🪷s/🪷's/🪷self

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 16: Mini Elvis

The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed." "You knew it was a trap," Percy hissed. Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV." Taking the shield from Percy I shoved it at him. "You're a jerk." Annabeth and Grover caught their breath. Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back. "See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas." The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS. Percy said, "You're kidding." Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job." He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuff Oreos. Percy said, "I don't want your lousy—" "Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving him his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot." I could see Percy gritting his teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I also didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, he swung the bag over his shoulder. I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us. Great, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAWS BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER. "You owe us one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep my voice level. "You promised me information about our parents." "You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "They're not dead." The ground seemed to spin beneath me. "What do you mean?" "I mean Percy's mom was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept. As for yours, I saw them myself. Upstairs with the big guys. Why do you think you're causing one of the biggest uproar up there? They're refusing to tell who your parent is. No matter how much cut." He smirked. "What...?" Percy and the others must've seen something as they all held me back. "What are they doing to them?" I could feel the ground shake as Percy's grip on me tighten. We'll save them... calm down. Not the hero. Us. So calm down. "Calm down Y/N." Percy whispered. The ground stopped shaking and took a deep breath. "I will make you all kneel." I said. He looked at me confusedly. Then he shrug it off then laughed, "Oh yeah? can't wait, kid." Percy gripped my shoulder. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues." Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. I felt a hot wind in my hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your back." He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street. Annabeth said, "That was not smart, Percy." "I don't care." "You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not that god." "Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but ..." He pointed toward the diner. At the register, the last two customers were paying their check, two men in identical black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. "If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need to hurry." I didn't like it, but we had no better option. Besides, I'd seen enough of Denver. We ran across the street and climbed in the back of the big rig, closing the doors behind us. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like the world's biggest pan of kitty litter. The trailer was dark inside until Percy uncapped Riptide. The blade cast a faint bronze light over a very sad scene. Sitting in a row of filthy metal cages were three of the most pathetic zoo animals I'd ever beheld: a zebra, a male albino lion, and some weird antelope thing I didn't know the name for. Someone had thrown the lion a sack of turnips, which he obviously didn't want to eat. The zebra and the antelope had each gotten a Styrofoam tray of hamburger meat. The zebra's mane was matted with chewing gum, like somebody had been spitting on it in their spare time. The antelope had a stupid silver birthday balloon tied to one of his horns that read OVER THE HILL! Apparently, nobody had wanted to get close enough to the lion to mess with him, but the poor thing was pacing around on soiled blankets, in a space way too small for him, panting from the stuffy heat of the trailer. He had flies buzzing around his pink eyes and his ribs showed through his white fur. "This is kindness?" Grover yelled. "Humane zoo transport?" He probably would've gone right back outside to beat up the truckers with his reed pipes, and we would've helped him, but just then the trucks engine roared to life, the trailer started shaking, and we were forced to sit down or fall down. We huddled in the corner on some mildewed feed sacks, trying to ignore the smell and the heat and the flies. Grover talked to the animals in a series of goat bleats, but they just stared at him sadly. Annabeth was in favor of breaking the cages and freeing them on the spot, but I pointed out it wouldn't do much good until the truck stopped moving. Besides, I had a feeling we might look a lot better to the lion than those turnips. I found a water jug and refilled their bowls, then Percy used Riptide to drag the mismatched food out of their cages. He gave the meat to the lion and the turnips to the zebra and the antelope. Grover calmed the antelope down, while I used my knife to cut the balloon off his horn. Annabeth wanted to cut the gum out of the zebra's mane, too, but we decided that would be too risky with the truck bumping around. We told Grover to promise the animals we'd help them more in the morning, then we settled in for night. Grover curled up on a turnip sack; Annabeth opened our bag of Double Stuff Oreos and nibbled on one halfheartedly; I tried to cheer myself up by concentrating on the fact that we were halfway to Los Angeles. Halfway to our destination. It was only June fourteenth. The solstice wasn't until the twenty-first. We could make it in plenty of time. On the other hand, I had no idea what to expect next. The gods kept toying with me. At least Hephaestus had the decency to be honest about it—he'd put up cameras and advertised me as entertainment. But even when the cameras weren't rolling, I had a feeling my quest was being watched. I was a source of amusement for the gods. And it wasn't helping knowing they're hurting my parents. Here I was risking my life for them and what are they doing? "Hey," Percy cooed, "We'll save them. No matter what. I promised you that." "Okay." Percy pulled me closer until I was resting on him. Annabeth cleared her throat. "Hey, sorry I wasn't much help back at the park... I could've helped getting you guys out... It's just..." She shuddered. "Spiders." "Because of the Arachne story," I guessed. "She got turned into a spider for challenging your mom to a weaving contest, right?" She nodded. "Arachne's children have been taking revenge on the children of Athena ever since. If there's a spider within a mile of me, it'll find me. I hate the creepy little things." "We're a team, remember?" Percy said. "Besides, Grover did the fancy flying. All we did was grab the shield." I thought he was asleep, but he mumbled from the corner, "I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?" Annabeth, Percy and I laughed. She pulled apart an Oreo, handed me and Percy a half each. "In the Iris message... did Luke really say nothing?" I munched my cookie and thought about how to answer. The conversation via rainbow had bothered me all evening. "Luke said you and he go way back. He also said Grover wouldn't fail this time. Nobody would turn into a pine tree." Percy answered. In the dim bronze light of the sword blade, it was hard to read their expressions. Grover let out a mournful bray. "I should've told you the truth from the beginning." His voice trembled. "I thought if you knew what a failure I was, you wouldn't want me along." "You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus." He nodded glumly. "And the other two half-bloods Thalia befriended, the ones who got safely to camp..." Percy looked at Annabeth. "That was you and Luke, wasn't it?" She put down her Oreo, uneaten. "Like you said, Percy, a seven-year-old half-blood wouldn't have made it very far alone. Athena guided me toward help. Thalia was twelve. Luke was fourteen. They'd both run away from home, like me. They were happy to take me with them. They were... amazing monster-fighters, even without training. We traveled north from Virginia without any real plans, fending off monsters for about two weeks before Grover found us." "I was supposed to escort Thalia to camp," he said, sniffling. "Only Thalia. I had strict orders from Chiron: don't do anything that would slow down the rescue. We knew Hades was after her, see, but I couldn't just leave Luke and Annabeth by themselves. I thought... I thought I could lead all three of them to safety. It was my fault the Kindly Ones caught up with us. I froze. I got scared on the way back to camp and took some wrong turns. If I'd just been a little quicker..." "Stop it," Annabeth said. "No one blames you. Thalia didn't blame you either." "She sacrificed herself to save us," he said miserably, "Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so." "Because you wouldn't leave two other half-bloods behind?" Percy said. "That's not fair." "Percy's right," Annabeth said. "I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you, Grover. Neither would Luke. We don't care what the council says." Grover kept sniffling in the dark. "It's just my luck. I'm the lamest satyr ever, and I find the two most powerful half-bloods of the century, Thalia and Percy." "You're not lame," Annabeth insisted. "You've got more courage than any satyr I've ever met. Name one other who would dare go to the Underworld. I bet Percy is really glad you're here right now." She kicked me in the shin. "Yeah," I said, which I would've done even without the kick. "It's not luck that you found Thalia and Percy, Grover. You've got the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You're a natural searcher. That's why you'll be the one who finds Pan. I mean, you found me despite my scentlessness... is that a word?" Percy muffled a laugh. I heard a deep, satisfied sigh. I waited for Grover to say something, but his breathing only got heavier. When the sound turned to snoring, I realized he'd fallen sleep. "How does he do that?" I marveled. "I don't know," Annabeth said. "But that was really a nice thing you told him." "I meant it." We rode in silence for a few miles, bumping around on the feed sacks. The zebra munched a turnip. The lion licked the last of the hamburger meat off his lips and looked at me hopefully. Percy didn't take long to fall asleep. Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts. "That pine-tree bead," I said. "Is that from your first year?" She looked. She hadn't realized what she was doing. "Yeah," she said. "Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year's beads. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress—now that was a weird summer...." "And the college ring is your father's?" "That's none of your—" She stopped herself. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." "You don't have to tell me." "No... it's okay." She took a shaky breath. "My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was, like, his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn't have gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her.... That's a long story. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have it. He apologized for being a jerk, said he loved me and missed me. He wanted me to come home and live with him." "That doesn't sound so bad." "Yeah, well... the problem was, I believed him. I tried to go home for that school year, but my stepmom was the same as ever. She didn't want her kids put in danger by living with a freak. Monsters attacked. We argued. Monsters attacked. We argued. I didn't even make it through winter break. I called Chiron and came right back to Camp Half-Blood." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Please. I'm not into self-inflicted pain." "You shouldn't give up," I told her. "You should write him a letter or something." "Thanks for the advice," she said coldly, "but my father's made his choice about who he wants to live with." We passed another few miles of silence. "Luke actually told me about you two coming to camp already." "Really?" She looked at me amazed. "You two must've gotten close fast." "Well, I don't know. I feel like I had to talk to Luke. Like I had to be there for him. The same with Percy." We have to be there for both "You're not wrong. I'm not sure how I'd be without your help." Percy yawned. "Yeah, I wouldn't have been able to handle him." Annabeth glared at him. I laughed, "I think you two are cute." Both of them blushed and said some excuse to disprove me. Which then turned into them showing off who's better than who. "If I'm dating anyone it'll be Y/N!" Both of them huffed and glared at each other. I shook my head and smiled. At least I've gotten new friends out of this. "So," Percy trailed off. "If the gods fight," he said, "will things line up the way they did with the Trojan War? Will it be Athena versus Poseidon?" Annabeth put her head against the backpack Ares had given us, and closed her eyes. "I don't know what my mom will do. I just know I'll fight next to you." "Why?" "Because Y/N will and whether I like it or not you're my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?" "That's all Mr. Peabody." "Shut up, Droopy." I felt her rest on my shoulder and she fell asleep. "Am I that comfortable?" "Yeah," Percy laughed as he rested on my lap. I had trouble following their example, with Grover snoring and an albino lion staring hungrily at me, but eventually I closed my eyes. ~~~ I woke with a start. I was second one awake. Grover was talking to the antelope. "Morning?" "Everyone had the Y/N privilege except me?" "You fell asleep first." I stroked both Annabeth and Percy's hair, which unfortunately woke up Annabeth. "Sorry about that." "It's fine." She yawned. She brought out some Oreo and handed me one. Until the truck stopped. "They're checking the animals aren't they?" Annabeth froze. I shook Percy's shoulder. "The truck's stopped," I said. "We think they're coming to check on the animals." "Hide!" Annabeth hissed. She had it easy. She just put on her magic cap and disappeared. Grover, Percy and I had to dive behind feed sacks and hope we looked like turnips. The trailer doors creaked open. Sunlight and heat poured in. "Man!" one of the truckers said, waving his hand in front of his ugly nose. "I wish I hauled appliances." He climbed inside and poured some water from a jug into the animals' dishes. "You hot, big boy?" he asked the lion, then splashed the rest of the bucket right in the lion's face. The lion roared in indignation. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," the man said. Next to me, under the turnip sacks, Grover tensed. For a peace-loving herbivore, he looked downright murderous. The trucker threw the antelope a squashed-looking Happy Meal bag. He smirked at the zebra. "How ya doin', Stripes? Least we'll be getting rid of you this stop. You like magic shows? You're gonna love this one. They're gonna saw you in half!" The zebra, wild-eyed with fear, looked straight at us. There was a loud knock, knock, knock on the side of the trailer. The trucker inside with us yelled, "What do you want, Eddie?" A voice outside—it must've been Eddie's—shouted back, "Maurice? What'd ya say?" "What are you banging for?" Knock, knock, knock. Outside, Eddie yelled, "What banging?" Our guy Maurice rolled his eyes and went back outside, cursing at Eddie for being an idiot. A second later, Annabeth appeared next to me. She must've done the banging to get Maurice out of the trailer. She said, "This transport business can't be legal." "No kidding," Grover said. He paused, as if listening. "The lion says these guys are animal smugglers!" "We've got to free them!" Grover said. He and Annabeth both looked at Percy, waiting for his say. "Percy, open the lock." I snapped at his face. Outside, Eddie and Maurice were still yelling at each other, but I knew they'd be coming inside to torment the animals again any minute. He grabbed Riptide and slashed the lock off the zebra's cage. The zebra burst out. It turned to Percy and bowed. Grover held up his hands and said something to the zebra in goat talk, like a blessing. Just as Maurice was poking his head back inside to check out the noise, the zebra leaped over him and into the street. There was yelling and screaming and cars honking. We rushed to the doors of the trailer in time to see the zebra galloping down a wide boulevard lined with hotels and casinos and neon signs. We'd just released a zebra in Las Vegas. Maurice and Eddie ran after it, with a few policemen running after them, shouting, "Hey! You need a permit for that!" "Now would be a good time to leave," Annabeth said. "The other animals first," Grover said. I cut the locks with my knife which wasn't as easy as what Percy had done. Grover raised his hands and spoke the same goat-blessing he'd used for the zebra. "Good luck," I told the animals. The antelope and the lion burst out of their cages and went off together into the streets. Some tourists screamed. Most just backed off and took pictures, probably thinking it was some kind of stunt by one of the casinos. "Will the animals be okay?" I asked Grover. "I mean, the desert and all—" "Don't worry," he said. "I placed a satyr's sanctuary on them." "Meaning?" "Meaning they'll reach the wild safely," he said. "They'll find water, food, shade, whatever they need until they find a safe place to live." "Why can't you place a blessing like that on us?" I asked. "It only works on wild animals." "So it would only affect Percy," Annabeth reasoned. "Hey!" He protested. "Kidding," she said. "Come on. Let's get out of this filthy truck." We stumbled out into the desert afternoon. It was a hundred and ten degrees, easy, and we must've looked like deep-fried vagrants, but everybody was too interested in the wild animals to pay us much attention. We passed the Monte Carlo and the MGM. We passed pyramids, a pirate ship, and the Statue of Liberty, which was a pretty small replica, but still made me homesick. I wasn't sure what we were looking for. Maybe just a place to get out of the heat for a few minutes, find a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, make a new plan for getting west. We must have taken a wrong turn, because we found ourselves at a dead end, standing in front of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and blinking. No one was going in or out, but the glittering chrome doors were open, spilling out air-conditioning that smelled like flowers—lotus blossom, maybe. I'd never smelled one, so I wasn't sure. The doorman smiled at us. "Hey, kids. You look tired. You want to come in and sit down?" I'd learned to be suspicious, the last week or so. I figured anybody might be a monster or a god. But my knife wasn't glowing so... I figured. Besides, I was so relieved to hear somebody who sounded sympathetic that I nodded and said we'd love to come in. Inside, we took one look around, and Grover said, "Whoa." The whole lobby was a giant game room. And I'm not talking about cheesy old Pac-Man games or slot machines. There was an indoor waterslide snaking around the glass elevator, which went straight up at least forty floors. There was a climbing wall on the side of one building, and an indoor bungee-jumping bridge. There were virtual-reality suits with working laser guns. And hundreds of video games, each one the size of a widescreen TV. Basically, you name it, this place had it. There were a few other kids playing, but not that many. No waiting for any of the games. There were waitresses and snack bars all around, serving every kind of food you can imagine. "Hey!" a bellhop said. At least I guessed he was a bellhop. He wore a white-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with lotus designs, shorts, and flip-flops. "Welcome to the Lotus Casino. Here's your room key." I stammered, "Um, but..." "No, no," he said, laughing. "The bill's taken care of. No extra charges, no tips. Just go on up to the top floor, loom 4001. If you need anything, like extra bubbles for the hot tub, or skeet targets for the shooting range, or whatever, just call the front desk. Here are your Lotus Cash cards. They work in the restaurants and on all the games and rides." He handed us each a green plastic credit card. I knew there must be some mistake. Obviously he thought we were some millionaire's kids. But I took the card and said, "How much is on here?" His eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" "I mean, when does it run out of cash?" He laughed. "Oh, you're making a joke. Hey, that's cool. Enjoy your stay." We took the elevator upstairs and checked out our room. It was a suite with three separate bedrooms and a bar stocked with candy, sodas, and chips. A hotline to room service. Fluffy towels and water beds with feather pillows. A big-screen television with satellite and high-speed Internet. The balcony had its own hot tub, and sure enough, there was a skeet-shooting machine and a shotgun, so you could launch clay pigeons right out over the Las Vegas skyline and plug them with your gun. I didn't see how that could be legal, but I thought it was pretty cool. The view over the Strip and the desert was amazing, though I doubted we'd ever find time to look at the view with a room like this. "Oh, goodness," Annabeth said. "This place is ..." "Sweet," Grover said. "Absolutely sweet." There were clothes in the closet, and they fit me. I frowned, thinking that this was a little strange. I took a shower, which felt awesome after a week of grimy travel. I changed clothes, ate a bag of chips, drank three Cokes, and came out feeling better than I had in a long time. Search and find them Huh? Look for them and warn them I came out of the bedroom and found that Annabeth, Percy and Grover had also showered and changed clothes. Grover was eating potato chips to his heart's content, Percy looked like he was having a headache, while Annabeth cranked up the National Geographic Channel. "Percy you okay?" "Yeah it's just.... All those stations," he told Annabeth, "and she turn on National Geographic." "It's interesting." "I feel good," Grover said. "I love this place." Without his even realizing it, the wings sprouted out of his shoes and lifted him a foot off the ground, then back down again. "So what now?" Annabeth asked. "Sleep?" Percy and I looked at each other and grinned. We both held up our green plastic Lotus Cash cards. "Play time," I said. I couldn't remember the last time I had so much fun. I came from a relatively poor family. Our idea of a splurge was eating out at Burger King and renting a video. A five-star Vegas hotel? Forget it. I spent most of my time playing and... looking for someone I think. I bungee-jumped the lobby five or six times, snowboarded the artificial ski slope, and played virtual-reality laser tag and FBI sharpshooter. I saw Grover a few times, going from game to game. He really liked the reverse hunter thing—where the deer go out and shoot the rednecks. I saw Annabeth playing trivia games and other brainiac stuff. They had this huge 3-D sim game where you build your own city, and you could actually see the holographic buildings rise on the display board. I didn't think much of it, but Annabeth loved it. Percy was playing with Grover. I'm not sure when I first realized something was wrong. Probably, it was when I noticed the guy standing next to me at VR sharpshooters. He was about thirteen, I guess, but his clothes were weird. I thought he was some Elvis impersonator's son. He wore bell-bottom jeans and a red T-shirt with black piping, and his hair was permed and gelled like a New Jersey girl's on homecoming night. When he saw me he gave a smirk and invited me to play a game of sharpshooters together and he said, "Groovy, man. Been here two weeks, and the games keep getting better and better." Groovy? Later, while we were talking, I said something was "sick," and he looked at me kind of startled, as if he'd never heard the word used that way before. He said his name was Darrin, but as soon as I started asking him questions he got bored with me and started to go back to the computer screen. I said, "Hey, Darrin?" "What?" "What year is it?" He frowned at me. "In the game?" "No. In real life." He had to think about it. "1977." "No," I said, getting a little scared. "Really." "Hey, man. Bad vibes. I got a game happening." After that he totally ignored me. I started talking to people, and I found it wasn't easy. They were glued to the TV screen, or the video game, or their food, or whatever. I found a guy who told me it was 1985. Another guy told me it was 1993. They all claimed they hadn't been in here very long, a few days, a few weeks at most. They didn't really know and they didn't care. Then it occurred to me: how long had I been here? It seemed like only a couple of hours, but was it? I then tried to move, but I bumped into a girl. "I'm sorry!" She said. "Hey, no prob." "Oh... uhm... No prob?" "I--- No problem. Say Uh... I kinda lost track of date. What's the year again?" "Huh? It's 1930. Okay, I'm sorry I have to go. I'm looking for someone." Everyone is important in our story "Did you say something?" I go by Y/N L/N, you'll find the one you're looking for at the zombie shooting game. I left her alone and confused. I didn't know why. But I knew now this place is wrong. I tried to remember why we were here. We were going to Los Angeles. We were supposed to find the entrance to the Underworld. My parents... for a scary second, I had trouble remembering their names. I had to save them. I found Percy first. "There's something wrong." We said at the same time. "Years?" He asked. I nodded. We then looked for the others. We found Annabeth still building her city. "Come on," Percy told her. "We've got to get out of here." No response. I shook her. "Annabeth?" She looked up, annoyed. "What? "We need to leave." "Leave? What are you talking about? I've just got the towers—" "This place is a trap." She didn't respond until I shook her again. "What?" "Listen. The Underworld. Our quest!" "Oh, come on, Percy. Just a few more minutes." "Annabeth, there are people here from 1977. Kids who have never aged. You check in, and you stay forever." "So?" she asked. "Can you imagine a better place?" I grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the game. "Hey!" She screamed and hit me, but nobody else even bothered looking at us. They were too busy. I made her look directly in my eyes. I said, "Spiders. Large, hairy spiders." That jarred her. Her vision cleared. "Oh my gods," she said. "How long have we—" "I don't know, but we've got to find Grover." We went searching, and found him still playing Virtual Deer Hunter. "Grover!" we both shouted. He said, "Die, human! Die, silly polluting nasty person!" "Grover!" He turned the plastic gun on me and started clicking, as if I were just another image from the screen. I looked at Percy, and together we took Grover by the arms and dragged him away. His flying shoes sprang to life and started tugging his legs in the other direction as he shouted, "No! I just got to a new level! No!" The Lotus bellhop hurried up to us. "Well, now, are you ready for your platinum cards?" "We're leaving," I told him. "Such a shame," he said, and I got the feeling that he really meant it, that we'd be breaking his heart if we went. "We just added an entire new floor full of games for platinum-card members." He held out the cards, and I wanted one. I knew that if I took one, I'd never leave. I'd stay here, happy forever, playing games forever, and soon I'd forget my parents, and our quest, and maybe even my own name. I'd be playing virtual rifleman with groovy Disco Darrin forever. Grover reached for the card, but Annabeth yanked back his arm and said, "No, thanks." We walked toward the door, and as we did, the smell of the food and the sounds of the games seemed to get more and more inviting. I thought about our room upstairs. We could just stay the night, sleep in a real bed for once.... Then we burst through the doors of the Lotus Casino and ran down the sidewalk. It felt like afternoon, about the same time of day we'd gone into the casino, but something was wrong. The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert. I ran to the nearest newspaper stand and read the year first. Thank the gods, it was the same year it had been when we went in. Then I noticed the date: June twentieth. We had been in the Lotus Casino for five days. We had only one day left until the summer solstice. One day to complete our quest.

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #Lightning thief #Book 1 #Chapter 16 #Fanfiction #Fanfictions

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aroaessidhe · 3 years ago

Photo

link & full entry in pinned post!

Rovan

dark hair with a natural blue tint

sapphire blue gown with plenty of material, very thin, draping in gossamer folds from gold leather pins at the tops of her bare arms to the floor, and belted tightly across her breasts and down around her waist and hips with a twining strophion in cloth of gold. hair piled atop her head with a heap of red poppies and coiled with thin gold chain, which matches the spiraling gold cuffs around her upper arms and wrists.

mentioned that she’s larger and has more body fat than crisea

black silk dress, twined in a blood red strophion dripping with strands of rubies. ruby-studded net catches up her blue gleaming hair, all draped in black and red poppies.

covered in unfamiliar red sigils all over her skin, and face, on palm and down fingers “one sigil streaks my cheek below my left eye, a half circle like a bowl, with three lines of varying lengths dropping from it like red tears”

simple white shift. abnormally pale skin, sigils standing out. bright red eyes. lips are fuller and redder

black hooded tunic, (skyllean style), long but not too long to tangle up her legs. limbs twined in black cloth to cover her skin. two half moon blades strapped to her hips.

Silvean

gold eyes, blue hair (magicked to look brown)

marks on his skin all the way up his neck

walks with a limp, has a cane

richly embroidered green himation covering his arms and head. silver streaked blue hair peeking out from the hood

Japha

late 20s, slightly lighter skin than general tumarq. bloodline patterns their warm brown arms. taller than rovan, flat chested and slim limbed under a deep purple, green and silver chiton that falls to the floor, artfully woven with peacocks. short cropped hair is near black, kohl lines their dark eyes. perfect wreath of angular twigs and iridescent green feathers crowns their head,

bejeweled fingers

floor length peplos of bright orange woven with red and white poppies, the same orange painting the lids of their eyes along with a dark line of kohl. they’ve belted their garment with a leather pteryges, like a male warrior would wear over a shorter chiton.

dark teal strophion meant to define the female figure, crisscrossing over a copper breastplate shaped for a man, with a long wine-coloured chiton underneath. a crown of teal flowers slowly blooms and refolds over and over atop their hair

berry-coloured peplos woven with peach coloured birds, gilt-tinted sword belt at their waist with a dagger in a gold sheath studded in jewels. crown of multicoloured rose blossoms

deep indigo peplos twined in russet leather straps almost like an armoured stropion, more kohl on their eyes than usual.

bright orange peplos patterned in blooming white lilies.

Ivrilos

black hair falls in curls to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears by a dull silver circlet. beardless except for a shadow of stubble on his pale skin

early 20s

strange knee-length chiton in all black, layered with a breastplate, sword belt, and skirt of featherlike strips (pteryges) in black leather. bracers of the same material with silver studs adorn his forearms, studded black leather greaves his legs, and black sandals his feet.

his eyes are no color i can detect, like his pupils have swallowed his iris

wears a long black robe, embroidered in ghostly silver thread along the collar and sleeves, though his black sword still cinches his trim waist. two half moon blades hand on either hip.

black tunic, shorter and simpler than usual, no bracers or swords.

Kineas

hair like glinting pewter, skin tanned and lightly freckled from the sun, silver grey eyes, broad shoulders and muscular build, gold sheathed sword at his hip

white shroud and crown of black roses with tiny skulls at the center of each

extravagant blue himation, golden laurel wreath

Lydea

hair like a raven’s wing, pale skin, countless blood-red symbols tracing the lines of a lithe body barely concealed under white gossamer.

real-looking raven’s wings and thorny branches wrought in silver crown her black hair. a stole of black feathers lines her shoulders, from which falls a dress made of silver links, woven loosely enough that you can get a glimpse of the bloodline below

black hair falls in a long braid over her shoulder,a few pieces sticking out in disarray. midnight blue robe. red lips.

wine coloured peplos embroidered with a maze of intricate black lines and tied with a silver strophion.

Delphia

a mass of curly white hair, with a light blue sheen, pure silver eyes, sweet smile

beautiful cerulean gown in a skyllean style,

King Tyros

gold embroidered deep blue tunic drops heavily around his legs, gold laurel crown glints in his salt and pepper hair.

Penelope

practical, short, finely woven chiton

long dark braid tossed over one shoulder, showing signs of greying, sun-bronzed light skin

Crisea

hair almost black, warm brown skin

thin and muscular

lavender peplos

--more characters & also some of the author’s commissioned art are in the database.

#in the ravenous dark #a.m. strickland #am strickland #char desc database #typing this up reminded me I wanna do fanart....

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littlesparklight · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have any thought about Hera's and Hermes relationship origin? I imagine she wasn't happy about the news of infidelity, nevertheless she allowed him to grow on Olympus. Maybe he impressed her too?

Hmm, I honestly don’t think Hera “allowed” anything at all for him initially coming to Olympus as a baby.

See, Hermes states his intent to his mother in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes; the whole escapade with Apollo’s cows is meant to prove him (and his mother) worthy and skilled for a life on Olympus (as another anon called that incident “political”). He’d undoubtedly be a powerful god either way, but this is a very specific move which shows skill and ambition, and by all accounts, is what gives him admittance and greater influence at the Olympian court, netting himself official position(s).

(If I may side-track here a bit to make my point; if Leto had (still, or at all, depending on how you look at the myths) been married to Zeus when she gave birth to the twins, they wouldn’t have had to prove themselves (the muses, for example, don’t need to - of course this is for a lack of myths to show or say anything different, but we’re working with what we have here, and what it implies). Now that they aren’t, they do have to do so, even if they can absolutely pop by Olympus any time they want before this (both Artemis and Apollo do that, when they’re still small). Hence the altar building of all the horns of animals Artemis has hunted, and Apollo killing Python (... which he unfortunately also needs to be exiled and cleansed for, but you know).

I personally conjecture that the fact that it took the twins longer isn’t because they couldn’t have done something very impressive early on (I mean, in some cases Apollo kills Python when he’s either just a couple days or a couple years old), but rather because Leto wanted to have her children to herself, as children, outside of Olympus political sphere, for a bit. We have to remember, aside from all the drama, Olympus is a literal royal court, and that comes with a lot of extra shit.)

So, back to Hermes and Hera; I don’t see why his little cow-stealing escapade might not have amused her greatly, since it inconvenienced Apollo, Zeus’ golden son, which undoubtedly helped soften her towards Hermes when he came to stay. Also, like, he’s a clever, sneaky little shit, and I don’t doubt Hera saw something of herself in that (to her dismay), even if she’s a better liar than he is, so that on top of his giant puppy dog eyes and baby face probably helped a lot when he was little. Too, that he wasn’t around all the time, because Maia would surely want her baby with her some of the time, and she’s not going to go live on Olympus; she likes her solitary life, and I imagine even her sisters have to basically invade her every now and then to get her to spend time with them.

Hermes was probably smart enough, even as a child, to know how much to push with Hera, which made her more tolerant, even if she always favoured Iris over him for sending messages and whatnot.

#asks #greek myth thoughts #hermes #hera #maia

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stormcrawler75 · 4 years ago

Note

oh my gosh!! you've got such an amazing bingo board!!! ok, i'm gonna toss you four squares all with one character - if you'd like, you can count this one ask across multiple fics, or try to double up tropes in one fic, or disregard some of the prompts altogether, whatever works best for you! but i would 100% love to see how you write virgil with 1, healing pod malfunction, 2, came back wrong, 3, truth potion/serum, or 4, i know you're in there somewhere fight?

Warnings: Major Character Death, Necromancy, death.

Characters: Roman Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders with Mentions of Patton and Logan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you! How could you do this, Remus!? How?!”

Remus rolled his eyes, accepting a tray from his personal servant. He ignored how his servant kept his eyes on the ground with a pale shaky look to him. “Hey, is it really my fault that Necromancy is super easy to figure out? Janus and I figured it out in less than a month.” He turned and grinned at his older brother, looking uncomfortable and out of place in Remus’ bed chambers. “Get that grumpy look off your face! Look, we fixed everything!”

“Fix-” Roman stormed forward, waving his arms wildly, “Necromancy is banned, Remus! If you weren’t a Prince then you and Janus would be thrown into the dungeon and V-” Roman cut himself off with a pained grimace. “...The person you brought back would be granted a mercy kill. The Nobles Families are already pushing for that to happen and I... I...”

Remus gripped the tray with his and his consorts’ dinner on it tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Finish that fucking sentence,” he hissed, glaring at Roman. “Finish it. I fucking dare you.”

There was a long tense silence where nothing happened except the two brothers staring at each other, one glaring defensively and the other with a pleading look in his eyes. The silence was broken with a low groan from the other occupant of the room. Remus fixed a smile to his face and brushed past Roman, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey, Sleepyhead. Glad to see you awake!”

Virgil’s eyes slowly opened, his unnatural purple eyes having a tired glaze to them. While his body had been restored exactly to how it had been before his death - no decay and the gaping hole in his stomach gone like it had never been there in the first place - there were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in months. Which he had, of course. He had barely done anything but sleep. “Remus,” he whispered. His voice was so soft and quiet that Remus could barely pick up on it. “Where’s Lo? And Pat? They were just here.”

Remus heard Roman’s breath hitch at the mention of Virgil’s long dead older brothers but didn’t react besides gently smoothing down Virgil’s bangs. “That was just a dream, Stormcloud. Hey, why don’t we have dinner? I got your favourite. Remember the chef’s special pie? I got a whole slice just for you.”

“It tastes like ash,” Virgil whispered. He stared at Remus with eyes that looked devoid of life. “Everything tastes like ash.”

“It’s just a little side effect, Stormy. Janus said that’d your tastebuds would come back soon, I promise,” Remus vowed, taking Virgil’s shaking hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. He grinned over his shoulder at Roman, ignoring that pale sheen to his brother’s face. “See?! He’s back and as good as new!”

Virgil’s slowly turned to look at Roman, a thin and pained smile spreading across his face. “My King? You did survive. I, I told Logan and Patton I saved you and I did.” he reached out to Roman, the King immediately taking it in his own.

Roman knelt by Virgil’s bed, pressing Virgil’s hand to his cheek. “You did save me,” he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. “You did and I’m so proud of you. You were the best of my King’s guard. I wrote of your accomplishes and,” his voice trembled and Roman took a shaky breath, “and my people sing songs of your bravery. Virgil the Brave, they call you.”

“The Brave,” Virgil whispered back. His smile widened but it looked wrong, like butter spread over too thinly over bread. “I like that. Patton told me, he told me when he died to be brave.” He blinked in confusion when Roman’s tears started trailing down his cheeks. “My K-King? What’s wrong? Did I, did I upset you?”

Roman laughed wetly and shook his head. “No, no my friend. You didn’t upset me. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You look so tired.” He cupped Virgil’s cheek, looking over him and asked softly, “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“I’m tired,” Virgil whispered. He rubbed at his eyes and whispered out, “I’m just so tired.”

“Then perhaps we should leave you to rest, my Dearest.”

Remus and Roman turned to the doorway where Janus, the Court’s Wizard, stood. The scales spreading across his face glittered in the light of the setting light, giving him an otherworldly look. “It’s been a long day for you,” Janus hummed, walking forward and tucking the blankets up to Virgil’s chin. “You had a walk in the gardens in the morning and then you and I read some books. It’s been a productive day.”

Virgil blinked at him slowly and took his hand. “Okay,” he whispered softly. He looked up at Janus and asked softly, “Do you think I’ll see Patton and Logan again in my dreams?”

“I’m sure you will,” Janus hummed, gently kissing Virgil’s cheek. He took Remus’ hand and pulled him up. “You have a good rest, Dearest. We’ll be joining you in just a few minutes after we say goodbye to the King.” He turned and looked at Roman, arching an eyebrow at the tears dripping of Roman’s chin. “My King? Shall we?”

Roman’s jaw trembled and he croaked out, “This isn’t right. This isn’t right, Remus. Janus, you are the Court’s Wizard and you know that this isn’t right. Look at him,” he cried, waving a hand at a confused Virgil. “Is this what you wanted?! He was at rest, who are you to-” He cut himself off as a cold wind blew through the air, blowing off the candles and oil lamp.

Janus stood up straight, glaring at his King with bright golden eyes. “I am his Husband, that’s who I am,” he hissed, his voice echoing with power. “It wasn’t his time, I know this. If it wasn’t for you, then we’d never have to do this in the first place. If you hadn’t needed Virgil to jump in front of you and get-” he cut himself off and looked away, his face softening slightly as he stared at Virgil. “Leave,” he said softly, the power disappearing from his voice. “My Dearests and I will be having a private dinner tonight.”

There was a long, tense silence that was only broken by Virgil whispering, “Why can’t King Roman stay? Patton and Logan are going to be staying.”

“No, Dearest,” Janus said, smiling at him gently with a sad look in his eyes. “No, they won’t be. And the King has things to do. Perhaps tomorrow.” He glanced back at Roman, narrowing his eyes at the still crying King. “King Roman... you’re busy, aren’t you?”

“...Yes,” Roman whispered. He smiled at Virgil sadly, not bothering to wipe away the tears. “I’ll visit with you tomorrow, my friend.” He left with tears still rolling down his face. He closed the door behind him, just as he let out a sob.

How could Remus have done this?

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@remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen

@fandoms-winkitywonk

@therubyjailcell

@angels-and-dreams

@europa-bear

@pumpkinminette

@viva-la-pluto-dam-you

@ravens-rambling

@felicianoromano

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@felicianoromano

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@chemically-imbalanced-romance

@just-another-rainbowblog

@asymmetricalgarbage8888

@imtooaromaticforthis

@ambersky0319

@th3okamid3mon

@atomicljamm92

@lovebug5151

@shadowsfromthesun

@justpicturesofsam

@fuck-perfection-be-a-mess

@dragonsworn05

@entitydark

@sparkedawg

@luckybanana948

@holliberries

@hell-or-high-waters

@paint-in-flames

@purplepatton

@opaque-puppet

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@tired-fanboy

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@the-psycho-pie

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@pastelpatton

@agoddamnrayofsunshine

@ps-reblogs

@tacohippy56900

@anxious-fander-bean

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@moonfang03

@that-random-fandom-girl

@cricks-loves-you

@teacupfulofstarshine

@hetaisawesome

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@flix-net

@sos-fandoms

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@never-end1ng-suffering

@all-bridges-will-burn

@theresneverenoughfandoms

#Storm Writes #tw death #necromancy #Virgil Sanders #Remus Sanders #Roman Sanders #Janus Sanders #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Anonymous

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intelligentdumbass · 4 years ago

Text

The Obligatory Beach Episode

(Yeah this is more crack-ish)

———————

The sun shone bright and high on the afternoon sky as the crystal waves crashed into the sand.

Poseidon and Zeus were surfing; the god of the sea trying to use all sorts of subtle tricks to make his brother fail every time. Ares, Artemis, Athena and Hermes were having a good ole round of beach volley ball. Apollo was laying down, wearing shades of course, and chatting with Persephone and Aphrodite while they built a sand castle on top of him. Dionysus and Hephaestus were drinking wine under the shade, with Hades not too far off; trying to make sure he doesn’t get any sand stuck in between his toes. In the meantime, the barbeque was under the care of all three of Kronos’ daughters, along with some other snacks while they shared each other’s stories. Some of the minor gods were here too, like Hebe cheering on her siblings in the volley ball game and Iris walking around with a drink in her hand.

As you can see, things were surprisingly peaceful, well, at least for now.

It just so happened that eventually Zeus was sick of his brother’s bullshit and decided to try to find something else to do that would hopefully be more advantageous for him fair for the both of them. When they got back on land, the god’s eyes shifted towards the volleyball resting on the sand. It seems that his kids were on a break.

“Okay, how about we have… a volleyball game?”

“Just us? Ehhhh, how about we add some more? Maybe… two each?”

“Oh, gladly. Apollo! Athena!”

He got a single, unanimous response. “NO.”

“…I’ll give both of you a day off each?”

“…”

“A week off-”

And just like that, they were now standing beside him on one side of the volleyball court. (Ignore the complaints of Persephone about her damaged sand castle and Hermes’ faint grumbles of wanting that week off too.)

Now it was Poseidon’s turn, but before he even spoke, Artemis and Ares eagerly volunteered.

Hermes’ frown turned into a curious grin. “Oh-” “Ohhhh… Oh, this is gonna be fun.” He disappeared for a minute before coming back with a camera around his neck. Hestia, on the other hand, was already trying to convince all the mortals in the beach to evacuate and go home early. In other words, most of them were anticipating the worse, but how bad could it possibly be?

Well, only one way to find out. Time to spin the wheel and roll the dice.

Before anything else though, Athena got Zeus and Poseidon to swear on the river Styx not to use their elemental prowess during the game.

The first round started out fine. Zeus served, and Poseidon managed to send it back, which was then countered by Athena, then Ares, then Athena again, then Artemis, then Apollo… It was actually kinda fun to watch with how fast the ball was moving. It ended with a point going to Poseidon’s side, with the ball also hitting Apollo’s leg, causing him to trip.

“Oops, my bad.” Artemis apologized, without much remorse, while going to get the ball.

The god glared and got up, dusting the sand off. Later, in the second round, Apollo did a spike that definitely wasn’t supposed to be an act of revenge that somehow hit Ares square in the chest instead, making him fall back-first on the sand.

“Oh shit-” “That wasn’t on purpose I swear-” He stopped when the war god sent the ball hurling right back at him, but luckily he moved out of the way at the last second. Unfortunately, that meant that the ball ended up wrecking the barbeque.

Before anyone else could react, Hera grabbed it and spiked it back, hitting Zeus on the head so hard he actually ended up falling on the net, breaking it. “ACH-” “HEY! Why me? What did I do?!”

“Well shit.” Athena glanced at her father. “I suppose that ends the game.”

“Wait, I have an idea…” Poseidon picked up the volleyball. “Let’s play something else instead.”

“That is..?”

“Well… Anyone up for some dodge ball!?” He threw it at Athena, who just side-stepped out of the way, causing it to hit Hermes on the face and crush the camera he was holding.

“Hermes!” Apollo immediately rushed over, one of the few times he genuinely sounded concerned in this entire mess, and scooped him up to go where Dio and Heph are while the messenger whined about all the lost footage.

Meanwhile, Zeus had already stood up, holding the ball. “Oh if it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get!” He launched it towards Ares, who summoned his shield at just the right moment, making the ball bounce off, and it would’ve hit an unsuspecting Apollo if Artemis hadn’t pulled out her bow. Instead, her golden arrow had unintentionally guided the ball to create a giant crater in what was supposed to be Persephone’s newly fixed sand castle.

“OH, COME ON!”

Aphrodite patted her on the back as Hephaestus walked over to offer his help in rebuilding it, again.

Demeter frowned and sighed. “Okay, that’s enough please!-” “Ah!” Someone had thrown the volleyball, hitting her left hand and landing on a plate of spaghetti. She looked at the direction of where it came from, glaring at Hades, but the god of the underworld looked just as shocked as she was.

“Wha-” “Hey look, I know what it looks like and why you might think that I did it but I did NOT-” He got cut off by a wave of sand and a few stray drops of tomato sauce and pasta getting into both his robes and his hair. Demeter didn’t throw it, she kicked it over. The god looked horrified as there was a faint echo of laughter and glared back at the grain goddess.

Persephone felt bad because she saw that it was Eris who did it this time, but even she had to suppress a small giggle. “You know, literal centuries have passed. When will you two ever make up? Or, no maybe not that but at least, like, leave each other alone?”

“Huh?” Dionysus blinked. “Wait I heard something something make out-”

Hermes burst out laughing while Apollo face palmed and Persephone gagged. Fortunately for Demeter, she hadn’t heard what the wine god said, but Hades did and he looked like he wanted to vomit. He kicked the ball, but instead of hitting Dio, it landed right on Hermes’ face again, and the two brothers next to him almost swore as loud as he did with the sudden rush of sand. Apollo coughed a little, before turning to Hermes.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Ugh, ya think?” He held a hand over his face. “I think… I think I broke my nose again.”

Apollo moved Hermes’ hand away, examining his face, and just did what he did before; that is, give him a small peck on the nose because apparently that works.

A few moments passed before Dionysus cleared his throat. “You know, I can go rent a room if you’re going to keep on staring at each other like that.”

The messenger blushed while the blonde just ignored him, glancing around like he was looking for something. “Where’s the ball?”

“Uhhhh, over here.” Dio passes the volleyball to his brother. “Why?”

Apollo stared at it for a second, at which the ball suddenly burst into flames. Speaking of the ball, the only reason it’s still intact at this point is because Hephaestus made it specifically to withstand the strength of all the gods.

“Um… bro?” The messenger nervously eyed the miniature sun. “What’re you doing?”

“Something I should’ve tried a long time ago.” And with that he tossed the ball. It was quite the impressive throw really, travelling all the way to the other side of the beach until it ended up hitting Eros’ back with the heat of a G-type main-sequence star. The bastard yelled and quickly ran off into the water or else his wings would start catching fire. Thankfully, to Psyche’s relief, the ball immediately stopped burning the second the deed was done.

There were a few more victims of the deadly volleyball that day as more and more gods used it to ruin someone’s day. Of course, it immediately had to end the second someone accidentally hit Hebe on the shoulder.

Oh well, just another day in being immortal.

#for some reason my laptop wont let me post shit-#goddammit #greek gods #greek mythology #too lazy to just tag all the gods rn so-#the olympians #crack #tumblr why wont you let me post on my laptop #so yeah #that’s why there’s no read more thing #mywritingshit

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facesofthefog · 4 years ago

Note

skull and bone please!! (he totally scuffed a trial even after sam told him to not let anybody escape, just saying)

[Reward and punishment: Closed] TW: Blood, torture, psychological torture, undead, Entity being a dick, pushing a man’s PTSD, maggots, general horror?

Killers not performing their tasks was somehow a popular concept and finally, he was able to take care of the problem in person. No matter how he tweaked them, how he changed their appearance, they were still human. At least, most of them were and they worked in their limited human ways. There was always a possibility of failure, of their bleeding hearts shining through, but fear and pain worked on them in the same way, as it worked on the survivors. Maybe even better, since for a survivor, it was easy to think that it could not get worse. The killers were almost at the top of the food chain and they were showered down with a range of rewards for their good work. In Bernard's case, his constant unwillingness to kill lead to a punishment.

Samuel entered the camp with his palm up to shield his eyes. It looked as if he was simply covering them from light, trying to get used to the sudden brightness of the campfire after spending so long in the dark forest. His hair might have been the normal dirty blonde, but his iris were gold and the sclera black like the pupils. He smiled and greeted the killer like he normally would and accepted the offer of some coffee and rest. Only once the other had his back turned did he drop his act. A wide grin formed on his face whilst he slowly crept over to the unaware male to wrap his arms around the killer’s waist and hug into his back.

"You have been such a bad boy lately Berny~" he moaned into his ear seductively, his hand sliding down his prey’s chest. "And bad boys deserve punishment."

Before the killer could consider the situation as an introduction to anything pleasant, the Entity pushed him away with enough force to trip him over. The scene changed and by the time Bernhardt's knees hit the ground, they appeared in the trenches. Soil rained down on them from where a shell hit close by and the being in power sighed in content.

"Such a lovely place. I am surprised you don't spend more time here. The atmosphere is more than pleasant." An honest thought he shared with the male who he was not even looking at. Instead, his eyes were focused on the overcast sky and the slight rain coming down. "You don't commit to the trials, Bernhardt. I am here to show you what will happen if you don't change that. I will show you what it feels like to be the survivor. So, run. If you get out in time, I will let you go pain-free. All you have to do is reach your camp before I find you."

The younger male hesitated, it was obvious, and it was not surprising, but it was also short-lived. He got up and ran down the tight corridor, whilst the Entity lowered his gaze to watch him with a pleased smile. It did not take long for the soldier to take a corner and disappear from view taking part in an unfair game. The killer knew the trenches well, but so did the Entity, the being that built them from the other's memories. Bernhardt's past was like an open book to the ruling being, there was nothing he could hide and soon enough he would come face to face with more ghosts of his past.

"I hope you're ready~" he chuckled, his voice reaching the furthest part of the trenches, not muffled even by the rumble of the artillery or the increasing patter of the rain. "Because I sure am."

Blonde hair turned to black and fingers turned to claws, as the Entity moved after its prey not making any sound regardless of the growing puddles beneath his shoes. Normally he was careful about the body he currently resided in, but this called for a show. A ghoulish display, as he allowed more of his natural looks to morph into the human skin, hurting them both in the process. There would be no fun without some pain. And they were not the only ones in pain. He could smell his killer's blood and as it would with a shark, it pushed him in the right direction.

"Already Berny?" he spoke into an empty corridor aware that he would be heard. "I cannot believe you fell into a trap so quickly. Did you think I would make it easy on you?"

His long nail scratched at the vines of the inner walls as he took another corner looking for his victim. There was no real need for haste, the only living soldier of this realm would not get out. Nets of barbed wire blocked some corridors, forming and disappearing, creating a living labyrinth that eventually would lead him back to the Entity. One of such traps had some red proving that it was the one that caught Bernhardt off guard.

An honest laugh turned into a grimace of disgust as a dead rat floated close by. He hated vermin whether living or dead and having one bump against his shin caused a slight shiver. Suddenly the trenches lost their previous charm and only the groan out for help coming from a trapped victim up above restored a smile to his face.

"Come out, come out wherever you are!~" his sweet-song voice rang out once more. How the trenches transformed only increased the excitement he felt. No amount of rain or flooding could change that, as he simply brushed his wet her back and ignored how the shirt stuck to his body." I have a surprise for you, darling. Are you not curious?"

And then he saw him. They stood on the opposing ends of the same corridor. The barbed wire grew out from the ground behind the killer, grabbing hold of the tall walls all the way to the top acting similarly to living vines. There was no real way out. Only straight on into the open arms of the grinning being.

"There you are! I was beginning to worry that you got lost." The being sounded sincere as if they were friends that were supposed to meet up and one arrived late. But then his tone darkened, and the grin only widened ripping flesh at the cheeks to reveal rows of sharp teeth. "Looks like it's my win after all."

Sharp wire poked through Bernhardt's body from the back and wrapped around the front to pull him into the net behind him. It kept him securely in place, as the Entity approached, fangs bared and fingers split to show off the long claws. Two bodies stood up from the depths of the water, both missing an arm each, skin ripped from their face and multiple holes bleeding in their torso. They moaned and groaned with each step, begging for their death.

"I brought you your friends." His voice was much deeper, raspier, demonic even. "Are you unhappy? You should be thankful for this gift."

Another body fell from over the top, hanging on barbed wire mere inches from the killer. It pulled its only limb towards Bernhard and questioned the man, blamed him for their fate, its voice becoming more frantic the more it pulled in the metal to free itself.

The soil came loose from one of the walls not covered by any wines or wood, a hand and face revealing itself, leaving the structure like maggots that filled its mouth. It could not speak, but its eyes showed terror and a plead for help.

The Entity stood in front of the breaking man and observed the blood that trickled down his body, the wire missing any vital organs to keep him living through the life horror display. The being’s long tongue dropped out from his mouth and licked at the soldier's cheek leaving it sleek from the spit. He ignored the cry of the fifth body emerging behind him, his ears only focused on the sounds coming from the killer.

"You are a predator, but you can become prey." He was barely able to speak now, black blood bubbling from his mouth with every word. "You don't want to annoy me further, do you? You are hurting me, Bernhardt." One of his golden eyes turned blue, half of the face revealing pain and fear. "I don't want to have to do this to you… But-" the being coughed back more blood. "You left me no choice.”

“So, apologize. Promise that you will do better. Praise me with each kill, as you paint the realms red with their blood. Prove to me that I have not made a mistake. Because I never make mistakes. You are a true killer. You proved it on many occasions. You killed your friends…” The wires retracted leaving ripped bleeding flesh in its way and dropping the killer to the wooden boards, his weapon lying in the muddy water before him. “You can do it again.”

#Other side of the pen #entity event #ic #punishment and reward meme #tw: blood #tw: torture #tw: psychological torture #tw: undead #tw: ptsd #tw: horror #tw: maggots #en-trench

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jeannereames · 5 years ago

Note

Hello, this might seem like an odd or unrelated question but, in these uncertain times, do you have any tips for new writers of aspiring historians? I've been feeling awfully discoursged with my writing and the fact that I missed a whole semester of school over the virus.

Let me divide my advice into that for students and for writers.

First, writers, the advice I have now is the same as at any other juncture. Write. Even if you don’t feel like it. Don’t worry if it’s any good. Just write.

One of the earliest lessons I was taught by successful writers, and have only had confirmed in the years since (including by my own experience) is, “Write every day. Even if it’s just 2 pages. Write everyday.” (Or almost every day.)

Writing, like exercise, is a habit. At first, most of what you write on demand may be utter shite. But the more you practice, the better you’ll get at turning out moderately readable prose on demand. There will be times you’re more inspired, or less, but practice really does improve skill.

Find a writing group. Listen to their critique. Don’t get defensive. Unless you’re spectacularly talented, you probably are that bad. LOL. (I was.) There are tricks to good prose. Learn them. Read your stuff out loud, to hear how it falls on the ear. Read A LOT. I mean A LOT. Good stuff. Study what they’re doing. My teachers were Iris Murduch, Toni Morrison, Graham Greene, John Irving, Flannery O’Connor…. Find a writer whose work picks you up and throws you down again, a little bit broken and a little bit more whole. Figure out how she or he did that.

But don’t neglect the nuts-and-bolts, stuff like, “Passive voice is a Bad Thing,” “Said-bookisms suck,” “Don’t over-choreograph,” and “Just use the character’s name, not eleventy-two synonyms.” And especially “’Emerald orbs’ should never be used to describe someone’s eyes,” or the offending writer should be taken out and shot. ;)

I’m not a big fan of books on the writing craft, but I do recommend Dwight V. Swain’s Tricks and Techniques of the Selling Writer, rev. ed. Some of it is quite dated, but most of it isn’t. Scene and Sequel is still A Thing. It works.

Not everyone can be Carson McCullers to pen classics at 22/23/24 (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Reflections in a Golden Eye). But she really only wrote about 4 major novels (in part due to very poor health).

There are writers out there who can count published novels in double-digits. What’s the difference? They sit down and write. It’s not always a classic. In fact, it’s rarely a classic. But it can still be a perfectly good yarn that takes someone out of herself for a little while.

Long ago, I met author Lawrence Dorr, and when introduced, rather shyly said, “I’m not a real writer, but I want to be someday.” Meaning I wasn’t published yet. (I was about 19 at the time.) Dorr just looked at me and asked, “Do you write?” “Yes.” “Then you’re a writer. A writer writes. A writer can’t not write.”

As you can see, I never forgot that exchange.

Dorr was positive inspiration. Harry Crews was negative. That SOB would make me so mad, I once chucked a typewriter out the sliding glass door of a second-story apartment. Broke the door and typewriter both, and I had to pay the apartment complex for it. The upside was I bought an Atari with a word processor. And I got better. Unfortunately it was usually after Crews had posted our grades. But I did learn a few things from the misogynistic bastard–including the trick that there is no muse and writer’s block is just an excuse. “Write, godfuckingdammit,” he’d say. “Two pages a day. Write two fucking pages a day.” (He was my professor before he sobered up so he was still a roaring pain the arse.)

He also insisted that when we want to tie up things neatly, throw a monkey-wrench in it. And to write our demons. Nobody wants to read a story in which nobody bleeds (even if figuratively).

I realize all that probably gives away my age, Ha. My first attempt at a novel was written in longhand, then the second was typed on this sucker, and yes I still have it (typewriter, not the novel, thank god; it was terrible):

Second, students, I am so sorry that you’ve got to worry about losing your job, and maybe your place to live and your car, and still be expected to do homework and attend lectures online that’s only half an education, if that Will we still be doing this come fall? I don’t know. I hope not, but I fear Covid19 will come roaring back, like the Spanish Flu.

But the world is also a lot different place with much greater understandings of viruses, which is why historians (unlike political scientists and sociologists) rarely try prognostication. History never repeats, even if it sometimes rhymes. If there is any good news in looking back at the Spanish Flu, it’s that after the second wave hit, the US (at least) recovered relatively quickly, especially compared to the ‘29 stock market crash a decade later that set off the Great Depression. The good news out of the Depression was FDR’s ability to shove through the New Deal, which resulted in social safety nets like social security, unemployment benefits, the FDIC, and prepaid hospital insurance (the precursor to the eventual Medicare/Medicaid of the ‘60s).

The unhappy news is that US has a bad habit of not fixing its problems till things break spectacularly…like the Civil War (and the trashfire that Reconstruction became), or the Great Depression, or the violence of the Civil Rights Movement.

Also, don’t forget–historians need records. So write what you see around you. What’s it like to be living right now, at this juncture in history? What does it feel like to be young and looking out at a world on fire?

There you combine both writing with history. Maybe you’ll write your own The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.

#There is no muse #The Craft of Writing #Writers write #history and crisis #asks #the writing life

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years ago

Text

Paris Haute Couture Week 2019: Favourites at First Glance

Hi to anyone reading,

And before we start...let me clarify.

Listen, I’m not Luke Meagher. I didn’t go to fashion school. I did history, philosophy and ethics, and psychology at A-level. Not a trace of even textiles experience in sight (I mean, I did it until we picked our GCSE options but I don’t feel that counts, lol). The only “fashion” knowledge I have is from coffee table books, youtube videos and twitter. AND I LIKED MARIA GRAZIA’S 2019 DIOR HAUTE COUTURE COLLECTION.

I think Haute Couture week is probably one of my favourites of the year because I’ve always been good at spotting a pretty dress I’ll never be able to afford and to be honest, not much else. And to me, the Dior collection is everything. Sure, it might not be the most groundbreaking or technically advanced thing ever, and yes, some of the shapes might not be the most flattering, but the best pieces (picked out above) are classic Dior. See, I’m not sure what my idea of “classic Dior” is actually based on other than a vague cultural knowledge but I feel this year’s haute couture collection fits in with that schema a lot more seamlessly than Grazia’s 2018 or 2017 collections, as much as I enjoyed them too. The colour scheme, the lace, the netted veils, the heavy eye makeup; these are dresses for turning up to the funeral of the rich husband you just secretly poisoned in/Eva Green would’ve worn in Penny Dreadful and I’m here for it. The spiked feather detailing that crops up a lot gives me Natalie Portman as the Black Swan and regardless of how flattering they may or may not be (because I'm kind of tired of fashion being thought of as a way to showcase a woman’s figure), I like the Edwardian inspired two pieces. I may be a bit biased, chokers, berets and some kind of netting are 3 of my favourite additions to an outfit, but I do think that as a collection, it all comes together beautifully and I commend Maria Grazia for that. I think now that she seems to have found her footing in terms of producing looks that are recognisably Dior, we only have increasingly creative efforts to look forward to.

Similarly, I adored the styling at the Schiaparelli show. As weird and wonderful as ever, you can see the influence of nature and possibly the visuals of flowers in bloom on Daniel Roseberry’s designs and styling. My favourite thing about this collection was its presentation: for his debut show, Roseberry took a seat in the middle of the runway and sketched out his designs as they appeared on the models in real time. I can’t think of a better way to introduce the fashion world to your vision and creative process.

Moving on from the Schiaparelli collection, it only feels right to talk about Guo Pei next, whose collection also has that characteristic organic feel, almost like the designs could’ve grown right out of the ground of a Tim Burton film. My favourite is definitely the second from the right on the top row, which wouldn’t have been out of place at the 2018 Met Gala. Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination is without a doubt my favourite theme of the last few years. Ornate as ever, each look displays a renaissance painting level of intricacy and craftsmanship; not that a plunge that deep would ever be remotely flattering on me, like there’s a reason I feel a certain type of way about belly button piercings and low rise jeans, but I am obsessed with the detailing of the dress on the far left of the bottom row. That being said, I don’t love this collection quite as much as Guo Pei’s 2018 haute couture offering, however, I think that’s just down to the colour scheme and structures of the latter.

Next is Chanel’s haute couture show, which right off the bat I’ll say I was a big fan of. Surprisingly, I’ve seen a lot of people say they don’t like it but I think it’s a welcome departure from the past few collections which (in my very design naive opinion) were beginning to get a bit monotonous. There’s only so much unnecessarily prissy detailing I can take before it gets a bit like...did they run out of ideas? I think for Virginie Viard’s debut show this is a return to the fresh, clean, functional and even slightly androgynous looks that I think we forget Chanel was originally known for. We still had a couple of the classic elegant dresses too, as seen in the two middle shots I chose, which pays homage to the haute couture collections of the past couple of years. Again, as with the Dior collection, I love the Edwardian/early 20th century influence and the library setting is a fucking perfect backdrop to the collection.

It probably feels a bit contradictory, me going on to praise this year’s Armani Prive collection considering I just criticised the past Chanel collections for being unnecessarily decorative but I see a clear direction with these looks. And yes, I generated a meme to describe how I probably sound right now:

Alternatively, I could’ve just put “how I sound right now”, semi colon, and then insert a photo of a clown underneath, but I’m clearly into 2018 memes, okay?

I’m not going to lie, the basic bitch in me loves these looks because I just know how good they are on the red carpet. Very Disney princess and I’m into it. I’m easily pleased: pastels, faux fur (I hope it’s faux though to be honest, I’m not quite sure), sequins and satin and I’m calling it a masterpiece. So it’s probably best to move on before I expose myself for just how much of a high fashion novice I am, if I didn’t already do that in the first paragraph by praising Maria Grazia. For the same reason, I was obviously a big fan of these looks from the Georges Hobeika haute couture 2019 collection:

And of course, all of these beautiful Ralph and Russo designs:

The dress on the right end, second row from the bottom is honestly probably my favourite of all the 2019 haute couture looks. Like frills!? PASTEL frills!? TIERED, PASTEL FRILLS? Fucking sold. Giambattista Valli is obviously the king of this:

Though I think I’m right in saying that the slightly more unconventional, exaggerated nature of Valli’s dresses elevate them in the eyes of the fashion community that little bit more. Personally, I love the touch of the black bows and the Elizabethan style neck collar of the look second from the right on the top row. Next is Zuhair Murad:

If I'm being brutal, I was a bit disappointed with this collection. I always love Zuhair Murad and love his dresses regardless but I found myself getting a bit bored with a lot of the looks this year considering how excited I was to see them. Though these are my favourites and they are still stunningly elaborate (clearly a lot of work went into the embroidery and stoning), I don’t feel as if any of them, apart from the green and silver jumpsuits, are really anything I haven't seen before. I thought the tribal/nomadic elements of some of the looks could’ve been slightly more conceptual. Like, I get that Zuhair Murad’s dresses, at face value, aren’t really about telling stories but I think if you’re going to go down the mildly culturally appropriative route, you should do it in new way. I read that he was inspired by a trip to Marrakech and I do see that, but it more seemed like an afterthought of throwing these details onto his usual style of dresses rather than the observations influencing the very basis of the collection. Elie Saab’s 2019 haute couture collection is, in my opinion, a good example of how to do this right:

Everything about the construction of these dresses from the padded shoulders to the Mandarin collars draws on the dreamiest possible incarnations of the wardrobes of Chinese royalty, and to watch that translated onto the runway in such a stunning way I hope is a pleasure to see for those who do consider their culture’s past to be a part of their identity today. The jewell tones, the baroque-like patterns, the defined silhouettes, the hair and makeup, I am in awe of EVERYTHING about this collection. I’m glad that Saab had so many East Asian models showcase his designs too; I don’t think it would’ve been right any other way.

Talking of structure, next is Iris Van Herpen:

Like, I need to know the SCIENCE behind these dresses, because I know there was a shitload (lol jk, I really don't want to know anymore science unless I have to). I mean, aside from a few more unconventional, bubble-like shapes that I wasn’t necessarily such a fan of, I can’t fault this collection at all. It really speaks for itself; every part of each design is as mesmerising and as hypnotic as the next, from shape and structure to the colours chosen. Even the more “simple” numbers such as the golden dress second from the left on the bottom row looks like it’s permanently caught in the wind, and I can imagine it on the statue of some Greek goddess whose name I cannot in this moment be bothered to check I’m not pulling out of my arse. You know, Aphrodite, Athena...one of that lot, lol. Finally, let’s talk about Valentino, Givenchy and Fendi, starting with my least favourite of the three, Valentino:

It’s not that there weren’t some wonderful looks. Of my favourites above, the white kimono style dress on the left of the bottom row, the blue dress with the cape and the green floral coat with the matching mesh dress underneath are the stand outs. It’s just that this collection isn’t particularly my style as I’m not much of a fan of block or primary colours; it’s personal preference and that’s not to say it’s a bad collection by any means. I can still appreciate that more thought and work and general energy than I’ve probably ever exerted in my life went into it.

Next is Givenchy:

LOOK at that dress on the right on the row second from the bottom. LOOK AT IT! The pastel pink cape! The layered houndstooth dress! The feathers! The neckline of that top on the right, second row from the bottom! The MENSWEAR! I want it all. It’s modern and it’s cool and it’s wearable but it also looks like me or you could never bloody afford it and that’s how you know it’s Givenchy, lmao. It’s not hard to see why this collection was so popular within the fashion community; it really is a masterclass in less is more which takes a lot to admit because I’m usually a more person.

However, overall, my favourite collection of the three has to be Fendi:

The 70s are my favourite decade for fashion and so this collection is absolutely delicious. I love the warm tones contrasted with a splash of almost metallic cools or pastels every so often and throw some faux fur (again, I don’t know if it is faux?) over anything and it immediately looks 10x more glamorous in my opinion. Half the looks are giving me groupie to a rock band and the other half are giving me bored Hollywood movie star in her Beverly Hills mansion, walking round with rollers in her hair and a pornstar martini. As you can probably tell if you’re still reading, outfits that give me a story are the ones that I love the most, lmao. The perfect balance between opulent and effortless, in an ideal word I would absolutely own and wear every single one of these outfits, regardless of where fashion critics stand on them, and feel like a badass bitch.

And to kind of round off the post, isn’t that what’s most important? That an outfit makes you feel empowered and like you could dramatically slap the shit out of anyone who disrespects you (FEEL being the keyword here, I’m really not recommending anyone goes round slapping every person who disrespects them)? I definitely do want to be more educated on fashion and its history, after all, I’ve always been a history student, but at the same time, I don’t want to suck the fun out of it for myself. Most of the time I don’t want to look at a dress and compare it to every single collection of years past or scrutinise who did what better, I just want to marvel at it. I think one thing that bothers me is that within something as relatively harmful as fashion, it seems kind of elitist and hierarchical to categorise opinions as good and bad based on how much education a person might have on the topic. Let’s be real, fashion isn’t really a realistic career path for most of us. The average person hasn’t always got time to research the history of a fashion house before they make a statement about one of its pieces. They’re working, lmao. If your career is in fashion, lucky you. But in a lot of cases, as within a lot of creative industries, luck is really just privilege, connections, money, leisure time and choice and only a select few people have those things, and I don’t think we should let those people dictate who has style and who doesn’t. These things are subjective. Let people like what they like without equating that love of something to a lack of taste, you know?

In a broader sense (and I really don’t know how I got off on this tangent) something makes you feel beautiful and YOU think you look hot af, WEAR IT!

It’s a bit of a cliche as a closing statement but if anyone read until the end, I hope you enjoyed the post. I am always totally open to hearing other opinions and points of view so feel free to send an...ask? Message? I’m not sure what it’s called in 2019, lol. Anyways, feel free to do whatever that function is called nowadays and rant away.

Lauren x

#eliesaab #kaia gerber #dior #paris fashion week #fashion #fendi #Zuhair Murad #givenchy #valentino #giambatista valli #chanel #iris van herpen #guo pei #schiaparelli

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ylimehuizenga · 5 years ago

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NO ONE ASKED

WHAT BOOKS ARE ON YOUR NIGHTSTAND?

Understanding Lorrie Moore by Alison Kelly (it is 190 pages and cost $40). Son of the Morning Star by Evan Connell. Billy Collins’ Sailing Alone Around the Room. Oval by Elvia Wilk. Stoner - John Williams. Plus a few more I just finished and a few more I just want close to me right now.

WHAT’S THE LAST GREAT BOOK YOU READ?

American Pastoral. First time I’ve earnestly been inclined to describe something as “a masterpiece.”

DESCRIBE YOUR IDEAL READING EXPERIENCE (WHEN, WHERE, WHAT, HOW).

On vacation. Everyone else is off doing something and it’s far enough into the trip that I don’t feel guilty or FOMO not. Trip residue (sand, wine, ashes) on the book and the preemptive luxurious glee of knowing I’ll forever associate the book with the location!

Second best is when life sucks and the book you’re reading is your only joy/escape, and you get home and eat something dumb and wash your dumb face and brush your dumb teeth and finally get to get into bed and hang out with the only thing in the world you like right now: this book.

WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE BOOK NO ONE ELSE HAS HEARD OF?

Maybe Hearing from Wayne by Bill Franzen. A collection of bizarre, sweet, sad, funny stories. I listened to one on a podcast one time while driving home from a trip. My boyfriend was sleeping in the passenger seat (we’d been fighting all weekend) and I laughed and cried alone.

WHICH PLAYWRIGHTS AND OTHER WRITERS - NOVELISTS, POETS, CRITICS, JOURNALISTS - WORKING TODAY DO YOU ADMIRE MOST?

I think it’s cliche but Ottessa Moshfegh. She’s one of the few people I’ve read willing to poke holes in modern stereotypes, like the overweight tattooed girl who bosses everyone around and is actually a jerk but is riding high on societal shame for calling her out. Also Lisa Halliday. She listens to baseball games on the radio and drinks Luxardo after long days. She is cool and impresses me.

WHAT BOOK WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO SEE TURNED INTO A MOVIE OR TV SHOW THAT HASN’T ALREADY BEEN ADAPTED?

I was really looking forward to The Goldfinch movie - I thought that would be a no-brainer. But I heard it’s bad and I’ll probably watch it half-hearted and disappointed when it comes out on online.

WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE FICTIONAL HERO OR HEROINE? ANTIHERO OR VILLAIN?

He’s not a hero but Douglas Bridge in the Mr. & Mrs. Bridge books breaks my heart. I have a big crush on him. I always have a crush on funny, megalomaniac, wry boys in books, and they tend to be writers and be named Jake; Jake from The Sun Also Rises, Jake from Under the Net. But all-time favorite heroine is Dominique from Francoise Sagan’s “A Certain Smile.” She is me, but perpetually 20-years-old, and beautiful, and French. You could probably call her an antiheroine too.

WHAT CHARACTER FROM LITERATURE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO PLAY?

Junie B. Jones.

HAS A BOOK EVER BROUGHT YOU CLOSER TO ANOTHER PERSON, OR COME BETWEEN YOU?

It’s nice to love a book your friend also loved and talk about that. It’s not great when someone tells you their favorite book and you’ve read it and you thought it was shitty. As far as admiring the person goes, I can never really recover from that.

WHAT MOVES YOU MOST IN A WORK OF LITERATURE?

A buoyant, efficient, consummately composed sentence. I am an underliner. Certain sentences can be total works of art. I would love to go to an exhibit that’s nothing but framed sentences that resonate out of context. Beyond that, literature that articulates life, like everyone else.

DO YOU PREFER BOOKS THAT REACH OUR EMOTIONALLY, OR INTELLECTUALLY?

Emotionally. I can’t think of a case where something that reached me emotionally wouldn’t then reach me intellectually, though.

WHAT’S THE BEST BOOK YOU’VE EVER BEEN GIVEN AS A GIFT?

That same boyfriend I fought with all weekend gave me a used copy (my preferred type of copy) of Eudora Welty’s The Golden Apples for Christmas one year, because he read that Eudora Welty was my then favorite author Alice Munro’s favorite author. I thought and still think that was the most quietly ingenious idea for book-giving I’d ever heard, and if I ever use it I’m not going to give him credit.

HOW DO YOU ORGANIZE YOUR BOOKS?

Fiction vs. nonfiction, then subject/genre, then author by country. Sometimes it’s kind of a feeling, too. The feeling the books give me.

WHAT BOOK MIGHT PEOPLE BE SURPRISED TO FIND ON YOUR SHELVES?

Maybe some modern feminist lit I have.

HAVE YOU EVER CHANGED YOUR OPINION OF A BOOK BASED ON INFORMATION ABOUT THE AUTHOR?

Once I read more about Salinger, I realized he wasn’t ironic and discerning, he was fragile and found life humiliating.

DO YOU COUNT ANY BOOKS AS GUILTY PLEASURES?

I’d put some modern “buzz-y” books in that category. Must-reads with winsome covers that signal wokeness and intellect on social media. Beyond that, Salinger, again. He pulls it off, though. He pulls it off.

WHAT KIND OF READER WERE YOU AS A CHILD? WHICH CHILDHOOD BOOKS AND AUTHORS STICK WITH YOU MOST?

I was consistent and avid. My mom, brother and I would go to the county library every week and check out stacks of children’s books, which Mom would read to us every night. Same deal for kiddie chapter books. I loved Junie B. Jones, Frog and Toad, Amelia Bedilia, and the Amelia’s Notebook series. When I read Anne of Green Gables, I only ate bread with butter and jam for two weeks, except mine wasn’t made from scratch in my adoptive aunt’s kitchen, it was purchased by my mom at County Market and was actually Italian bread and she also used it for garlic bread. My sisters and I were also obsessed with A Child Called It. In hindsight, morbid. And embarrassing.

HOW HAVE YOUR READING TASTES CHANGED OVER TIME?

In middle and high school I read a lot of classics, and I’m proud of and grateful to my younger self for that. I’m not sure I’d have the stamina now, too worn down. So less classics-classics, more Level 2 classics (e.g. Austen and Hemingway then, Roth and Connell now). But I still love the same books I always have. Novels about nothing extraordinary.

HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN IN TROUBLE FOR READING A BOOK?

No one stopped me from reading The Good Earth at age 11 I think because no one knew what it was. I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble, but someone probably should have raised an eyebrow. Who knows, maybe someone did.

YOU’RE ORGANIZING A LITERARY DINNER PARTY. WHICH THREE WRITERS, DEAD OR ALIVE, DO YOU INVITE?

Roald Dahl, Iris Murdoch, and e.e. cummings. If I could cheat and pick four I’d add Billy Collins - I really want to meet him. This is all purely selfish and short-sighted, though. I would just want writers who are incredibly talented but wouldn’t talk about themselves, and who’d have good stories and drink strong drinks and smoke cigarettes. Cummings would probably talk about himself but he’d also probably hit on me and take me to bed at the end of the night. This is just my honest answer, okay?

DISAPPOINTING, OVERRATED, JUST NOT GOOD: WHAT BOOK DID YOU FEEL AS IF YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LIKE, AND DIDN’T? DO YOU REMEMBER THE LAST BOOK YOU PUT DOWN WITHOUT FINISHING?

The Year of Magical Thinking - didn’t like and did put down. I’ve had multiple people tell me I should or assume I do read Didion, and I dread it. I just want to move on from that conversation, quick. Some books I thought were total flops/clearly blew, like Fleishman is in Trouble or Modern Lovers and definitely Bad Marie, but others loved. No way to talk about it without sounding like an uppity contrarian.

WHOM WOULD YOU WANT TO WRITE YOUR LIFE STORY?

Maybe Sinclair Lewis, because it’d probably have to be a midwesterner to get those parts right. And, well, I like the esoteric grandeur of that choice. But if not him then Roald Dahl because he would make my life seem nostalgic and wonderful (which is true of mine and all lives) and his grandparents were Norwegian so he’d still get the Minnesota stuff.

WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO READ NEXT?

Finish this boring Berlin book about sustainability that doesn’t really apply to me and lower myself into something long and languorous over Christmas. All this talk about not reading classics has me wanting to read a classic.

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