#greek god fiction

[god-syndicate-if]

DEMO - Latest release on 11/15/2024 - Current wordcount 90k.

COG forum You've always been angry.

Rage comes naturally to you. With how much life has messed with you it's only fair that you use your anger. That's why you became a boxer. The thrill of breaking an opponent. And hoping they might break you in turn. They never do though. Every fight is a disappointment, almost as much of a disappointment as they pay for each fight.

Enter Jackie Roth, club owner, mob boss, and former god. When she offers you a job you can't say no. Not that you would, not when she and everyone in her gang feel so familiar to you. At least with this job you'll be able to use that rage inside you more.

As you learn the ways of the criminal underground you reconnect with people you never met. Reforge bonds that you've never made. And recall memories you've never had. You were a god once upon a time, can you become one again?

God Syndicate is an interactive novel where you play the newest incarnation of Ares, The God of War. It's 18+ for violence, explicit sexual themes, drug use, morally questionable behavior, and more.

Customize your MC, play male, female, or nonbinary. With transgender options and pronoun selection. Customize your appearance and develop your personality.

Romance or befriend a cast of characters, including gods with more issues than you can count or even a mortal! Asexual and Aromantic options available.

Show the gods why you were feared all those years ago or prove that you're better than your past lives.

Uncover the mystery of disappearing gods as well as the mystery of your past.

Help out Elysium, the club where you'll practically live from now on. It seems to attract gods and that isn't always good.

Take out your anger on people who might even deserve it.

Zeus: Jackie Roth - She/Her. [Not an RO]

Jackie is The King of The Gods and she makes sure everyone knows it. Her word is law in Elysium and beyond. Fail her and you'll have a storm waiting for you. In the years since your disappearance Jackie's love for her family has seem to only grow. But she has a criminal empire to run and you're just the weapon she needs.

Hermes: Riley Liao Zhi - Gender Selectable. [RO]

The Messenger of The Gods. Or in Riley's case, the ever bored personal assistant to Jackie. Riley's an adrenaline junkie with a heart of gold. As the one who found you they feel almost responsible for you. But why do they also seem so afraid of you?

Apollo: Franco Valerio - He/Him. [RO]

As expected of The God of Music, Franco's your classic rich and famous rock star. Well he would be, if only he could get out of Elysium. His love of singing and love of his family are two chains he can't break that tie him here. Will your arrival help break those chains or tighten them?

Aphrodite: Damiana "Dame" Rivette - Gender Selectable. [RO]

Quiet and Serious, Dame is no longer The God of Love they once were. The passion of their life faded and now bitterness grows where love should. The only friend they have in Elysium seems to be their fiance, Johnny. To make their life even worse, you arrive.

The Mortal: Sigourney Hawthorn - She/Her. [RO]

Newly divorced from a god, Sigrouney struggles with juggling her (demigod) child, relentless job, and love life. As her daughter, Claudia, grows she wonders if she can keep up or if she'll be left behind. And now with your arrival Claudia's godly family gets bigger and her presence gets smaller.

Artemis: Rebel Reyes - Gender Selectable [RO]

How can The God of the Hunt thrive in the city? The prey here are either too weak or too annoying to hunt. The only thing Rebel craves is to feel that thrill again. With your arrival they have a perfect chance, who better to hunt than the God of War? They can't wait to meet you.

The Old Flame: Harper Ward - Gender Selectable [RO]

A friend from a better time. Harper and you were once inseparable. They saw you at your darkest and kept you calm. Years after an explosive break up they've reemerged into your life far different than you knew them. Can you find the dying embers of your old friend? Is it even worth the pain?

[childrenofcain-if]

That one scenario where C and MC have a kid has my heart completely 😭 Can we get a follow up for that? How are things going on in the joint household? I'm also very curious to see what C would name their kid 🤭

the hershey’s kisses glinted in the late afternoon sun, crinkled foil catching the golden light that streamed in through the window. aster sat cross-legged on the sofa, a small island of contentment in the messy sprawl of school bags and discarded socks she’d left in her wake.

she was humming under her breath as she unwrapped another piece of chocolate, oblivious to the way her shoes lay in two opposite corners of the room and how her lunchbox sat precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table.

you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and watching her with the detached amusement of a parent who knows they’ll have to clean up the mess but hasn’t yet summoned the energy to do so.

C was in the armchair, one foot propped on the edge of the ottoman, clicking through their macbook with half an eye on aster. it was domesticity in its sweetest form, the kind you don’t think about when you’re young and idealistic, imagining love and family like perfect polaroids on a wall.

“did you give her those?” C asked suddenly, their voice louder than the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

you blinked and set your coffee down, moving closer to inspect the crumpled foil wrappers littered around aster.

“nope,” you said after a beat. “not exactly either of our flavor. that’s… what is that, cherry? we don’t have those in the house.”

C arched a brow, and without missing a beat, turned their full attention to your daughter.

“aster,” they said, voice soft but with a worried edge, “where did you get the chocolates?”

aster’s head snapped up, her chalcedony green eyes lighting up with excitement.

“felix gave them to me!” she said, her grin wide enough to show the little gap where her front tooth had fallen out last week.

C froze, their hand tightening slightly on the edge of their macbook. you, on the other hand, were far more amused.

“felix, huh?” you said, crouching slightly to meet aster’s eye level. “and who’s felix again?”

her grin grew impossibly wider as she happily declared: “my boyfriend!”

you chuckled, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “oh, really? you have a boyfriend now, kleine ster? when did this happen?”

“this morning actually!” aster exclaimed, bouncing a little on the cushions. “he gave me the chocolates at recess and said he liked me, and i said i liked him too, and now we’re boyfriend and girlfriend!”

C’s eye twitched, a muscle jumping just beneath the surface. they sat up straighter, their attention now fully honed on your seven-year-old’s revelation.

“did he now?” they said, their voice tight. “and what else did this... felix boy say?”

aster frowned, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “uh… he said i could have the last red crayon in art class.”

“generous of him,” they muttered darkly, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“C,” you said warningly, but they ignored you, leaning forward with the intense focus of someone about to conduct an interrogation.

“and does this felix… hold your hand?” they asked, their tone too casual to be actually genuine.

“sometimes,” aster admitted, her brows knitting together.

C’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “does he share his lunch with you?”

“yeah, today he gave me his oreos!”

C’s jaw twitched. you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“C,” you said again, a little louder this time. “let it go, darling. they’re just kids.”

but they were too far gone now, leaning forward as though proximity might grant them any sort of control over the situation.

“aster,” they said with all the solemnity of someone at a funeral, “you can’t have a boyfriend. you’re too young. your brain isn’t fully developed. you’ll... you’ll explode! you’ll leave your parents all alone then and it’ll make us very sad.”

aster blinked at them, unwrapping another hershey’s kiss with deliberate slowness.

“i will explode?” she asked, clearly confused by this turn of events.

you rolled your eyes. “no, you wo—”

“yes, you will,” C insisted, cutting you off. “and anyway, you’re not allowed to date anyone until you’re like 30 and paying taxes. it’s a rule.”

“that’s not a rule,” aster said with the stubborn certainty of someone who knew she was right. she really was her parents’ daughter. “and felix is a good boy.”

“‘good,’” C muttered under their breath, glaring at the imaginary felix as though he was lurking in the shadows, waiting to hand their precious little star another chocolate. “i’m going to fight this seven-year-old.”

“C!” you snapped, stepping between them and placing a hand on C’s shoulder. “calm down, my love. it’s harmless.”

C leaned back reluctantly, their gaze flicking between you and aster, who was now watching them like they’d sprouted a second head.

“fine,” they grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

***

after dinner, aster sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a tiny instruction manual for building LEGOs with the intensity of someone decoding the human genome. her fingers, small but deft, picked up pieces and slotted them into place, her movements sure and deliberate.

C sat beside her, their long legs folded awkwardly beneath them, one hand bracing their bad knee. their fingers worked slower than hers, more hesitantly. the gap between them—her bright enthusiasm, their cautious quiet—was almost laughable. but C didn’t laugh.

they watched her instead.

aster had inherited their stubbornness, the precision of their thoughts, the way they spoke with certainty even when they were wrong, the hard-headed refusal to back down in the face of a challenge. but she’d also inherited your warmth, your easy charisma, the way people seemed to orbit around you like you were some kind of gravitational force.

she was both of you, but neither of you. something wholly her own. and she shone so brilliantly.

“non,” aster said suddenly, shaking her head. she spoke in a tone that was equal parts exasperated and amused, the way one might speak to a child who couldn’t quite grasp a simple concept. “that piece goes here. look.” she leaned over, plucking a flat blue brick from the pile and snapping it into place on the half-constructed spaceship.

“ah,” C said, their lips quirking into a faint smile. “of course, petite étoile. how foolish of me.”

she beamed proudly, her confidence growing with each small victory.

“it’s okay. you’re still learning,” she said magnanimously, patting their arm. honestly, it amused C greatly to see her reflect you back when you both argued everyday like your life depended on it.

C snorted, shaking their head. “merci, mademoiselle.”

“pas de problème,” she replied breezily, her accent and pronunciation impeccably like a parisian native.

C felt a pang of pride so sharp it was almost painful. french had been one of their gifts to her, a piece of their heritage they had handed down like an heirloom. and she had taken to it effortlessly, as if it had always been hers.

she slipped between languages with a grace that left C in awe, her young mind absorbing everything like a sponge.

“wat is dit?” she asked suddenly, holding up a strange piece they hadn’t encountered yet.

“hmm,” you said from where you were sprawled on the couch, your legs stretched out and a book resting on your chest. you barely looked up as you answered her in dutch, explaining what the piece was and where it might fit.

aster nodded thoughtfully, her small fingers turning the piece over as she considered its possibilities. C watched her, their heart swelling with a mixture of love and disbelief.

how could someone so small hold so much brilliance? how could she be so much more than they had ever dared to imagine for themself?

“do you think felix likes LEGOs?” aster asked suddenly, breaking their reverie. she was staring at them now, her eyes—C’s eyes, pale green and perceptive—narrowed in thought.

C felt their jaw tighten at the mention of the boy, the ghost of their earlier irritation flickering to life.

“i have no idea,” they said evenly, focusing on the spaceship.

aster tilted her head, clearly unconvinced by their tone.

“he’s nice,” she said firmly, as though this simple fact should erase all of C’s doubts.

“i’m sure he is,” C said, their tone carefully neutral.

you glanced up from your book, smirking slightly as you watched the exchange. let it go, your eyes seemed to say.

but it wasn’t that simple.

it wasn’t about this felix boy, not really. it was about aster, about the inexorable passage of time, about the impossibility of holding on to something as fragile and fleeting as childhood. she was growing up, and there was nothing C could do to stop it.

C reached for another LEGO brick, their fingers brushing against aster’s. she looked up at them, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“tu vas bien?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

the question caught them off guard. for a moment, they didn’t know how to respond. how could they explain the tangled mess of emotions that had been simmering inside them all day? how could they tell her that the thought of her growing up terrified them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate?

“i’m fine, petite étoile,” they said eventually, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

she seemed to accept this, turning her attention back to the spaceship. but C couldn’t help noticing the small furrow in her brow, the way her hands moved more slowly now, as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

they watched her in silence, their heart aching with a strange, bittersweet kind of love.

***

later, when the spaceship was complete and aster had been tucked into bed, C found themself sitting on the edge of your shared bed, their head in their hands.

“okay,” you said, sitting beside them. “do you want to talk about what exactly is bothering you, my love?”

they sighed, looking up at you now.

“it’s just… strange,” they said, their voice low and tired. “she’s growing up so fast. too fast. i feel like i blinked, and suddenly she’s not my little girl anymore.”

you stayed quiet, letting them find the words.

“i still remember holding her in my arms for the first time,” they continued, their voice thick with emotion. “i remember her first steps, her first word, the first time she looked at me and called out for me. and now… now she’s talking about boyfriends and whatnot.”

they let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through their hair. “i didn’t have this. a proper childhood. a father who cared. i don’t know what i’m doing half the time. i just… i look at her, and i love her so much it terrifies me. so much so that i still don’t understand how my father could—”

“hey,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on their arm. “you’re nothing like him. you’re such a wonderful parent, C. she loves you so much. you can see it every time she looks at you. and yeah, it’s hard watching her grow up. but that’s the deal. you love them, and you let them go, little by little, so they can become who they’re meant to be.”

C nodded slowly, their eyes softening as they looked at you. “i know you’re right.”

you leaned in, pressing a kiss to their temple. “of course i’m right, i always am.”

they rolled their eyes, but a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.

“do you think…” they hesitated, the tips of their ears turning adorably red. “do you think we should have another one?”

“another what?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

they scowled, burying their face in your neck.

“you know what i mean,” they mumbled, their voice muffled. “don’t make me say it out loud.”

you laughed, stroking their hair. “we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

but you already knew the answer.

[quokaii7]

look what you turned me into.

coloured sketch done! ty for everyone who voted!!!!!

[tracykestler]

"Ares is a weapon. A sword. A shield. A spear. He is precision and grace and speed. Blunt force if needed, but he is not an explosion. An explosion is the destructive earth. And the closest thing to your little explosions are volcanos.”

-- Hephaestus

[sarafangirlart]

Y’know, if I had a nickel for every Greek mythology adaptation that makes Ares a Nazi, I’d have 2 nickels, which isn’t a lot but I don’t want these nickels.

[whereserpentswalk]

When the human known to us as Christ arrived in the underworld, gods and shades alike were horrified. It was always a big deal when demigods arrived in the underworld, but this one had died so brutally, a young man, not even old enough to grow a beard, tourtued to death at the will of his own divine parentage, the blood dripping from his shade's hands.

The high gods of the underworld brought him up to their tower to figure out what happened. Christ had recoiled from them at first, thinking they were Devils, but had to take Anubis's hand to ascend the tower's steps, as his legs were badly wounded. The gods of the dead looked at him with both sympathy and horror, it was the first time a he had seen a god look at him with either of those emotions.

Hades swore that this was his brother's doing, but even then it crossed a new line. The description of a god impregnating a young girl in Bethlehem fit what Hades knew of Zeus, but to harm his own son in such a way, as part of a ploy to try to gain all of Rome for him alone, had proven his brother's reign growing darker. Still, he took mercy on the young man, promising him at least three days safety in the underworld without his father trying to claim him again. Hades wondered if the poor girl knew when she held her child that he was born to suffer and die, just as the mothers of great heros knew their destiny. Hades hoped Chrsit would have a chance to stay longer, his wife would return in the fall, and he had the same kind eyes as her, she would probably like to know him.

Hel came to comfort Christ once he had a chance to rest. She helped tend his wounds, and pet his head, and for the first time christ was held by a divinity that didn't expect anything from him. And she told him stories of her father to cheer him up after meeting with such a horrible fate. And she told him that no father should ever do such a thing as what his father had done to his child, that if she had known in time she would have saved him. And she let him be comforted as a human, instead of being a lord of all humanity. And for a momment he didn't have to be the son of god who felt alone while bleeding and dying, but the son of the carpenter Joseph who had been reminded of home when he felt the wood of the cross.

He wasn't allowed to stay, his father wanted him back, back to be the bleeding prince of a new and lonely kingdom. And the underworld wept for him, not because the underworld was deprived of Christ, but because Christ was deprived of the underworld.

[myth-and-legend]

𝓐𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝔂𝔁

Tw : death, grief, dark atmosphere, mention of despair, suspense, a bit of anxiety, poor writing. A/N: 1)The images do not belong to me, but the arrangement is my own.2)I’m referring to Hades from Greek mythology, not any other version. 3)I will probably make a sequel if anyone is interested. Number of words: 1127 Type: Fic

Death took you by surprise: a moment of life, then emptiness. Now, you find yourself among the souls of the deceased, trapped on the banks of the Styx. Without a coin to pay Charon, you are condemned to wander, watching others cross while you remain a prisoner of this endless waiting. The murmur of souls around you creates a strange melody, an echo of despair that envelops you.

As you wander, your gaze vacant, you suddenly feel a presence that chills you to the bone. The other souls scatter as if they know what is about to happen. You look up, and your heart skips a beat: Hades, the god of the Underworld, stands before you.

He is majestic and terrifying, dressed in deep black that seems to absorb all light. His eyes, dark and piercing, rest upon you. You feel vulnerable under his gaze, as if he could read every fragment of your soul. You want to speak, to explain why you are here, lost and hopeless, but the words fail you.

Hades says nothing. He stares at you, silent, his expression inscrutable. An eternity seems to pass as you look at each other, you trembling, he impassive. Then, without a word, he turns his eyes away and continues on his way.

You stand there, your heart heavy, with a strange feeling that he has seen something in you that even you do not yet understand.

`.-.. --- ...- .`

Time has no meaning here. Hours, days, maybe even years pass by without you truly noticing. The Styx remains the same, dark and oppressive, and the souls around you continue to drift in this void. You have almost become accustomed to this ghostly existence, but a part of you cannot resign itself to accept this stagnant eternity.

Then, one day—or night, it is impossible to say—your gaze falls upon something you had not noticed before. A coin, solitary, lying on the ground before you. It seems to almost shine in the surrounding darkness, like a promise of liberation. You pick it up, your fingers trembling around the cold metal. It is the key, your means to cross the Styx.

With the coin in hand, you head toward the bank where Charon waits, silent and motionless in his boat. His black, empty eyes fix on you, waiting for you to make a move. You feel his silent impatience, but it is your own heart that betrays you. You hesitate, your feet planted on the rocky ground, unable to advance. On the other side is the unknown waiting for you. A new stage in this existence, a new form of eternity.

The coin weighs heavily in your hand, as if it holds all the answers but also all the doubts. You wonder if this is really what you want. To leave, to abandon this place that has, despite everything, become familiar. An eternity spent here, wandering, suddenly seems less frightening than what might await you on the other side of the Styx.

Your hesitation stretches, each second turning into its own eternity. Then, a hand gently rests on your back. You turn abruptly, your breath catching in your throat.

It is Hades. His gaze remains as impassive as ever, but there is a certain softness in his voice when he finally speaks, breaking the silence that surrounds you.

“Are you not going to board?” he asks, his tone calm but tinged with a slight curiosity.

His intervention unsettles you. Until now, he had observed you from afar, without a word. But now that he is here, his presence forces you to confront your fear.

You feel his gaze upon you, waiting for your response. The moment has come to make a choice, and for the first time in a long while, the choice is yours.

After a long hesitation, you take a deep breath and, with a resolute gesture, extend your arm toward Charon. The coin, now laden with your hope and fears, falls into his skeletal hand. He examines it for a moment before stowing it away with a sharp movement and then invites you to board the boat.

You climb in cautiously, trying to calm your anxiety, and take a seat on one of the rough wooden benches. Hades follows, sitting directly opposite you. His grave demeanor and imposing presence create an atmosphere of heavy calm as the boat begins to glide on the Styx.

The river is a deep blue, almost tangible, and the darkness seems to deepen with each stroke of the oars. Hearing the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the boat, you lean a little over the edge to touch the water. As soon as your hand makes contact with the liquid, an intense cold grips you. You quickly pull your hand away, the icy water seeming to penetrate to your bones, leaving you with a chilling sensation.

Hades, silent, watches you as you straighten up. His dark and piercing eyes follow you, and though he says nothing, you feel he is attentive to every one of your movements. He then turns to the horizon, observing the misty path that stretches before you. The silence between you is almost palpable, broken only by the discreet sound of Charon's oars and the murmur of the water beneath the boat.

The crossing seems endless, each minute stretching in the darkness of the Styx. The dense fog that envelops the river obscures what awaits you on the other side, and the uncertainty weighs heavily on your shoulders. Your curiosity grows with each stroke of the oars, gnawing at you as you wonder what might be hidden in the shadows beyond the river.

`.-.. --- ...- .`

Long minutes pass, marked only by the gentle splash of the water and the creak of the boat. Thoughts swirl in your mind, leaving you anxious and impatient. Finally, the tension becomes too heavy to bear. You turn slightly toward the ferryman, trying to pierce the mystery of this interminable crossing.

In a nearly inaudible whisper, you ask, “Is there much time left before we arrive?”

Your voice is weak, almost drowned out by the river’s noise and the wind’s breath. Charon pays no attention, but Hades looks at you for a moment, his expression impenetrable and revealing no emotion. Then, with measured slowness, he responds:

“We have not arrived yet. Time here is… different.”

He turns his eyes back to the river, his gaze lost in the darkness. It seems that this answer only adds to your anxiety, but also to a certain relief. The journey continues, with each wave and each stroke of the oars gradually bringing you closer to the unknown that awaits.

This answer leaves you with more questions than answers. You say nothing and simply turn your gaze toward the endless expanse of water.

[pigeonbksimp]

I'm dooonnneee @kovu-bunnbunn !!! :³

(For those without context, Kovu drew themselves as a greek God and tagged their moots to do the same, so here I am!! W/ Kats, obviously)

[kaitlinamberxo]

“I'm a demigod. Worshipped and feared by the Cult and all the Greek world.”

kaitlin's 100 favorite fictional muses — 100/100: Alexios / Deimos

[kingeparr]

abt percy jackson's middle name - a long post

let's talk about percy's middle name, its implication and what is my headcanon for it!!

first a warning!! i know very little abt actual greek mithology. i've tried to read my copy of odyssey and illiad a total of 10 times and i CANNOT for my life understand that shit. having said that, my mythos knowledge is based on hours on wikipedia sources pages, greek miths articles and more. anyways, this will have spoilers of the Percy Jackson Universe by Rick Riordan.

having been warned, I should start with one point:

percy doesn't have a middle name in canon. From what we've known it's never mentioned a middle name at all, wich is not very uncommon in the PJO universe, as most character do not have one (from the top of my head the only ones that canonically have one are Rachel and Reyna (Rachel Elizabeth Dare and Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano))

BUT in most fandom fanfics that feature his middle name, he is called Perseus Achilles Jackson. Again, it is not canon, but it is so common that most people think it is true. Unfortunately, it doesn't make sense.

It's canon that Sally was the one that named Percy, and she chose Perseus, a son of Zeus, as her choice because he was one of the only Greek heroes that in most versions of the myths get to live a long and relatively happy life after their adventures. From what I've known most times Perseus dies of old age or ascends as a constellation along with his mother and his wife, Andromeda.

Now, what are the implications that we know of?

this will be mostly speculation and head canons, so beware!!

i don't think Rick Riordan ever stated, but it is possible to draw parallels between Percy and Annabeth with Perseus and Andromeda, essentially in their first quest, even more in the series. The same is possible to associate with other characters with names derived from Greek myths.

and, until now, all of Percy's quest he has come back alive, even if the world was ending or if he has gone trough Tartarus, he has come back alive.

As it stands in canon, it's often said that names have power !! saying gods, monsters or others names will call their attention, or give them power. it could be associated that those names with History, or a Legacy HAVE more power and purpose behind them. Ex: Castor and Pollux, Jason, could even say Leo etc.

that is great, and reforces that its possible Sally did something right about the naming.

now, next part is a FULL BLOWN HEAD CANON!!

to me, his full name is Perseus Ulysses Jackson. let me tell you why.

Ulysses = Odysseus

Ulysses comes from Odysseus, yes, the Greek hero hated by Poseidon from the Odyssey. Why would Sally do that? Same reason of why Perseus.

Odysseus, despite all his Odyssey, came back home. In the Odyssey, is said he will live the rest of his life peacefully, and apparently he lived mor 10 years as Ithaca's King. There is another myth where he is killed by his son with Circe, but ignore that for this post.

I think it would make sense for the way they both lived that even if Poseidon hated him, that Sally would have her son named after a hero and a general that even after everything he went trough he still made home, still had people who believed in him, even if Sally herself were not there to see him, like Odysseus' mother, at least he would be alive.

Someone that is selfish in a way if that means he lives. In the same way Sally calls herself selfish for trying to have Percy with her for more time during the years before TLT. For that she endured Gabe.

Not that she knew that of course, but the fates could be at work. I'm always fan of a good foreshadowing.

Now Speaking of foreshadowing, next topic

2. Ulysses - Roman name

Ulysses is the roman version of Odysseus, still has the same meaning and the roman version of the myth is not that different. Why roman, then?

First, because my Odyssey copy was with the Roman names and I was very pissed at that when I was 12 and tried reading it for the first time and discovered that the FUCKING ODYSSEY MAN WAS NOT CALLED ODYSSEUS IN MY VERSION, to my frustration.

ANYWAY, second point: Percy has a connection to the Roman since the first book.

In his classes with Chiron, Percy fights in Roman armor, swords and has Latin classes, and while that is all good and cool, i always found it strange of Chiron to teach Latin, and not Greek. Of course, it could be a ruse of Chiron to distance Percy even more from his greek side, while still helping him learn about the world. it could be nothing.

but to me is not nothing.

Percy has a weird facility with Latin at 12 that Jason did not have with Greek at 16. And while it could be argued that they did not have their memories, Percy was a 12 yo boy that CURSED IN LATIN in a time of distress. I bet they did not have classes about "How to curse in Latin" and i doubt Percy searched for that somewhere.

Percy is very connected with the Roman side of the demigod world, he feels drawn to New Rome, goes to the Roman Uni and he gets so wrapped in it he becomes PREATOR in like a week!! while Jason spent months on the Greek side.

Percy has a lot of participation in Both sides of the demigods being a kinda important figure in both camps.

now, a subtopic.

Percy Jackson: Son of Neptune

Percy is presented as a son of Neptune from the get go in camp Jupiter, wich he doesn't protest at any time (from what i remember), the thing is Poseidon IS different from Neptune specially their roots.

Poseidon is primarily the god of the sea. Neptune is the god of rivers, springs, and waters.

Technically, Percy should not have control of any type of water or rivers, his father is the god of SEA, saltwater. Even then, he can control even the rivers in the Underworld. He has such control of "water" that he can control ALL LIQUIDS! That is not Poseidon's domain, the control of Waters is Neptune's.

knowing this i like to believe the following.

Percy is the son of both Poseidon and Neptune. Don't ask me the logistics, i wouldn't know, and i don't care. HOWEVER when you add things up, it makes sense, in my head, at least.

In conclusion, Sally associates her son's fate with two heroes that go trough MANY hardships but get back home, are strong and live kind of happy lives after that. One of them is mainly Greek, being his first name, what he is primarily called. The other is Roman, it is there, but it's not mentioned, but it still is his name, and it gives him power.

Specially, when you think that the roman counterparts all have a child, except Neptune. Pluto has Hazel, Hades had Bianca and Nico. Jupiter had Jason, Zeus has Thalia. Poseidon has Percy, Neptune has no one? seems unequal and unbalanced in a way the gods wouldn't allow.

Not only that but why would Neptune "claim" or let be claimed a son that wasn't his when Rome hasn't been grateful or careful with him? His last child was scorned (i don't remember the name but it's said that they were basically blamed for earthquakes or something in the 1900)

as the series goes and percy draws MUCH MORE POWER from rivers and other liquids than from the ocean, and the time it took for percy to be born he could be powerful from both sides. he is the first demigod of Poseidon in 70+ years, but he is the first demigod rrom Neptune in 100+ !!!

it makes sense that even if he is called a greek, as his name evokes, he is connected and powerful on his Roman side. It is not a coincidence that people thought he was a god when he first arrived in Camp Jupiter.

It's a tribute for both his Roman and Greek sides, to invoke the names and fates of two powerful kings that are burdened with responsibility, and that learned and lived after their quests.

i could talk about this for hours, specially if Epic's Odysseus by Jorge Rivera-Herrans is taken in account (wich I am doing) but I will not elaborate

anyway, Percy's middle name is Ulysses and I'm right, idc.

[childrenofcain-if]

Oh! Ro’s & mc’s as famous pairings in tragedies? (Romeo & Juliet, Eurydice and Orpheus etc…)

C LACROIX: pyramus and thisbe

V NÆSHOLM: orpheus and eurydice

W OSTENDORF: achilles and patrocles

D DIACONU: paris and helen

M WHITLOCK-SINGH: antigone and haemon

[dao-the-starlight]

“Oh hey Hades 2 got another update! I’ve sorta been ignoring it to avoid heavy spoilers but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek and see what’s neeeEEWWOAAH GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY-”

[cabinetofquriosities]

From Persephone, Part 1

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Smut, abusive violence (parental abuse)

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Agatha splashed water from a rinsing bowl into her face, washing the remnants of slumber from it. She jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. Newly twenty and she was still completely under her thumb. She threw her dress on and ran downstairs.

The house was a cabin like the rest of Salem, but more opulent than the average one. Evanora’s coven had taken the village over after the villagers tried and failed to destroy them. The trials had just opened the door to a war the other colonizers lost.

She found her mother at the bottom, dressed in silken robes.

“I expect you to wake with the dawn,” her mother said with a look of exasperation.

“I tried, but we spent so long at the ritual in the woods last night…”

“I do not wish to hear your excuses, child. Your instructor has canceled for today, so I will have you practicing in the fields.”

“Mother-“

Evanora held up a finger, silencing her daughter.

“You shall practice until every flower in that field has bloomed,” she said, “You are the reason so many have wilted already. The selfishness of your very being knows no bounds. Even your magic takes for itself. It is time for you to learn how to fix your mistakes.”

Agatha willed away the unshed tears in her eyes. Her mother, for as long as she could remember, hated the way her magic worked. She called her a succubus, a leech on the world. As a young girl child, a witch tried to attack her mother in front of her. A seven year old Agatha leapt in front of her, trying to protect the only family she had. The blast of magic hit her, much to her mother’s horror.

However, instead of it killing her, Agatha’s body took hold of it. It gave her a feeling of euphoria, drawing a stream of power from the attacker. Her purple overtook the other woman’s teal, burning through the connection until it reached her. The woman shriveled and fell to the ground as a grey husk. Agatha smiled at the feeling before seeing what she had done. Her stomach dropped at the sight of the dead, shriveled witch. She turned to the mother she had just saved for comfort, but Evanora pushed her back, sending the small child falling to the dirt.

“Stay back, you monster,” she hissed.

Her mother had never looked at her the same way after that day. Evanora had deemed her as being inherently evil. Someone who needed to learn to repress her true nature for the sake of being acceptable.

Now, even as a grown woman, Evanora was forcing her to train with the express purpose of reversing the way her magic worked. Every time she tried to infuse life into anything, she ended up draining everything from it. She left dead flowers, plants, and animals in her wake.

She walked out into the fields of flowers her mother nourished with her magic. Her mother, while she couldn’t create life, was able to encourage it to health with her spells and enchantments. The village learned to go from fearing Evanora following the trials to loving her when she ensured the growth of abundant crops.

Her magic bridged the gap between magic and non magic, allowing both groups to coexist. People now respected and relied on healers, divination witches, and protection witches to survive in their colony. Evanora always made it clear to Agatha that her deadly magic could undo all of that good will.

Agatha desperately wanted to be good. She wanted to help the village rather than siphon it of all life. Everyone, even her fellow witches, were terrified of her. They respected her mother and coven, but always kept her at arm’s length. Some nights, she considered leaving altogether for the safety of everyone within. However, Evanora made it clear that it wasn’t an option. She needed the Harkness line to continue. Since she was never able to have another child, that only left Agatha.

Agatha knelt down, finding one of the dead flowers. She focused, a purple mist forming around it. She pictured it regaining color and life. The flower crumbled into dust while the healthy flowers around it wilted and died. She sighed and tried again. And again. and again. For hours, she felt her frustration building, her mother’s voice in her head.

She failed again and rage bubbled up. A plume of purple smoke bloomed and took all life within its radius. For twenty feet in each direction, there were the ashes of beauty that Agatha ruined. She fell to her knees, planting her hands on the lifeless dust and began sobbing. Her mother was right. All she was good for was destruction.

Behind her, she could hear one of the lifeless stems crack, snapping her out of her misery. She readied a ball of energy in case the sound was a threat. Rather than some belligerent man or wild animal, it was a woman. She wore a long, tight black dress. Her dark hair fell to her waist and her eyes were painted with wings that looked like the glittering, starry night.

“Hello,” the woman said, snapping her fingers.

The orb of magic in Agatha’s palm was extinguished. Agatha looked panicked, unsure of what to do in the presence of someone who didn’t fear her.

“Who are you?” Agatha asked, looking up at her, her knees still in the dirt.

“That was quite the display of power,” she said with a smile.

“You… are not afraid?” Agatha asked with a shaky voice.

“Why would I be afraid?” She asked.

“You must not be from here. I am-“

“Agatha Harkness. Daughter of Evanora Harkness, the leader of Salem’s coven. Your mother is known as the ‘life of Salem’ while you,” she reached down and cupped her chin, guiding her to stand, “Are known as ‘the Death of Salem’.”

Agatha’s face heated as it was touched by this stranger. She felt hypnotized, gazing into her eyes and put under her thrall.

“How did you know-“

“I like to know the most powerful witches wherever I go. It makes my job easier when one of them begins to interfere in my work,” she said, her annoyance showing in a snarl.

“Is my mother…?”

“In a way, yes. She is depriving the universe of one of its greatest witches. Of one who can maintain the balance of life and death,” she said, playing absentmindedly with Agatha’s hair, twirling a lock around her fingers.

“Who?” she asked, not able to believe the obvious answer.

“You, Agatha. Your power is being smothered when it should be allowed to grow.”

“My… What? No…” Agatha stepped back, looking confused and suspicious, “My power is not one that is useful or desirable.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” the other woman said, “You gifts are enviable.”

“Look around you,” Agatha said, sweeping her hand to motion to the dead flowers surrounding them, “I kill everything I touch! My power is a burden. Not a gift.”

“It is simply misunderstood,” the woman said, reaching out and taking her hand in hers.

Agatha felt things that she was told never to feel for a woman. For anyone, really. Witches in her mother’s coven never married. They would deprive themselves to focus on the craft. Baby girls would be conjured through magic in their wombs, leading to men being irrelevant to the survival of their society.

Along with that was discouragement of relations with women as well, the act being seen as sullying the bonds of sisterhood. Whether it be Puritanical values or the coven’s strict beliefs, Agatha’s desire was something to be ashamed of. A blush rose in her cheeks as she looked down, trying to gather her senses.

“Scarlet suits you,” the woman said, cupping her burning cheek and rubbing her thumb over it.

“I-I am not… uh… Who are you?” Agatha sputtered out.

“Rio,” she said, her gaze traveling over every detail of her face, “The green witch.”

“W-What do you want from me, Rio?” she asked, finding herself leaning into her touch.

“Your power. Your presence,” Rio said, leaning in close enough for her breath to brush over Agatha’s lips, “Your companionship.”

Agatha’s heart was at a sprint within her chest. She was frozen where she stood, unsure of what to say. No one had ever wanted her.

“I… do not even know you. My coven… I cannot become anyone’s companion. Much less a woman’s,” Agatha said, trying to look away.

“Forget everyone else. What do you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” she said.

“Who told you that?”

“My mother,” she said without thinking, “Forgive me, I should not speak ill of her.”

“Why not?” Rio asked, “She does not seem like a pleasant woman.”

“She helps others…”

“She does not help you.”

“She tries to.”

“By berating you? By making you deny your purpose?”

“You do not know anything about our lives,” Agatha countered defensively.

“I know more than you think,” Rio said.

“Who do you think you are?!”

“Lady Death.”

Agatha’s blood ran cold. Her mouth gaped open as she realized that Rio was not just a green witch. She was THE green witch. The witch only spoken of in children’s bedrooms as part of cautionary tales told at bedtime. The keeper of the underworld and all of the souls within. The witch who existed long before humans came into being and would still exist long after they went extinct.

She lost all color in her face as she fell to her knees again. To speak out of turn to a higher witch was a huge transgression. To speak that way to a celestial being was unthinkable.

“Forgive me,” she said, hoping it would be enough to spare her, “I did not know.”

Rio reached down, taking her hand.

“Stand,” she ordered.

Agatha did as she was told, shaking in fear of what was about to happen. She was certain that whatever Lady Death had in store for her would make her mother’s punishments look like paradise.

“I understand. I insulted your mother and you defended her. However, loyalty is admirable, but misplaced. Someone who rejects you at every turn does not deserve your devotion.”

Agatha opened her mouth to argue, but found nothing to say in her mother’s defense. Perhaps Rio had a point.

“I will be back to visit you later. I am not giving up on you. I want to see you flourish,” Rio said, “In a way that fits who you are.”

Rio’s magic circled them. New plants and buds grew from beneath the ashes of the flowers. Verdant leaves and technicolor petals bloomed around them.

“Without letting the past plants die out, the new ones cannot grow. Your magic is a gift, Agatha. It allows nature to take its course.”

A purple flower grew from Rio’s palm. She held it out to Agatha, curtsying to her. Agatha smiled shyly as she took it from her.

“Until we meet again.”

Agatha found herself feeling lighter than she ever had. She playfully spun the flower between her fingers by the stem. She smelled it, the aroma matching Rio’s. She took care to tuck it away in her satchel before making her way into her house.

Once she was in her room, she took the flower back out, taking in its scent again. She thought back to the way Rio’s hand felt on her cheek. The way she looked at her was unlike anyone else. It was unbelievable to Agatha that Lady Death would endure her presence, much less curtsy to her.

For the next few weeks, Agatha would meet Rio at the edge of the fields. The fields went for miles and the other witch would appear at random places along the perimeter. Agatha would always feel a strange pull towards wherever Rio would be.

The two witches spent their time training. Rio would answer Agatha’s questions about spells and incantations while Agatha would answer questions about her day to day life. While Agatha was focused on knowledge and skill, Rio seemed more interested in getting to know Agatha as a person. At the end of each lesson, Agatha would leave with a flower that never wilted. A flower that smelt of Rio.

Agatha began learning how to control her siphoning abilities. She was able to drain half a tree before stopping herself. Even though it was not comparable to doing that with an attacking witch, it was a start. Agatha squealed and jumped up and down, never having taken pride in her own magic. Rio smiled more freely than Agatha had seen while watching the newer witch’s reaction. She handed her another flower bloomed from her hand.

“Good girl,” Rio said, the words making Agatha breathless for some reason.

“Thank you. For teaching me,” she said.

“It is my pleasure,” Rio said with a nod.

“I am not complaining, but why do you waste time every day on me?”

Rio cocked her head, looking completely stunned.

“I am not wasting anything. Agatha, I want to spend this time with you.”

Agatha took a shaky breath, her mind reeling as she found any excuse as to why Rio would want that.

“For my powers?” she asked.

“No,” Rio said with an air of offense, “Your powers are formidable, but I come here every day to be with you. Your distinct and wonderful spirit. In fact, your power is just a sign of something bigger.”

“What?” Agatha asked.

“This… it will sound mad, but I need for you to listen all of the way through,” Rio said, “I have walked this planet for eons with the knowledge that there was another half of me out there. It slipped from person to person, the power always the same. This same soul would never rest on the other side. It would be reborn with every death of its host. Just as I would catch up, it would escape me. The other hosts were either too afraid of the situation or would allow their own earthly personalities to hold them back. You, though. You are the home of this soul now. The soul of my other half. You are favorite form by far. You are intelligent, compassionate, strong, and devoted to those around you.”

“I-I am at a loss for words… Thank you. I am very fond of you as well. All of this seems so strange. What is my purpose in it?”

Rio took her hands in hers, holding them firmly.

“Every form of you had a chance to cross over, but it must be your choice.”

“Wait… do you mean… die?”

“No, no,” Rio said, “The opposite, actually. You have already died a million deaths throughout all of time. What you have the chance to do is to cross into the underworld as a ruler who keeps the balance, holding dominion over the dead. You will be reborn as an eternal being. I want you to be my queen.”

Agatha’s lips parted and her eyes were wide in shock. She could hardly process the fact that she was inextricably connected to Rio throughout time. She couldn’t even begin to broach the subject of marriage or queendom.

“I… do not know. Forgive me,” she said, shaking like a leaf.

Rio felt as if she had revealed too much too soon. She remembered getting so close with Agatha’s past selves only to have them panic and turn their backs on her. They had been the same soul, but molded by their environment and the experiences of their particular life. Celestial beings needed to work for their soulmates when those mates were trapped in the world of humans.

Rio’s sisters and brothers were engaged in the same struggle concerning their own fated loves. Adonis, the leader of human vanity and bodily health, had just lost the current version of his soulmate to a marriage to a man. He would need to wait until this vessel passed on and the soul migrated to another. Etheria, the essence of creativity and ruler of imagination, had lost her soulmate before she could even speak to her. The woman’s current life was ended when she was killed by a fever. Etheria now needed to find the new person the soul had reincarnated in and wait patiently.

Even if they found them, their soulmate would need to make the conscious choice to cross over to their kingdoms, often on another plane of existence where they would have an entirely new connection with humanity. They, in turn, would need to give up their humanity in order to become transcendent. That was a terrifying choice to make. It was so incomprehensible to mortal beings that it chased so many of them away.

Her siblings who had finally found and successfully wooed their partners had a wholeness and peace that Rio could only dream of. Each one had a soulmate whose power was the inverse of their own. Their magic complemented their partner’s in a way that struck a balance in their corner of the universe. The amount of time, effort, and pure chance it took each of them to find their loves felt cruel.

“Not to worry,” Rio said, “We have all the time in the world. Please do not worry.”

-Please don’t leave me. Not again- Rio thought.

She grew an orange and red flower in her hand and tucked it behind Agatha’s ear. Agatha was disoriented by the situation, but felt something undeniable when she looked into those dark eyes.

“I will see you again tomorrow,” Agatha promised.

She could see the visible relief in Rio’s form. As unbelievable as it all sounded, she knew what she was saying was the truth. A being this powerful would not show so much anxiety over the attention of a lowly human witch unless there was a reason like the one Rio had given.

Agatha also felt the unrelenting pull towards Rio. She had dreamt of those eyes since she was a girl. She had also dreamt of different lives. One as an artisan in Egypt. Another as a warrior in Greece. One in a nondescript savannah, living in a cave with some animal that had long since become extinct. She remembered resting beneath a leafless tree, her head resting on the belly of that animal, the two breathing in tandem before a shadow of a woman fell over her.

The woman appeared in each dream, but Agatha never remembered any distinguishing features apart from her eyes. As she woke each morning, the dream would sink into the back of her mind, fleeting as most dreams were.

Everything made more sense now that she connected the woman in front of her to the dreams that plagued her throughout her life. Regardless, it was not a clear choice for her. Even with her cruel mother and terrible reputation, giving away her place in this world was giving up everything she knew.

She squeezed Rio’s hand.

“Tomorrow when the first rays of daylight emerge. I will come and see you,” Agatha said.

Agatha leaned in, touching Rio’s face. It felt odd to be acting so familiar with her. She pressed her lips to her cheek, hoping it wasn’t too forward. Then again, the woman had more or less just proposed to her. Rio felt something come alive within her at the simple display of affection. She was more aware of her need for Agatha more than ever before.

Agatha took her time walking through the fields. She took in the smell of the flower, of Rio, as grass folded underfoot. She looked up at the sunset, wondering if she would ever have a better chance at happiness than this. In the distance, she noticed one of the younger girls from the coven sprinting through the fields toward her house. Her brow knit as she followed after, walking as the girl sped ahead.

Once Agatha made her way back, she saw the young girl standing next to her mother, looking pale and terrified. Agatha was used to the look of fear on the faces of others when she was near, but this was a different atmosphere altogether. The girl sprinted past her, running outside to return home.

Agatha looked up at her mother, unable to open her mouth to speak before a hand came down and slapped her hard enough to send her to the floor.

“How DARE you!” Evanora bellowed.

Her mother always had an edge to her appearance. Nothing about her looked welcoming or kind, but her anger transformed her into something absolutely terrifying. Her long grey hair was as wild as her eyes. Her fists were clenched by her sides, orbs of blue magic threatening to escape them.

“Mother, what did I do?!” Agatha whimpered.

“Oh, Agatha. You are many things, but you are not stupid. So, do not claim ignorance.”

“Of what? I do not understand!”

Evanora grabbed the flower from Agatha’s hand. She had forgotten to hide it away.

“All of those afternoons ‘training’ in the fields, you were just with some whore,” Evanora spat out.

Agatha’s heart stopped for a moment. How did she know? That little brat had seen them and told her.

“She was teaching me! I have been kept away from anyone who could help me learn how to use my power. Please, Mother! I speak the truth!” Agatha begged.

“USE YOUR POWER? You should be training to keep that power at bay! All it does is destroy. All YOU do is bring pain and suffering. I should have killed you the moment you left my body,” Evanora stated with a look of pure loathing.

Agatha’s eyes showed every emotion flooding through her. She was terrified and shattered all at once. However, she looked frozen to anyone who could see her, her face painting a portrait of pure devastation.

“Please Mother… I love you,” she managed to whisper out.

Evanora laughed bitterly before saying, “Evil like you could never know love.”

Agatha broke down crying, her face looking like that of her as a little girl. It was yet another instance of the familiar experience of being rejected by the one person who brought her into this world. However, this time was more brutal than those in the past.

“And the fact that you are out there gallivanting with some woman out there, perverting what is supposed to be sisterhood among our gender is laughable. You really think that anyone would love you once they see you for what you truly are?”

“I… I…”

“At a loss for words? Is your lying tongue now tied?”

Evanora took her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Agatha screamed as she was roughly pulled up the stairs to her room. Her mother flung her down, raining more blows, even contributing a kick to Agatha as she was groaning in pain on the floor.

“You will never see that bitch again. Do you understand me, girl?”

Agatha wheezed for air, her entire body in pain.

“Yes, Mother,” she said, resigned.

“Good. You will stay in this room until I say you can leave.”

“N-no, please,” she whimpered, remembering times where she had been confined for months at a time, being intermittently starved and driven mad by the isolation.

“You should feel lucky that I cannot use my magic directly on you. You would not be breathing if I could. Here is your parting gift from your poor example of a lover,” she said.

Evanora crushed Rio’s flower and threw it on the floor. The destroyed bloom landed beside Agatha’s face, deformed but still alive. As the door closed, Agatha desperately tried to crawl towards it. She lost all hope as it locked and the enchantment surrounded the room. Anyone else could come and go as they pleased, but Agatha was trapped within its confines.

For several days, Agatha wasted away in her room. She was unable to leave for any reason. Her mother sent servants to bathe her once for “the wretched smell of my loathsome child”. She woke up to fewer and fewer books in her room, which were the only things keeping her sane. Her journals had not been found, but Agatha was too afraid of prying eyes to use them. She sat by the window, breathing in the scent of the undying flowers looking desperately for Rio. The aroma of those hidden gifts were her only comfort. As long as she stayed living, Rio had a chance of finding her. However, her hope waned as the days passed by.

Rio had been showing up at the edges of the fields for nearly three weeks. That first morning, she feared that Agatha had fled from her. She blamed herself for revealing too much too quickly. She found herself thinking of nothing but her as she spent her nights reaping souls.

Often, she would send fragments of herself to do the actual work of escorting souls to the underworld. One physical form could not be in so many places at once. She used magic and fractured herself into functional copies, all of them projections of the original. Regardless of this, she relieved some of them by personally attending to the dead to distract herself from the hole left in her life by Agatha.

As Death, Rio was accustomed to the rejection and hatred of others. No one enjoyed her presence. No one truly understood the need for an ending. Instead of seeing it as the culmination of the raw beauty and terror of life, the transformation into something pure, they saw it as annihilation. The hope that Agatha would see her differently slipped from her mind, leaving her numb.

After a long day of Evanora forcing Agatha to kneel on rice while reading from the coven’s writings, her mother instructed her to stand. Agatha cringed as she shakily rose to her feet, the dry rice embedded in her knees falling from small reddened indents. She was fed one meal that day which had been more than she had for the past six as well as being given a bath before her mother entered the room.

“Hand it back,” Evanora ordered, taking the books from her daughter.

She walked slowly around the perimeter of Agatha’s room as if searching for a weapon or a hidden familiar. Suddenly, she stopped short. Her eyes fell upon something red peeking out from beneath Agatha’s pillow.

Agatha’s heart dropped as she realized what she had found. Evanora ripped the pillow off to reveal a small pile of flowers. The same ones Agatha would hold to her chest and smell when she missed the outside world. The ones that held the scent of Lady Death.

Evanora scoffed, saying, “Are these enchanted? I know you could not have picked them since I have eyes on you every moment of every day. I assume SHE enchanted them since they are alive and not drained to dust.”

“Please…” Agatha practically squeaked out, her sorrow overwhelming her, “They are all I have…”

“All you have? You ungrateful brat. You have the Harkness title, but you continue to shame it with your malevolence and your foolish whims. You do not deserve sunlight. You do not deserve the spring breeze. You certainly do not deserve flowers.”

With that, flames sparked from Evanora’s palms. Fire engulfed the flowers, destroying them entirely. The ashes fell to the floor. Agatha ran her hand through them, mourning the final scrap of happiness she had.

Evanora then expanded her destruction in an explosion of magic with her as its epicenter. Though she fancied herself as not being emotion-driven, anger often took control. A tidal wave of magic swept across every field apart from her own, destroying the crops in their wake. Along with Agatha, the rest of Salem was now being starved.

Miles away, Rio felt a burning sensation rolling through her body. Something she had given life had just been destroyed. While this occasionally happened with vegetation she grew, this was something she had poured her heart into.

Agatha.

She needed to return to her. A plume of Green and black smoke surrounded her. She was transported to the doors of the Harkness estate. She could feel strong spells protecting it, but they balked under the power of Rio. She flicked her hand, causing the doors to splinter and explode. She was unsure if Agatha had destroyed the flowers herself or if someone else had. Her confusion was cleared up the moment she heart Evanora screaming at a sobbing Agatha who was begging her to just let her go. She had just assumed that Agatha had rejected her, not once considering she was being punished or even held against her will.

Rio saw red.

Evanora froze at the sound downstairs. She was about to open the door when she felt heat emanating from it. The door was set ablaze, falling away as a silhouette formed within the fire. A woman who was untouched by the inferno.

Agatha was standing again, backing up against the wall. She was terrified of dying before she could return to Rio, of being reborn in some unknown place where she couldn’t find her. Where Agatha wouldn’t remember her.

Then, she saw her. Rio was standing in the doorway wearing black silk that wrapped tightly around her body, starting in a hood over her head and ending just above the middle of her thighs. Her eyes were determined and deadly. Agatha had never been so happy to see someone so murderous.

“I missed you,” Rio said with a little wave of her fingers.

Agatha looked at her in awe, unable to respond in the middle of so much chaos. Evanora, on the other hand, had plenty to say. She whispered an incantation that extinguished the flames, the destruction left behind on the charred walls.

“GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE, YOU HEATHEN!” she bellowed.

Rio simply smirked, calmly saying, “Make. Me.”

Evanora let out a roar as she shot every bit of magic she had at the woman. Rio stumbled back a bit, but easily deflected it.

“My turn,” she said, blowing Evanora into the ceiling with a sweep of her hand, keeping her pinned.

“You will NOT TAKE HER!” Evanora yelled.

“Oh, hush,” Rio said, turning to Agatha.

She is walked over to her, taking Agatha’s hands in her own. She saw the bruises, the black eye, the signs of malnourishment. She kissed her knuckles before letting Evanora go, dropping her like a ragdoll on the floor.

“Temptress,” Evanora said, blood dripping from her lips as she sat herself up, “Harlot…”

“Do you,” Rio began, turning to face Evanora, “Have any clue who I am?”

“You are the scarlet woman who is foolish enough to scrape the bottom of the barrel with Agatha,” she spat.

Rio’s eyes flashed with fury.

“Agatha is more consequential than you will ever be, you peon,” Rio said slowly and calmly.

“You really are quite stupid,” she said with a laugh as she stood on shaky legs.

“Look at me, Evanora. Look closer and tell me who I am…” Rio said, stepping toward her.

Evanora rolled her eyes with a sardonic smile. That is, until the moonlight that filtered through the window hit the other woman’s face. The light revealed the face of death, a skull in place of skin. A grotesque, bony smile. She fell back against the wall, her eyes full of more fear than Agatha had ever seen her show.

“Lady Death…” she whispered, “Just take her. Agatha has not deserved to live since the day she was born. Take her to the underworld, to whatever hell awaits her. I shall not interfere.”

Rio knew that once this bitch died, she would ensure that her afterlife would be worse than whatever humans believed hell to be.

“So quick to relinquish your only child to such a horrible fate. You truly are a waste of breath. To have a child like her and treat her like a demon.”

She stepped closer to the cowering woman.

“Oh, nothing to say? No more cruel words to throw my way? Let me explain just how much you have erred in your ways. Agatha is the fated leader of the underworld, along with me. She is the keeper of the soul that is connected to mine.”

“What?” Evanora managed to say.

“Let me restate it in more direct terms. You, Evanora Harkness, have hurt, starved, and tortured my queen. For that, you will not pay with your life, but with your afterlife.”

“No… I did not know!” Evanora yelled, “You must be mistaken. Agatha is not a blessing, she is a deadly curse!”

“AND I AM DEATH. So, I would say that we are very well matched,” Rio said, her unhinged side coming out.

“You do not know her as I do,” Evanora said.

“I know her better than she knows herself. One thing you certainly do not know is your place.”

Knowing she was already doomed to eternal torment, Evanora allowed a bout of madness to take over.

“If you want her so badly, let me help shepherd her to the other side,” she hissed, firing her magic at a support beam. The beam fell directly onto Agatha, pinning her beneath. Rio lifted it off of her, her face the vision of panic and concern as Agatha screamed in pain. She rested a hand on her torso, feeling the cracked ribs and sensing the internal bleeding. She would not lose her. Not again.

Rio leaned down and opened the front of Agatha’s nightgown, tearing it down to her waist. Without regard for modesty, she pressed her lips to the bruising skin. She lightly kissed along the exposed flesh, healing everything she touched. Agatha’s ribs shifted back into place, the bleeding within her body stopped. Her eyes opened, taking in the sight of Rio kissing along her bare front. She went from being broken and dying to the surreal experience of being healed by the intimate affection of the woman who had filled every one of her thoughts.

Rio stood, offering her hand to Agatha. Agatha took it and was pulled up to stand. She looked from Rio to her mother. She no longer showed any love for the woman who had just tried to kill her. Agatha’s glare was as full of hate as Evanora’s.

Agatha wrapped purple chords of magic around her wrists, flinging her into the wall. Evanora threw every heavy object she could get a hold of, using her magic for send an armoire, a chair, a bed at her daughter. Agatha managed to break or magically deflect each one.

When Evanora was about to use her magic once again to take down another beam, Agatha made a fateful decision. She rapidly moved into the path of the cerulean beam of her mother’s magic. Evanora’s spiteful determination morphed into horror as violet stretched over it. Her energy, her life force was painfully pulled from every cell of her body.

Rio watched Agatha, thinking to herself that she could never look more beautiful than she did right now wrapped in a purple glow, consuming the life of someone else. Agatha’s fingers swirled, extracting more power with their movement. Tears streamed down her face as she released all of the pain her mother caused her throughout her life.

Unable and unwilling to stop, Agatha drained every drop. Evanora was left frozen, her mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Her grey form was so dry and lifeless that it fell in pieces to the floor. Agatha watched both in horror and satisfaction.

Rio could see the gears beginning to turn in Agatha’s mind and refused to allow her to blame herself. She took her face in her hands, wiping salty streaks of emotion from Agatha’s skin.

“This was not your fault,” she said firmly, “This was survival. She wanted you dead. She nearly succeeded. You did what you needed to do.”

Agatha looked at the beautiful woman before her and then back down at what remained of her mother. She broke away, kneeling down to the pile of bone and dust. Reaching in, she took her mother’s locket, wiping every bit of her off of it. She put it on, wearing the heirloom in opposition to her mother’s wishes.

She turned and, in the dark, saw Rio’s true face illuminated partially by the light from the moon. She jumped a bit, signaling to Rio that she had forgotten to mask it. Before having a chance to, Agatha approached her, taking her hand in hers, cupping her cheekbone. Lady Death leaned into her touch. She felt more accepted by Agatha than she had by anyone else. She managed to see the beauty of the necessary stage of life in its barest form.

Rio transported them to the fields where they met, standing beneath the stars. Agatha felt an overwhelming barrage of emotions. The grief of being orphaned, rage at her mother’s actions causing her own, and excitement at the newfound freedom. In the center of her warring sentiments was one that held firm.

“I want to cross over with you,” Agatha said.

Rio was stunned. She had been so concerned with Agatha’s safety that she had forgotten what she herself desired. She wanted nothing more than to seize the opportunity to finally claim her love, but she needed to be sure that this was fully accepted by her for what it was.

“You do know what that will mean for you.”

“I do.”

“You will give up your human mortality, any reincarnations, and stay with me for eternity. You will be bound to the realm of the dead and rule at my side for the rest of existence. Are you prepared to make such a commitment?” Rio asked.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” Agatha said.

Rio’s eyes welled with tears, a rare show of vulnerability from the embodiment of death. Her face had shifted back to the one Agatha knew. She cradled her face in her hands, marveling at how beautiful her new bride was.

Agatha memorized every detail of the face she would gaze upon for eons to come. She surged up, capturing Rio’s lips in her own first kiss. The other woman wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Rio feverishly kissed down her neck, ravenous for the witch. She pulled her dirtied nightgown from Agatha, leaving her naked in the soft light of the night sky. She removed her own dress, the fabric unwinding and falling from her form. Agatha held her breath at the vision standing before her. Rio did the same, her eyes devouring her. She pulled her back into a passionate embrace.

Agatha let out a whimper with Rio’s forceful kiss. She reveled in her own shamelessness of being disrobed out in nature while being defiled for the first time. She led them to lay in the grass and flowers, pulling Rio atop her. Her face was surrounded by tendrils of hair.

Rio’s face lit up, looking down at Agatha. She took a moment to pause and take her in. She was already consumed with so much love after such a long pursuit and the few months of getting to know her. Agatha had not seen the usually stoic figure smile very often. Now, it was as if she couldn’t help herself.

Rio kissed down her body, stopping to lavish attention on each breast, sucking and biting at the tender skin. Agatha gasped sharply, tangling her fingers in Rio’s hair. Rio moved lower, leaving marks along her abdomen. She moved her hands down to her thighs, looping her arms around them. She pulled her close, pressing her lips to her core.

Agatha moaned as she felt the overwhelming sensation of a woman’s tongue working its way into her. She rolled her hips and tugged her hair. Whimpers and moans tore from her throat as her pleasure built. Rio slid two fingers within her and explored every sensitive spot she could find. Once she found the one that made Agatha’s toes curl, she made sure to grind her fingertips over it with every thrust.

“Look at my queen… you truly are a vision,” she breathed before wrapping her lips around the bundle of nerves above her sex.

“Rio!” Agatha sobbed out as she pulled her in by her dark tresses, rutting against her mouth until pleasure overwhelmed her.

As her body went taut, the flowers crumbled around her glowing violet form. Rio slid her fingers from her, licking her clean through her aftershocks. She crawled up her form and had a look of adoration adorning her face. She swept down and kissed Agatha, letting her have a taste of herself. Agatha hummed into the kiss, shivering from the pleasure still thrumming in her body.

“I want to please you too,” Agatha whispered with a dark blush on her cheeks.

Rio smiled and tucked a curl behind Agatha’s ear.

“That is not necessary. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

“I want to,” she said, looking desperately into Rio’s eyes.

“Okay,” Rio said, her mouth going dry from Agatha’s need to have her, “Lie back.”

Agatha did as she was told. Rio moved up to her shoulders and straddled Agatha’s face.

“Just listen to the sounds that I make and you will know what to do. Oh, and the bump above the… opening… is important. Trust me on that. Just remember to let me know if you would like to stop. I will not be ups-Aaah!”

Rio broke off as Agatha interrupted her in the best way possible. She gripped Rio’s hips and leaned up, diving into her. She ran her tongue along her slit messily, searching for the spot she described. Once she swiped over one that caused Rio to gasp, she sucked and teased it with the tip of her tongue.

Rio, for her part, tried and failed to keep her composure. Her panting sighs became loud moans in minutes. Agatha was clearly a quick study.

“Ah! Yes… Good girl…” Rio moaned as her hips stuttered, her cunt pulsing with her climax.

The praise lit a flame in Agatha’s chest. Rather than stopping after one, Agatha latched onto her. She was still in shock over the younger witch giving her so much pleasure during Agatha’s first time.

The ministrations on her sensitive clit made her double over, catching herself on her hands. She was bent over, grinding against Agatha’s face. She could feel Agatha’s hands move to clutch her ass. She trembled again with an unexpectedly fast climax. However, it seemed like Agatha wanted to go back for thirds.

“I-Inside me,” she panted, nearly unable to speak.

Rio rode her tongue, at the point where she was not so much talking than incoherently babbling and whining. No one in history had ever seen her this weak or out of control, even her other sexual partners never gave her this much pleasure.

As her hips sped, magic flowed from her hands into the dirt below them. Over the ground that Agatha had cleared of all flowers bloomed new ones. Life washed over the fields of Salem, bringing back to life the crops Evanora had destroyed. Flowers opened up around them, the petals tickling Agatha’s face. She cried out and nearly fainted. She fell to her side, hugging her knees and shivering at the feeling of overstimulation.

“Are you alright? Did I do alright?” Agatha asked with doe eyes.

“I am. And of course you did. You damn near killed death,” she said with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Agatha laughed and tucked her face into the crook of Rio’s neck.

“Are you ready to see your kingdom?” she asked.

Agatha sat up as she was offered a scarlet pomegranate.

[tracykestler]

"I never have a plan. You know that."

-- Ares

[pennysucks]

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY INCEST FICS WITH GREEK MYTHOLOGY??????

I mean, I know why but

COME ONE, THERE ARE 12 OLYMPIANS FOR GODS SHAKE AND THEY'RE ALL FAMILY, WHY ISN'T ANYONE WRITING A FAMILY FIC????(not with good parents, cuz Zeus sucks objectively, but with the sibling gods bonding like come on)

I was planing on writing one myself but it's not exactly based on that, I have a whole ass story in mind that I want to develop 💀

E well I might put sibling shenanigans as a B plot 👻

Btw I have a very scrappy draft of that fic, if anyone wants to see it lemme know cuz I don't have the courage to post it on my own😜

[ladyknight33]

Hades II: The Missing Ares

(Until the full release comes out, the missing gods can be speculated on. Can’t wait to find out what is in store for Ares. Here’s my take. For now.)

Melinoë had passed this marble statue far too many times to count. It always felt odd, as though it was watching everything. She stood before the stone warrior. The detail in his armor was astounding. She could almost see the glint of metal within the white stone. It towered over her, feeling more like a one of the Olympians or the Titans in how she had to look up, barely able to see the helmet much less the face underneath. 

Her fascination with a statue shouldn’t stop her from continuing into the palaces of Olympus. Yet this night, it did. Melinoë began to notice more of the odd details that made this statue different from all the others. Mainly the pedestal seemed to be the very tile under her feet. Nor was the pose artfully striking, simply a warrior who had just donned his helmet. 

Curiosity got the better of her this night. The straps securing the greaves seemed so much like real leather that she had to touch them, just to be sure it was truly cold marble.

Darkness swallowed her. She tumbled without end. Though confusion and terror touched her heart, Melinoë refused to let them dictate her thoughts. She took breaths to find her calm before searching the never ending shadows for … anything. A glint caught her eyes. She willed herself towards it. A man in a simple chiton huddled against an unseen wall. The flash of light came from golden ichor dripping from under thick bronze chains. 

“Hello?” Melinoë called, slowing her approach. The man looked up, revealing dark red eyes under thick locks of matted white hair. There was no recognition of seeing anyone. “Are you alright?”

The man squeezed his eyes shut. “A fool… thinking someone was there.” He buried his face in his arms. “No one is coming for you. No one is even looking after so long…”

“I might not be looking for you, but I have found you. I would like to help.”

Looking up again, the man strained to see where her voice was coming from. He looked right at her and then his eyes slipped away to continue looking. Angrily he snarled, “I do not need voices to make my isolation worse.”

“Isolation? What happened to you?”

“You’re not…. You truly do not know?”

“I do not. I came upon this statue that was different. I touched it and now I’m here.”

“You are not here.” The man relaxed slightly, closing his eyes. “You still stand outside this prison. With a thought, you will leave. But I remain. I hear every sword strike, every explosion. The falling boulders, the sinking ships. But I can do nothing! Imprisoned and useless.” The man tensed and yanked against his chains. Ichor oozed from the old wounds. “Nor could you do anything. Once you leave, you will forget. They all have before. Now no one enters this corridor.”

“Prometheus guards the entrance. I’ve come to help break the siege of Olympus. Perhaps I could help you?” Melinoë had to step back when the dark red eyes turned to her with such hope. Then she was back in the entry chamber. The cold marble under her fingers. Haunting memories of the god, for it had to be since he bleed gold, clung to the recesses of her mind. Who was this god. Melinoë touched another part of the greaves, but felt nothing. Simply smooth stone. Whatever magic had turned a god into a statue now locked her out. 

Finding answers would have to wait for another night. If her task had taught her anything, it was patience and determination. But releasing this god might just turn the tide in this war against Chronos.