#hera in particular looks wild

[piratingconstellations]

i think the ahsoka show is rly suffering from animation not translating to live action. hera and sabine just don’t fit into the grungy desaturated aesthetic the show is going for. this show should have been animated in the first place, but if they were set on live action they should have went for a more vibrant aesthetic and style!!

[justyourtypicaltuesday]

Can Roman Mythology give us insight into who Orange is?

(Note: To minimize confusion, I will be differentiating between historical/mythological figures and their Sanders Sides counterparts by coloring each mention of a Side in their respective color.)

Ever since the fact that three (or four, depending on definition) of the known Sides have names rooted in Roman mythology was brought to my attention, I've been meaning to do my research and explore how this could hint at the next plot point- and given my recent fascination with WTIT, I thought giving my thoughts on Orange theories couldn't hurt.

If you didn't already know, Virgil is named after the famous Roman poet because Joan and Thomas wanted his name to fit with Roman, like Logan and Patton's go together as Logos and Pathos. In addition to this, Remus was named after the Roman myth of Romulus and Remus, in which two princes disagreed on how to found Rome and Romulus had Remus killed. And most intriguing of all, Janus is named after the Roman god of doors, duality, beginnings, transitions and famously has two heads (which the half-human, half-snake face is reminiscent of).

While this is all very intriguing, I started doing research into these Roman myths to explore possibilities for Orange's character. So, I started by looking at other Roman deities closely related to Janus, and two names came up repeatedly, Juno and Diana. Juno is the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Hera, and Diana the same for Artemis. Juno and Janus in particular have a strong relationship, often working together to bring in a new month with a new moon. The epithet Juno Covella- to "oversee, help and protect the moon during difficult labors," and that during these rituals Juno "had the function of aiding and strengthening the moon / when her force was supposed to be at its lowest." Additionally, in Virgil's "The Aeneid"; the protagonist Aeneas has to flee Rome because of a storm Juno created. He's led to Carthage, which is historically Rome's sworn enemy, but he starts to grow an attachment to the people there. While the rest of the story (which I've spared for the sake of brevity) may be a concerning parallel to Virgil's character development, the main character having to flee his home for its rival is a dead ringer for his story, and in this comparison, Rome would be the Others. If Rome was home of the Others, Juno would be one of them, and therefore could realistically be a contender for Orange.

Depending on the source, Janus and Diana (sometimes called Jana) are a pair of deities, or Janus is the son of Trivia, an epithet of Diana. Either way, the two are closely linked. Given Diana's equivalent to Artemis, she is associated with hunting and the wild. However, something particularly interesting about Diana is she is sometimes referred to as a "triple goddess" - referring to three aspects of herself. Diana the Huntress, Diana the Moon, and Diana of the Underworld. Virgil often would call Diana by the name Trivia in his works- referring to three-way crossroads. In legends associated with Diana, she is shown to have the power to assign and rearrange authority, and is heavily associated with a woody grove named Lake Nemi. She was even sometimes worshipped as "Diana of the Wood". Given the WTIT endcard completely centred around a tree, this makes for an interesting observation...

And if you think I'm reading too much into things here, maybe you're right. But during this research, I found that Virgil is an anglicization of what was most likely originally Vergilius or Virgilius. This being Virgil's original name would fit with the naming convention of Janus and Remus, and there's evidence Virgil was mocked for his name sounding like virgin. Sound familiar?

"Shouldn't it be something like Virgin?"

I'm not saying that my theories are flawless, or even likely. In fact, Thomas has no obligation to continue the theme of Roman mythology in characterizing the Sides. But given the current pattern, I wanted to take a stab at what a possible Orange inspired by Roman myth could be. And here's my answer:

- Name beginning with C or D to continue the trend of naming each side with a unique letter.

- A "last resort" - a push of energy to get through a difficult, desperate situation.

- A metaphorical hunter, a "tamer of the wild". A calculated aim and precise with delicately honed skill.

- Assigns authority and place. Possibly responsible for assigning the Duke and the Prince, and who is regarded as a Light or Dark Side.

- A guide through difficult crossroads and a bringer of well-meaning change, often in partnership with Janus.

- Symbols of the moon, lakes, trees, and the underworld.

Take what I've said with a pinch of salt, as this is mostly the result of a few Google searches and internet rabbit holes late at night. I am not a historian and I'll never claim to be one, but it doesn't mean I can't have some fun and learn something in the process.

[loemius]

talk to us about Charon worship, Herakles worship, or Hera worship-- three figures that get very little attention in polytheistic spaces compared to ones like the internet's darling Hermes

OH BOY WOULD I LOVE TO!! thank you for the ask <333 im so excited i gotta do all three of them and pray i dont hit character limit again LMAO HERAKLES: there's two main things that draw me to herakles: 1) his liminal nature. he's both given these divine tasks from literal birth (the snakes in his crib) but is also so deeply human. he's suffered devastating things, and yet, he keeps going, he perseveres. is he worshipped as a mortal hero or as one of the divine? there's evidence for BOTH in antiquity (see oxford handbook of herakles chapter 33 for more). herakles is often an aggressive figure, and through his labors, it can be seen as him 'taming' the wilds and being a helper to society. it's such an interesting juxtaposition and its hard for me to articulate it because of just how deep it runs. 2) herakles lives out every mystai's dream. he's an initiate of the eleusinian mysteries, has been to hyperborea, and he earns apotheosis and a life with the gods, forever in their company. i look up to that. this doesn't even mention all his other adventures outside of his labors! he's got so much going on, and it's all fascinating. herakles has a lot to do with protection, masculinity, athleticism, and averting evil. upg wise, i worship him as an example of someone to look up to -- despite all the things he's been through and the impossible tasks facing him, he's determined and never gives up and asks the gods for help (side note: his relationship with athena is so interesting). i find that he gives me courage and is just a fun and protective presence to be around. if anyone is interested in him, i highly suggest oxford handbook of herakles. fantastic book. CHARON: honestly, charon is a newer figure in my worship, so i don't have a ton of particular sources to share about him. i like that he's a friendly face to the end. i think a lot about the inherent verbal pun of 'khaire kharon' based on how similar the two words are and greeting the ferryman as a friend. there's something to me about his hardworking nature. upg wise, i like to collect my spare change for him and put it in a little dish as an offering. not just for me, but to pay it forward for anyone who might not have anything to pay him with for their ferry. i just find him to be a really interesting figure tbh and im excited to develop my relationship with him more. HERA: oh boy oh boy where do i start with our lovely queen of the gods. i love the orphic association with her and winds -- thinking about how that pairs with father zeus and his storms endlessly delights me, a cosmic dance from the king and queen. her relationship with zeus fascinates me endlessly. they both get a lot of shit on this site, but in cult, they were considered to be deeply in love (theogamia, daedala, their epithets gamelia/gamelii). hera is the keeper of father zeus' oikos (household). she is the one who decides if who gets to join the oikos and who doesn't (much of her persecution of zeus' children without her can be interpreted as her deciding who and who is not worthy of being in her oikos). in cult, she was often revered as an all-mother figure, especially in argos and samos, and i love that interpretation of her. she's a very complex figure, and i love that about her. i love her role in women's lives. i think a lot about her epithets pais, teleia, khera (girl, married woman, widow [from when she separated from zeus for a period of time]). no matter where you are in your life, hera will be there for you. i find that very comforting. upg wise, i pray to her about just about anything. i find she's always a comforting and listening ear. i like to pray to her about my relationships, given her marriage related epithets. i find that she gives me confidence and courage to stand up for myself like she does, to carry myself in the world with grace. i just really like her okay thank you SO much for this ask, this was an absolute treat to talk about. i genuinely appreciate it so much, gods be with you always and bless you

[kanerallels]

Kanera + that circus AU of yours, please?

THANK YOU FOR THIS HAVE A DRABBLE FULL OF BRAINROT

There was very little that Kanan loved more than performing. The rush of adrenaline before he stepped out into the ring, the warmth of the flames swirling around him as he spat flame into the air and made it dance for the entrance audience. It held a magic like almost nothing else.

He loved it. And the one thing he loved more was watching Hera perform.

To be fair, he loved watching Hera even in the most mundane of circumstances— when she was making coffee, or helping him wash up after dinner, or looking after her psychotic horse. Even when they stayed up, late at night, coming up with ideas to save the circus that would never work in a thousand years, he found himself watching her. Her expressions, the way her brow furrowed and her fingers tapped against her coffee mug when she thought. The way her face softened in a very particular way when she talked with Ezra.

But when she performed… it was more than magic. It was transcendent, watching her gallop around the arena, performing tricks on the back of a speeding horse that made his heart skip a beat just to see. But more than anything, it was the smile she wore at the end. Not the one she gave the crowd, the dignified yet warm smile of Hera Syndulla, trick rider extraordinaire.

No, he meant the one that she gave him, the exhilarated grin that she shot his way as she led Chopper back to his stall. The smile that said, Did you see that? I did what no one thought I could do, what is supposed to be impossible.

Kanan had fallen in love with that smile, and he suspected he fell even deeper in love every time he saw it. Which was why he always stayed to watch Hera’s act, no matter what. Even when he couldn’t see any more, he stayed to watch.

Wild horses couldn’t drag him away.

[wolf359transcripts]

Wolf 359 Season 1 Episode 10 – “Extreme Danger Bug”

[intro music]

Welcome to Wolf 359.

Eiffel: Welcome, friends, to a very special live action episode of the log of Douglas Eiffel, Communications Officer to the stars. Today I’m gonna shake things up a bit, be a little less NPR, and a little more National Geographic with some mobile reportage. Rather than have me droning on and on and on about all the terrible stuff that happens around here, let’s look for some of the terrible stuff as it happens.

[door opens and closes]

Eiffel: Ooh, here we go! Looks like we’ve stumbled onto a wild Minkowski! Or as it’s scientifically known, Stickus Up-The-Assus. In its natural habitat. Let’s get a closer look.

Eiffel: Hey Commander!

Minkowski: Eiffel…? What the hell are you doing? Get that microphone out of my face.

Eiffel: I’m documenting life on the station for future generations!

Minkowski: Eiffel, this is really… not the time.

Eiffel: [shushing noises, then clears throat] Here we see the Minkowski in a rare moment of symbiotic cooperation with one of its neighbouring species, the Creepus Maximus! Any words for posterity, Dr. Hilbert?

Hilbert: Not now, Eiffel. This is very delicate!

Eiffel: Eloquent as always, such lovely, delicate species!

Minkowski: Would it kill you to stop messing around, and give us a hand?

Eiffel: Oof, sorry Commander. But as a documentarian, I have a sacred duty to observe without perturbing the natural order of things, so, no can do. [clicks tongue] But anyway, what is this thing you’re both hauling? Some kind of tank?

Minkowski: What – What do you mean, “what is it?” It’s one of the nitrogen tanks for the station’s fuel rotation.

Eiffel: You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me.

Minkowski: It should. You were supposed to depressurise this thing this morning.

Eiffel: Oh.

Minkowski: You do remember me asking you to do that, right?

Eiffel: …Yes.

Minkowski: And you did depressurise this tank, right?

Eiffel: …Yes?

Minkowski: Is that “…Yes?” a “Yes, I did it”, or “…Yes… I have no idea what you’re talking about but I don’t want to get in trouble”?

Eiffel: …Yes…

Minkowski: God damn it Eiffel!

Hilbert: Do you have any idea how dangerous an improperly regulated nitrogen tank can be?

Eiffel: Ah, come on, how bad can it be? This thing looks super solid. [taps on the tank] See, safe as h–

[explosion, smashing noises, escaping gas]

Minkowski: [breathing heavily] Alright. Anybody who’s not dead say… “ow”.

Eiffel: [groans] Ow.

Hilbert: Ow.

Minkowski: Eiffel. One of these days I am going to actually kill you.

Eiffel: Honestly, Commander. I may well beat you to that. Jesus, did that thing just go through that wall?

Minkowski: Hera? Tell me that tank didn’t hit an electric line or something? Is anything going horribly wrong?

Hera: Um… Hard to say, Commander. Ask again later?

Minkowski: Hera. Sitrep. Now.

Hera: Uh… Well… It seems the tank went through one of the station’s exterior walls.

Eiffel: What?

Hera: But. But. Sensors show that the room you’re in isn’t losing air or pressure, so… um… y-yay? I – I’m really not sure what’s happening here.

Minkowski: Gimme that flashlight.

[flashlight clicks]

Minkowski: Hera, what are you talking about? This isn’t an exterior wall. There’s a room right here.

Hera: No there’s not? Commander, I’m looking at the station’s schematics and at all my sensory inputs, there’s nothing there!

Minkowski: And I’m looking through this hole with my eyes, and I’m telling you that there’s a room right here. Look, if I just step through the hole –

Hera: No! Don’t!

Minkowski: There, see? Where am I showing up on the station sensors?

[pause]

Hera: Outer space, Commander. The station’s positioning trackers are indicating you’re outside the station.

Eiffel: Um… Hilbert? Any ideas on how that works?

Hilbert: Well… I suppose it could be possible that Hera’s sensory input hardware was calibrated to exclude this particular section of the station.

Eiffel: And…? Why the hell would anyone wanna do that?

Minkowski: Let’s find out. C’mon.

[flashlight clicks]

Eiffel: Woah. How big is this place?

Minkowski: It looks like it’s at least the size of the observatory, maybe even a little bigger. Look, over there. That’s the outline of a doorframe, but it’s been… walled up.

[pause]

Eiffel: Does anybody see a light switch?

Hilbert: Over here.

[light switch clicks, then clicks a few more times in succession]

Hilbert: Must’ve been disconnected from power grid. Hera would’ve noticed if circuits were flowing to a non-existent room.

Eiffel: Oh, great.

Minkowski: Dr. Hilbert, over here! Look at all these jars, and… the tools in this drawer. It looks like –

Hilbert: A medical facility, yes Commander. This was a laboratory.

Minkowski: W-What’s it doing in the –

Eiffel: Ugh!

Minkowski: Eiffel! Are you alright?

Eiffel: No… Commander, [whispered] there’s a dead spider in that jar! A huge spider!

Minkowski: Oh. Is that it?

Eiffel: Is that it? Look at this thing! Its legs are… so… hairy, and Jesus, look at that stinger! It’s gotta be at least as big as my thumb. [shudders] I hate spiders. Creepy little…

Hilbert: It’s not just over there Eiffel. Look. There’s more of them in those jars. Whoever owned this lab must’ve been running genetic experiments on arachnids.

Eiffel: To make them… bigger? What was the objective of that? To spice up my nightmares?

[faint scuttling noise]

Eiffel: Um… did anyone else hear something just now?

Hilbert: It’s not unheard of to put together large space stations by amalgamating individual parts from smaller crafts. If the Hephaestus was assembled in such a way, this room could just be a vestige from an older mission.

Eiffel: I don’t know, Doc. That still feels like a stretch. Why go through all the trouble of walling up Charlotte’s Lab instead of just clearing it out?

[faint electronic crackling begins]

Minkowski: Hey, looks like this computer terminal’s still working. Must be running on emergency power. Let’s see… um… I’ve got the log of one Dr. Elias Selberg. Entry number six hundred and fifty-three. “Alpha test series has yielded mixed results. Specimen growth and development promising, but… extremely high levels of toxicity unintended side effect. Contact with live specimens extremely dangerous. As shown with recent exposure trial.”

[faint scuttling noise]

Eiffel: Uh… guys?

Minkowski: “Captain Lovelace has ordered termination of all samples. Shame to lose months of work, but… hazard undeniable. Will have to proceed with extreme caution if hoped to” – [crackling fizzes out]

Minkowski: [sighs] Out of juice. That’s it for story time.

Eiffel: Okay. This place is officially giving me the creeps. Why would anyone go through the trouble of walling this place up just to keep us out?

Hera: Um… I – I do have an alternative theory, Officer Eiffel. [pause] But I don’t think you’re gonna like it.

Eiffel: What.

Hera: Um… Well… the walling in… Em… i-it might not have been a way of keeping you out. It… may have been a way of keeping something in.

[scuttling noise]

Eiffel: Comman –

Minkowski: That time I heard it, Eiffel. Everyone with me. Back away from the walls, tables, cabinets, anything that could be used as cover. We’re going to back out of this room. Quickly. Quickly!

Hilbert: Hera. Can you pinpoint the location of the other creature in this room?

Hera: Doctor, I can’t see anything going on in that room, I can – I can barely even hear you right now.

Eiffel: How is this thing even alive? We’ve been here for over a year and a half! How is it still alive? What has it been… eating?

Minkowski: Less questions, more getting out of – Hilbert! Look out!

[glass shattering]

[scuttling noise]

Minkowski: Doctor. Are you –

Hilbert: Fine, Commander. But I don’t know where the spider went.

Eiffel: Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Is it – Is it gone?

Minkowski: I’m… not sure. Let’s just get out of this room before it comes back, and – Eiffel, your shoulder!

Eiffel: [suppressed scream] Oh god! [smashing metal] No! C’mon, no! Jesus! Get it off me!

Minkowski: Light, give me some light here!

Eiffel: Get it off me! Get it off me!

Minkowski: Eiffel. Are you okay?

Eiffel: [fearfully] No.

Minkowski: Did it sting you?

Eiffel: [in a hoarse whisper] No. Not yet.

Minkowski: Yet? What do you mean? Did you see where it went?

Eiffel: It – It –

Minkowski: Eiffel. Stay with me. Where did the spider go?

Eiffel: It… it ran down my shirt. It’s standing on my stomach! Oh god oh god oh god what do I do what do I do?

Minkowski: Are you sure?

Eiffel: Oh, I’m sure. I can feel it. Walking. On my skin! It’s hairy and slimy! It’s hairy and slimy! Oh god, why is it hairy and slimy? [gasps]

Hilbert: Eiffel. Listen to me. Whatever you do, you must remain calm, okay? Don’t let go of that wall. Don’t float away. Don’t make any sudden movements. It won’t sting you unless it’s frightened. But you have to remain completely still, okay? [pause] Eiffel, did you hear me?

Eiffel: Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah. I heard you. No moving! Who needs movement, not me! No, I’m too scared to move!

Hilbert: Don’t talk. Not unless you have to. Keep your stomach relaxed. I’m going to go now.

Eiffel: [lowly] What?

Hilbert: Just for a moment. Just to my laboratory. I’m going to retrieve an anti-venom and I’ll be right back. Then we’ll find a way to get the spider off you. Okay?

Eiffel: Okay. O-Okay.

Hilbert: I will only be gone a moment. Keep him still. Don’t let him move.

Minkowski: Eiffel? Don’t worry. Everything is going to be alright. This thing is probably more scared of you than you are of him!

Eiffel: While I normally could get on board with that train, I assure you that in this case I’m definitely the more terrified party! [through gritted teeth] I. Hate. Spiders!

Minkowski: It’s just a bug. It’s just a big bug.

Eiffel: [in a hoarse whisper] It’s a huge bug! And weren’t you paying attention to what you were reading? “High levels of toxicity”! “Extreme danger”? It’s an extreme danger bug!

Minkowski: Shh! Easy. Don’t talk. Keep your breathing slow.

Eiffel: Commander. I can’t do this.

Minkowski: Quiet. Yes you can.

Eiffel: [sobbing slightly] Oh – Oh, no. I can’t! I can’t deal with this thing walking on me! Maybe – Maybe if I could just squash it –

Minkowski: No! Stop!

Eiffel: Just one quick blow, just wham! – and then it’s gone! I can do this!

Minkowski: What if you’re not quick enough? What if it stings you before it dies?

[pause]

Minkowski: Eiffel. Put your arm down.

[pause]

Eiffel: [inhale] Okay. Okay, you’re right.

[pause]

Hilbert: Eiffel.

Minkowski: [sigh of relief] Oh, good. Doctor, you’re back.

Hilbert: Eiffel. This is going to be delicate, so I need you to prepare yourself. First I’m going to give you a dose of antivenom, in case the specimen stings you. I have to administer the serum intravenously. You’re going to feel the prick, but you can’t flinch, you can’t move at all. Alright? Don’t contract the muscles in your stomach particularly. Just stay relaxed, okay?

Eiffel: And then I’ll be okay, right? Even if it stings me? It-It’ll be okay?

Hilbert: I – [pause] I can’t guarantee that, Eiffel. This is very good antivenom, but without knowing the exact makeup of the spider’s poison, cannot be certain that it’ll neutralise it completely. Still, better than nothing.

Eiffel: Oh dear god! [pause] Okay. Let’s get this over with.

Hilbert: Commander. Help me to roll up his sleeve. Slowly. Slowly. Careful. [pause] Okay. Eiffel, I’m going to insert the needle now. Don’t react. Don’t flinch. Don’t tighten your abdomen, don’t –

Minkowski: Would you just do it before he has a heart attack?

Hilbert: Right. Okay. Three, two, one.

Eiffel: [hisses]

Hilbert: Good, good, you’re doing great. And… there. All done. Excellent job, Eiffel.

Minkowski: Hilbert. What are we going to do? How are we going to get that thing off of him?

Hilbert: I’m thinking, Commander, I’m thinking.

Minkowski: What if we just shoot the damn thing? We could find where it is in Eiffel’s clothing, put the gun right up to it, aim away from his body, and just shoot the spider clean off.

Hilbert: Too risky. The sound alone – What if you miss? Even if you don’t, the spider’s reflexes might be fast enough to –

Eiffel: [panicked] Commander!

Minkowski: What?

Eiffel: I – I’m going to – sneeze!

Minkowski: What? Don’t!

Eiffel: Well it’s not like I have a say in the matter do I? I – I’m – Agh!

[scuttling noise]

Hilbert: Breathe through your mouth. Slowly.

Eiffel: [breathes loudly]

Hilbert: Eiffel, let go of your nose in a moment.

Eiffel: [breathes loudly]

Minkowski: Okay. We need to do something, and fast.

Hilbert: Agreed, Commander. But what?

[two static bursts]

Eiffel: I just want the record to show that I think this is a terrible idea.

Minkowski: Yeah, well, it’s the best one we’ve got, and you’re not going to last much longer.

Eiffel: How is this going to work again?

Hilbert: We need to kill the spider without striking it, or we risk your life. Solution is simple. Living organisms still need oxygen, so we just remove all the air from the environment. No O2, no spider.

Minkowski: As soon as we’re ready, Hera will pull the oxygen from the room, taking care of the bug problem.

Hilbert: You’ll wear this oxygen mask. Pump oxygen directly into your mouth. You’ll breathe normally, but we can’t give you a full suit for this to work. So you’ll have to be ready. Without the air it’s going to get very cold here. But you can’t move. Not until the spider is dead.

Minkowski: We’ll be right here next to you, okay? Are you ready?

Eiffel: If I die, Hera gets all my toys.

Minkowski: I’ll take that as a yes. Ready Hera?

Hera: Air pumps are ready, Commander, and oxygen is flowing through both your suits and Eiffel’s mask.

Minkowski: Alright. Helmets on, Doctor.

[helmet sealing]

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] Starting air removal in three, two, one, now.

[strong wind rushing]

Eiffel: Oh god! Oh god!

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] Just hang on for a little bit longer.

Hilbert: [slightly muffled] Is the spider reacting at all?

Eiffel: Still walking around. Damn thing’s on my chest now!

Hera: Oxygen levels at seventy-five percent.

[pause]

Eiffel: Okay. It’s starting to get a little nippy here! Nothing I can’t handle! Nothing I can’t – Agh!

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] What?

Eiffel: This… thing is pressing up against me! It’s putting its body up against my chest!

Hilbert: [slightly muffled] Eiffel. The spider is instinctively reacting to the drop in temperature. It’s trying to leech off your body heat. It’s a good sign. Let it happen. Just a little further now.

Eiffel: This thing is so gross this thing is so gross this thing is so gross this thing is so gross!

Hera: Oxygen levels at fifty percent.

Hilbert: [slightly muffled] Steady, Eiffel. Don’t twitch so much.

Eiffel: Easy for… you to say!

Hera: Oxygen levels at twenty-five percent and falling rapidly.

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] Just one more minute!

Eiffel: I – I – I can’t do this get this thing hell off of me! [ripping noise] Get it off get it off get it off get it off! Agh!

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] Eiffel! Are you okay? Did it –

Eiffel: [breathless] No – No, it didn’t sting me. I – Look! It’s floating right there. Totally still. Is it dead?

Hilbert: [slightly muffled] Hmm. Perhaps lowering the O2 levels to this point was enough to suffocate it. Or – Or maybe the lower temperature affected it to the point of –

[spider screeching]

Eiffel: Agh!

[gunshot]

Minkowski: [slightly muffled] I also brought a gun. Just in case.

Eiffel: [relieved] Ohh.

Hilbert: Right.

Eiffel: Good thinking.

[pause]

Eiffel: Okay… so now that that’s taken care of, if the two of you will excuse me. I’m gonna faint.

[two static bursts]

Eiffel: Hi friends. Just wanted to… check in, and let you know that I’m… I’m okay. Well, not okay okay. I don’t think I’ll ever really be completely okay after what I just went through, but, y’know, hanging in there. Minkowski and Hilbert just radioed saying they finished up tearing that creepy-ass lab, and there’s no more living specimens down there, thank god. Looks like it was just the one. Small comfort though, but at least it’s nice knowing I won’t run into another one of those things. Well. Except for the new recurring nightmare that I’m going to have from now until the heat death of the universe. There’s also a bunch of weird stuff down there, archives, notebooks, some computer files they’re pulling off that terminal, trying to see if we can’t figure out where the hell that room came from. Minkowski says she wants us to go through all that stuff ASAP, but, she said I could have some time off on account of, uh… nightmare death spider. I’m… kind of appalled that I can’t think of a way to unfairly exploit this yet, but… my mind is still kind of back at the… nightmare death spider. I’m gonna go now, friends. I’m gonna go… not sleep. No sleep. Never again sleep. From the USS Hephaestus station, this is the… newly traumatised Doug Eiffel. Signing off. G’night.

[outro music]

This has been Wolf 359, written and directed by Gabriel Urbina. The roles of Eiffel and Hilbert were played by Zach Valenti. The role of Minkowski was played by Emma Sherr-Ziarko. And the role of Hera was played by Michaela Swee. Original music by Alan Rodi, and audio recording by James Shone. If you enjoyed tonight’s episode, please consider writing a review on our iTunes page. Your reviews will really help us to raise awareness about the show. And about the dangers of genetically modified venomous spiders in deep space. So please, take a moment to do your part for these two very important causes. Visit us at wolf359.fm, or follow us on Twitter at @Wolf359Radio for more information on our show.

Transcript by @saltssaumure

[theogmissg]

Chiron is twice-wounded: once at birth, and again towards the end of his life.

The first wound is a deep emotional wound that comes from being a child of rape who is rejected by both of his parents. He is quite literally a monster, and now also an orphan and an outcast.

Being half-man, half-animal, Chiron embodies the conflict in all of us between the animal instincts and reason or divinity, between the Dionysian wildness of the other centaurs and the Apollonian light and order of his foster father. Yet, he falls firmly on the Apollonian side, and in many respects outshines the god of light, mastering and even furthering the arts and sciences (Greek, techne and episteme) in an attempt to compensate for his early rejection and prove, both to himself and to others, that he too is worthy of love and acceptance.

A similar pattern can be discerned in that other rejected god, Hephaestus, cast out of Olympus by his mother Hera on account of his deformity. Despite this—or, rather, because of this—Hephaestus, as the blacksmith of the gods, spends his life creating objects of great beauty and utility, such as Helios’ chariot, Hermes’ winged helmet and sandals, and Achilles’ armour. Hephaestus even gets the girl, marrying Aphrodite, goddess of love.

Chiron turns in particular to the healing arts as a means of healing himself, and not only himself but others too. He shines the light, giving to others that which he himself most needs or needed. Rather than allowing the original wound to fester, he finds within it a source of motivation, even of inspiration, that leads him to great insight and achievement. This in turn invites, or rather imposes, a sense of purpose and service or duty that ennobles and enriches his life in ways that the other centaurs could not even begin to imagine.

In the words of the Persian poet and mystic Rumi (d. 1273):

Your doctor must have a broken leg to doctor.

Your defects are the ways that glory gets manifested.

Whoever sees clearly what’s diseased in himself

Begins to gallop on the Way

…

Don’t turn your head. Keep looking at the bandaged place.

That’s where the light enters you.

In The Meaning of Madness, I argue that mental disorders in particular are not just problems. If successfully navigated, they can also present opportunities. Simple awareness of this can empower people to heal themselves and, much more than that, to grow, and live, through their experiences.

Chiron’s second wound is caused by the superego, represented by Herakles, battling against the id, represented by the centaurs riled up by the Dionysian wine. Instead of reconciling himself with the dark side, Herakles desperately fights against it, potentially hurting himself and others in the process—as he does his friend Chiron.

Chiron’s stoical decision to die in the face of unbearable and incurable pain, especially in light of his immortality, raises profound, and surprisingly modern, ethical questions about euthanasia and the desirability of immortality, questions that have never been more pertinent than today.

[the-firebird69]

2016 NPC Eastern USA Novice Bodybuilding Champion Hunter Dominy

This is not true novice because it's not his first time but it's novice but it is not a novice first competition or second this is after many rounds of competitions and it is the whole E there is a middle division in West and South it's pretty huge in the east you have to be in good shape and there are a couple more classes above its intermediate and pro intermediate you would be a little bigger but really a novice is the second rung up true novice you can go to multiple times and learn the ropes multiple contests you still have to pay a small entrance fee and there's no professional prize you're just there trying to get into the novice level what we find them doing is going from the bottom up over and over and they're saying they're looking for people but it's **** they're just satisfying their need to get bigger and ego and all sorts of other stuff it's rather gross because they hog like the whole stupid thing and there's only other regions in it and they're like shunned for even showing up and these guys are got like real stupid and they're shouting at people and they don't do anything about it but I'll tell you what these people are a bunch of Bums and they're harassing people like their bums and our son is calling them bums and doesn't talk to them anymore because they're disgusting. Now let's it's repulsive and you're telling people you're doing it are you really mad at us how can you be and it's so stupid it's such cowards and we're going to burn so many of you and are looking forward to it. You have a bunch of talking little minis we'd be happy to get of you. and your act is shit and we see. so your aarrogant and cant stop the macs who come up. annd y ou will fasce them in combat first yup. and they will roast most of you yup

This contest was not Brad's first and it won't be his last and he won the E and he went on and I think he won the S and he was beaten by someone in the West in the middle and they kept on going up the rungs and at this particular year he didn't do too well but he was in the Pro League and he was like number 20 which is which is pretty good and you have to look really really awesome and powerful and you have to have real muscle and they check you by mass to find out if you're doing steroids they weigh you in the water and it is a test and it is effective. They also use density meters and calipers and they're finding that these guys do steroids and then they go off it and they're really getting tired of it nobody else can get in there and they're getting sick and they're stupid and the story's making them dumber and they're really going hog wild on it now and we don't want them in there but you know it's not our deal and really nobody can do it with these idiots. My son won't be big until 4 months from now but he'll be this big this is his class more or less he can get this big and he can compete in novice he'll be taller than this guy and his arms a bit bigger his arms are about 19 inch which is pretty big it's only two inches more around than our sons and as you look at it from the side it's only about 1/2 inch wider and if you're standing next to our son in your Brad you can tell he doesn't look that big and these guys are noticing he's Big Fella and it's deceptive and Ken too same table ken is really fat so you can't tell what he's got going on if any of the period so I guess our son is flipping Ken off and wants him on the E bike and he's trying to snap his fingers and clap his hands and snap his toes and have Hera get him going on the E bike and she's saying hell no.... And it's going on a little bit seriously he needs to get on that ebike. So he is about 5 foot 7 and he weighs I think he weighed in at 230 and he is not very big 19 inches is good size for his body and for a son it's OK and a son is at seventeen but when our son will be down in four months from now and the poison in his body would be at a minimal around 6 months to two months and it would be working its way out quite steadily at that time it would be flowing out and the lipoma too will be being destroyed and his biceps would be about 20 inches but whe would be about 5 foot 11 an inch and a half taller than he is now which is almost six foot which is big but not really huge. and at that size would look similar to brads look but a bit smaller...and true too however. If he begins competing he'll notice that they're smaller than him and he'll try and stand next to them when he's flexing and such and they will not win. They'll be about 5 inches shorter and their arms will look small and he'll be probably nineteen and a half inches roughly really quickly and maybe 20 inches a month later on the biceps and those are big arms OK and standing next to someone like Brad with 19 inches and when he flexes Brad would look small because of the mass of the muscle it's not necessarily the fact that it's big around he would look small because when forming the muscle Brad would have this little ball that shoots up and this tricep that .... that shoots up and this tricep that shoots down and our son would have an arm that is thick with a large ball and a tricep that's fully developed and he would look huge by comparison his muscle mass at the bicep and tricep would be twice that of brand at this size at only 6 foot so please have a heart OK you're not big people but it would motivate you to try and Brad can look like that it's not that hard and you can use spice and it's actually safer than going after all your diseased people. So that's what he would be doing as an novice.  And we know our sunny wants to get a feel for it see if he wants to even do it so he'd be bumming around as a true novice and he'd probably be doing it like a job and saying This is my approach and we think he does a few contests as a true novice and I think you have to place and he does a few at 50 and over he said 50 and over that kind of just old people in their skin and bone and it's gross and they're not bodybuilders and he wins without trying but it would put him in the novice class yes but for 50 and above no. So he would go into that and he'd be doing pretty good his injury would have healed mostly and if he did he would be pretty big and 6 foot is pretty big and we think maybe 5 foot 11 but still his arms would be about 19 and 1/2 inches and his arms are exploding already it would be a joy to watch and the others they come in there about 5 foot eight or 5 foot 8 and a half and they really don't get much bigger in this competition as a novice. And he moved into the intermediate where he would be about 6 foot 3 and his arms would be about 22 inches and then later on a few months later twenty three and he would be and then later on a few months later 23 and he would be gigantic compared to them most of them are at by then they'll probably be 5 foot 9 and the difference is still shocking and it's like Hulk Hogan versus a regular sized dressler he looks very big. That won't be for quite some time probably over a year. But he'll be big at that size and as an intermediate he will be unstoppable and he should win so we think he wins some money and doesn't want to get carried away with it and then months later he gets bigger probably 24 or 25 inch arms goes back into intermediate and he'd win so professional bodybuilders these days their arms are 25 or 26 inches by the time he gets in there his arms will be 27 inches but he'll be big and he won't lose they might do it we might be ready but we'll see and really it doesn't matter for ready I guess it's not a huge deal it will make us ready

Thor Freya We take the two for looking into this and they're trying to see what it's like and Tommy F really put some effort in a couple of others did and the fruit loops did a little bit but boy it's condescension and gross it's damned annoying. Tommy F wants to be the coach for obvious reasons kidnapping but it was a good job and he's still going to look into it and we know it'd be a good thing to do.

They're going to be very very big and we did approve you to do it and start we do see it it won't start for months because right now you're still at probably 4 years the desert sands are coming and you think they're here a little and they are they'll be here tonight and it's from regular combat but the soil and sand is radioactive. And tonight And tonight around 8:00 PM it's gonna be one rad for about 20 minutes it's not that strong but we do wish you the best and you know we'll be there it says good that's a pick out the right swim trunks. And here you have to

Nuada Arrianna

Olympus

[what-even-is-thiss]

Persephone

Every year she arrives at the start of Autumn with new seeds for the garden and Hades helpfully holds the basket for her as she gets her hands dirty.

He appreciates the kind of filth she brings with her. It's active, proactive, helpful. Not stagnant and rotting. Not the kind of filth that sits and develops with death that needs to be removed for the sake of the still living. A kind of filth with its own merit, but not why she’s here. The kind that comes with her is getting dirt on your pants and dust in your hair. The kind of filth that comes from burning yourself on a pan or mowing the lawn or climbing a tree. Active, alive, dirt that gathers under your nails and nourishes as well as hurts.

Every year as she gets him to put on clothes a bit more practical for gardening and gets to sowing her seeds, and she tells him stories as they work. He is quiet and not one for this particular kind of hard work, but he’s a good listener with a warm laugh, and that’s good enough for her.

Every year they have done this since before humans could write and every year as they do this she tells him what the humans think of them this time, and every year he gets a good laugh.

“Who’s the primary suspect now?” he asks as he puts on his boots.

“You, I think.” she says with a smile. “Mother/daughter relations theory.”

“Again?“ he asked. “Don’t they have anything new?”

“I’m sure they will by the time I get back.” she said, adjusting her sunhat. There is no sunlight in the underworld but she wears a sunhat anyways.

After what needs to be replaced in the garden has been replaced she puts on something a little more formal. Something a little less farm girl, which she is fine with and he likes much more. Hermes, who knows everything and everyone, may or may not come by with a letter from her mother and his sister, addressed to both of them, which they may or may not read right now.

They sleep in separate rooms except for when they don’t, and they talk together late into the night except for when they don’t. Despite being gods they cook together, except for when they don’t, a lot of their time spent with her talking and him talking sometimes and a lot of their time spent in complete silence. Sometimes in the evenings she sits on his lap and they read. Sometimes he sits on her lap and they watch a movie and play with each others’ hair. Sometimes they sit in different rooms thinking about everything they are worried about. Sometimes they speak to other people. Together or apart.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Demeter speak of snow. Persephone rarely sees snow. She never liked it anyways.

In the spring she sees it melting and that is that. She stands on her toes and leaves Hades a kiss on his jaw, getting a facefull of scratchy black hair before putting on her farm girl clothes and running into her mother’s arms.

Every year her mother visits all corners of the northern hemisphere, taking her daughter in tow. They bless fields or lay them bare. In her spare time she leaves her mother and visits corners of the wild to speak with gods that still hate agriculture but love the goddess of spring. They speak with her and tell her to tell her mother that she should do better. She rarely does.

Demeter is organized and opinionated. She’s loud and stubborn. She carries a long scythe that she uses on plants, humans, and animals alike. Around her Persephone is the quiet one. Something that is also fine. Demeter just likes it when her daughter is there. Warm and ready to be a steady hand. She’s gentle with a little wrath. She’s smart and carries the hopes of the dead with her. The sort of hope that turns corpses into good soil and manure into carrot stew. That turns death into life for other things. A sort of complicated darkness that follows her around as tightly as air and gives a deep, refreshing rest.

Some nights they sleep on Olympus, some nights they don’t. Some nights they fight, some nights they don’t. Both kinds of nights have their merits. Both are ones that they go to sleep knowing that they will see each other in the morning.

There isn’t much to say between them. They know everything that the other wants to say. They talk business, mostly. When Hermes comes they gossip about family. Sometimes he brings a letter from Hades. Sometimes he brings business or a gift from Hera that clearly illustrates that she doesn’t know them. Sometimes Hermes just comes to ask how she is doing. She always answers him honestly.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Hades speak of danger and organization and how much he hates his brothers. Persephone understands. She hates them too, whether that is earned or not.

It has been like this for a long time. All sides feeling just fine. Love from all directions, but not love that is full of a passion. It is barely there, but comfortably so.

Demeter used to be disorganized, Hades used to be louder, and Persephone... she wasn’t quite sure yet. She had gotten to the age where she should know what kind of flaw she had but she didn’t. She didn’t love anyone or anything, except for maybe the feeling of living dirt beneath her feet.

She knew very well what was inside the cave. What brought her downwards wasn’t love or curiosity, but a need for change. And change things did. He wouldn’t let her go once he had her. She was a ticket out of questions. Something to keep the rest of the family away. She realized too late the consequences of her impulsivity.

After the initial shock and hunger strike she actually started looking around and got to talking. If not with him, then with the dead and the spirits of the rivers. They said that he was weird and needed someone to teach him patience. She said that was something he had in common with her mother.

He was very clear with her about what would happen if she ate that specific fruit. She ate it, very clear with him what her intentions were.

After a thousand years the plants could no longer survive without the cold and Demeter saw this. Slowly, slowly, she began speaking to her siblings again, and stopped holding her daughter’s hand. Winter still came. She never told them that this time it was for the good of the plants and not out of spite. Only Dionysus seemed to understand why. Thankfully, he could keep a secret.

After centuries passed Persephone transformed the underworld, little by little it became just a little less dark. He let her come to him on her own time. The first time she touched him, she asked, and almost every time after that she asked, until enough time had passed that she just knew from a glance. Once that time had come he began to ask as well and they both had slightly bigger beds placed in their rooms. Who did it first, they don’t remember.

The mortals always wanted to make this simpler than it was. Say that it was his fault or her fault or her mother’s fault. Really though, it had just happened. Then over and over again it just happened, falling into place over a thousand years.

She didn’t know when she started loving her mother again, or her husband, or even how much she loved them, but that part didn’t matter. Neither the earth, nor mount Olympus, nor the underworld was perfect, and neither was she, and neither were they. Sometimes a set of unusual circumstances leads to another set of unusual circumstances and sometimes a young goddess gets caught in the middle of it. And maybe in the beginning the young goddess was confused by it all.

And maybe now she’s just... content.

[deathlessathanasia]

“Glaukos is the most prominent colour term associated with Athena. Its special meaning has been discussed in detail in a previous article, where we argued that glaukopis, as well as being one of Athena's most common epithets, is also one of the most intriguing, open as it is to a variety of interpretations and translations, including 'light blue-eyed', 'green-eyed', 'grey-eyed', 'gleaming-eyed' and 'darting-eyed'. The reason for this is the minefield that is glaukos, used as it is of a variety of things that are not all the same colour - at least not in accordance with our way of ordering colour - including the sea, the olive, the vine, the moon, the dawn, a type of fish, the sky, and certain types of eyes. If we are to select a particular hue, the light blue-green(-grey) range is the most promising. Always, however, glaukos is a gleaming, shimmering colour, inherently luminous beyond any connotations of hue. Literary descriptions of glaukos eyes often represent them as wild, attributing them to foreigners or linking them with eye-diseases. In women, glaukos eyes are described as unattractive, by comparison with the ideal of dark eyes exemplified by cow-eyed (boopis) Hera. Assessments of this kind may be linked to the relative rarity of light-coloured eyes in Mediterranean countries, making them more conspicuous, and at once fascinating and dangerous in a manner that bears comparison with the modern Greek or Turkish 'evil eye', which is invariably blue, as well as with the appearance of someone with glaucoma.

However, rather than a particular hue, it is the connotations carried by glaukos that are of essence for the characterization of Athena, who is a goddess with a flashing, darting gaze. The same types of eyes that are dangerous or 'foreign' in humans, and unattractive in women, are appropriate for a deity known for her intelligence, her masculinity and her association with the large-eyed owl, the glaux. As the warrior virgin, moreover, she is a goddess who, unlike mortals, needs no protection herself from the potentially harmful gazes of others. In fact, Athena's gaze itself has the potential to destroy, an ability that finds its most powerful manifestation in connection with the Gorgon Medusa, whose gaze turns those she looks on to stone and whose head regularly adorns Athena's aegis. The association can go even deeper when Athena's own gaze becomes fused with that of the Gorgon through her epithet Gorgopis ('Gorgon-eyed').”

 - What was the colour of Athena’s Aegis? - Susan Deacy and Alexandra Villing

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader: Ghosts

(Author’s Note: I’m baaaacccck!  I’ve had a rough few weeks and found almost no inspiration or motivation to write here, but I woke up this morning and felt like a new person.  Thank you for waiting and for continuing to read, like, comment, and reblog!

Anyway, this was a request I received moons ago, and I just wanted to say to the Anon who requested that I did not forget about it and I’m so sorry for the wait.  For real, thank you for the request, and I hope you like it.

OG Request: Can I request a bad batch and reader who was their sister, they were also a Jedi. But then order 66 happens and the bad batch tries to kill her but she escaped after being shot by crosshair. She ends up working with the ghost crew and meets up with them during rebels, she's almost scared of them. She also tears up seeing how much older the are

Warnings: blaster wound, some angst, fluff ending)

   Got your back,” you growled, using your lightsaber to block some incoming shots. Hunter fired his blasters at the group of oncoming droids that headed toward you.

   Wrecker was plowing through the enemy squads like it was nothing, giving an enthusiastic yell here and there.  He paused to give you a thumbs-up with a gloved hand, and you grinned back.  Crosshair was picking them off from his position off the immediate battlefield. He blasted one right in front of you.

   “Nice shot!”

   Tech was handling things just fine on his side.  You moved past him to cut through a few droids nonetheless and exchanged nods of appreciation.

   Just another day with the Bad Batch, the rogue squad that had come to be your family over the course of the war.  You had adjusted to living life on the wild side- dangerous missions and poor odds.  The group managed to get through each one, and you grew stronger.

   This mission, to invade and destroy the Separatist base from the inside out, was a particularly risky one.  But like the others, this one was going rather well.

   Or it had been.  Until Tech alerted Hunter of an incoming comm that was rather urgent.

   You didn’t see who the transmission was from.  You caught a glimpse of the blue form displaying on Tech’s comm before having to deal with an oncoming droid.  You planted a thermal detonator and somersaulted away so it could blast the last of the droids, and you’d be ready to check in with your squad about the comm.

   As the battlefield went dead silent after the fall of the final droid, there was a shift.  That was the best way to describe the feeling.  Something just wasn’t right.  You glanced over to see Hunter and Tech standing perfectly still as they received the message.  That’s when it hit you.  Whatever it was, it was deadly, and you knew you needed to get your squad out of there.

   You turned fully toward them, lips parting in the beginnings of a warning about the shift in your feelings.  You could only hope they’d listen to you and get out in time without an argument.  Your voice was cut off at the sight of three visors facing you with blasters aimed your way.

   “Guys?” you called, eyes flickering to each of them.  “Hunter?  What’s going on?”

   Two more visors, Crosshair’s and Echo’s, joined them. Cross kept his rifle ready at his shoulder, aimed at you as well.  That’s when you realized they weren’t in danger.  They were the danger.

   “The jedi are traitors to the Republic,” Hunter’s voice echoed in the space between you.  “By order of Sidious, they are to be executed for their crimes, and that includes you.”

   “W-what?”  You grasped your lightsaber tightly, not wanting to raise it and alarm them further.  “I haven’t done anything.  We’ve been fighting for the Republic.  See those droids?”  You nodded in that direction.  “I cut them up myself with my lightsaber to protect the galaxy.  We did it together.”

   “Stop trying to reason with us,” Crosshair hissed.  “You’re...a...traitor.”  He hesitated, body quivering for a moment as his visor looked to the ground.  Whatever cloud of confusion had settled on him, it was like he tried to fight it.

   “It’s me,” you said.  “It’s __________.”

   Hunter’s body shook again before he aimed the blaster at you with resolve.  “You heard Sidious, boys.  Order 66 must be carried out.”

   Searing pain traveled through your shoulder as you made a run for it, causing you to stumble.  You spared a glance behind you to see the Bad Batch giving chase.  Crosshair had actually shot you.  A different kind of pain exploded in your chest at the betrayal.  Even though you knew this Sidious was behind it all.  Even though you knew it wasn’t the real Crosshair.  It still hurt.

   Despite the physical and emotional agony, you kept running.  You deflected more blaster shots with your lightsaber, using your abilities to leap into the nearest ship.  The presence of your closest allies began to fade as you took off, leaving to shoot at the vehicle to no avail.

   Fortunately, you and the squad handled dangerous missions on your own without too much Republic assistance, so you were able to get into space without encountering any other soldiers.  When things quieted down and you were faced with the blur of stars and planets outside the viewport, you shrank back in your seat from the weight of grief.  For the first time, you allowed yourself to grieve.  The life of a jedi was by no means easy, but you were trained for years to not give into such strong attachments to avoid the dark side’s pull.  

   This time, you let the tears fall for your squad.  You let the sob rip through the lonely ship.  It was a relief to cry, but not enough to dull the pain.  It was like a fresh wound, raw and stinging.

   “Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Tech…” you cried their names, demanding an answer from no one in particular.  Just then, a beep sounded amongst the ship controls that alerted you of an incoming message.  You sniffled and answered, eyes widening at the sight of Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi.

   “...I regret to inform you…”

- - - - - - - - - 

   “__________?  What are you doing?” Ezra called.  “We’ve got to go!” 

   You glanced his way from several feet away, holding up a hand as a signal for him to wait.  Something felt off about this place.  It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in a long time.  A long time.

   “Is this a jedi thing?” he asked, walking over.  Despite being quite skilled and talented for one so young, he was still very early in his training with Kanan.  Nothing could quell his curiosity, though.

   You nodded.  “There’s something...someone...here.  I think I know them.”

  “It’s just an old ship,” he shrugged.  “It is a scrapyard, after all.”

   It was a good point.  The place looked rather abandoned to the naked eye, but you could see beyond appearances.  There was more to this ship than just a heap of metal.  Something felt oddly alive about it.

   “I’m going to check it out,” you said.

   “But Hera said-”

   “Ezra,” you interrupted with as patient of a tone as you could muster.  “I need to do this.  I’ll be right back.”  You took a few cautious steps forward only to hear him walking behind you.  You peeked at him over your shoulder to see a determined expression on his face.

   “If something really is going on, I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

   “Ugh, fine,”  You pretended to be annoyed, though deep down you were glad he was coming along.  Something stirred inside you.  You sensed a presence that you hadn’t in years.  Could it be…?  No, it couldn’t.

   “__________?” The all-too-familiar voice called.  A face popped out from the old ship.  Even among the wrinkles and white hair, you recognized a piercing set of brown eyes.  Your own eyes widened as your instincts took over, and you turned to bolt.  “No, wait!”

   “Stay back!” Ezra warned, hands raised to the figure that emerged from the ship quickly.  A much taller figure stepped out, and this fellow threw his head back and laughed.

   You froze in place, taking in the aged faces before you.  None of them held the same conflict in their gaze as they had the last time you were with them.  They held their hands up as a gesture that they carried no weapons.

   “_________, it’s alright,” Echo called.  “We mean you no harm.”

   “Please, don’t go.”  Hunter’s tone sounded so pleading; it made you want to cry.  You did not sense any evil intent on their part.  It was a good sign that they were no longer under Emperor Palpatine’s control.  Over the years, you discovered what exactly had happened to your squad.  Old Republic files you’d hacked revealed that something known as Order 66 had occurred, and you had pieced together the horrible plot to overthrow the jedi.  Like the others, you had to stay hidden- even from the Bad Batch.

   “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” you asked hesitantly.

   Tech took a step forward, and you gripped the handle of your lightsaber as a warning not to approach.  His eyes flickered to the weapon before he took a step back.  “After Order 66, the new Empire retired us.  I had quite a bit of free time, and while doing some research, I stumbled upon a report: it told me all about these biological chips.”

   “And we removed them!” Wrecker said.  He turned his head to the side, his pointer finger tapping on a scar on the bald skin.  By then, you started walking towards them.  You couldn’t believe how they had aged so much.  You were in front of Crosshair first, reaching a hand up to touch his weathered face.  He didn’t tense like he used to every time you accidentally brushed against him.  As a matter of fact, he even smiled a little.  Age had worn down his tough-guy act.

   “It’s...good to see you,” he said.

   Then, all at once, the tears started flowing.  It was like you picked up right where you left off all those years ago.  You threw your arms around him, and after a few moments of crying into his shoulder, you felt his arms come up to hold you comfortingly.  “Cross...I missed you so much!”

   “I missed you too.”

   “Hey,” Wrecker grunted.  “I missed you!  Don’t I get a hug?”

   You laughed through the tears and turned to give him a hug only to be lifted off the ground in a familiar, enveloping embrace- the kind only Wrecker could give.  He set you down laughing with you, and you pulled Echo and Tech into a little group hug.  They both smiled widely, Echo chuckling, as you pulled them tighter.  Then, you were faced with an aged Hunter who looked conflicted. You could feel his warmth and happiness to see you, but he also carried guilt.  You quickly wrapped your arms around him, and he hugged back.

   “__________,” he murmured.  “I’m...sorry-”

   “Not another word,” you interrupted.  “It wasn’t your fault.  None of you are to blame.”

   “But-”

   “Not another word,” you insisted, flashing him a smile.  He returned with a handsome grin that showed the old Hunter even through his aged appearance.  It brought more tears to your eyes.  “I’m so glad we all found our way back together.”

   “Um, __________?” Ezra spoke up.  He gave a shrug, confused about the interaction.

   “I’ll explain,” you told him.  “Bad Batch, this is my friend, Ezra.  Him and I are members of a crew that does what it can to mess with the Empire.”

   “Oh yeah?” Wrecker asked.  “As soon as our chips were removed, that’s what we started doing.”

   “Really?”

   “Indeed, we’ve made significant progress,” Tech said.

   “Well,” you sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder plate.  “What do you say we regroup and mess with the Empire together?”

   “I think…” Hunter stroked his chin in thought.  “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

[heyovivi]

Gwyn and Azriel and Prejudice

Hello, back again with some possible theories and this time it's about one of my favorite Valkyries, Miss Gwyneth Berdara and some more controversial subjects such as the prejudice that surrounds her and other characters.

Now I'm sorry I haven't been posting a lot--though I'm sure not people even notice seeing how we have a large community of readers who also come up with some amazing theories! But I needed to slow down on posting my wild theories and imaginations because I felt that some of my readers who read my fan fiction were starting to catch onto the plot of "A Court of Shadows and Scars"--but I've been waiting to post about this one because I think it's important and because I've already addressed it in my story.

Moving on.

Gwyneth Berdara.

Although she was very much a newly-introduced secondary character to Nesta's story she is oh-so important and beloved by our reading community. Gwyn has stolen the hearts of many with her wit, charm, and inquisitive personality--and not just readers but her fellow characters as well.

All except a very few including Merrill and the main antagonist of ACOSF, Queen Briallyn--though there are many others I could mention, such as the Illyrians, but my main focus will revolve around Merrill and Briallyn and their prejudices against Gwyn along with other characters with their own prejudices such as Beron and even our own brooding shadowsinger, Azriel.

Yes, Azriel.

Now we know the story of Gwyn and we also a know a bit of her past as well.

Gwyn's grandmother was once a river nymph who seduced a High Fae male hailing from the Autumn Court and fell pregnant with Gwyn's mother who was sent to be raised at the temple of Sangravah because she couldn't dwell in the rivers of Spring Court and was too wild to be confined in the Forest House of Autumn Court.

"My mother was unwanted by either of their (Gwyn's grandmother and grandfather) people. She could not dwell in the rivers of the Spring Court, but was too untamed to endure the confinement of the forest house of Autumn. So she was give in her childhood to the temple at Sangravah, where she was raised..." (Gwyn Berdara, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 316)

Now what we know about nymphs is extremely limited in the ACOTAR world. But in Greek mythology--from which they hail from--nymphs were idolized as guardians of nature. They were revered as the spirits of specific natural features and were often identified with parts of nature such as the Oreads (mountain nymphs) and the Hamadryads (tree nymphs).

The name "nymph" comes from the Greek word that means "young woman", and so naturally these beings were considered to be female. Indeed, they were represented as young, beautiful, musical, amorous, and gentle youthful creatures. And while there is some question about whether they were immortal or not - Hamadryads in particular were linked with the lives of their chosen trees - it is believed that they were extremely long lived.

A beautiful, ever-young creature that inhabits the lovliest of all wilderness places including clear lakes, streams, and crystalline caverns. They do not like any form of intrusion but there is a 100% that a nymph will be friendly if approached by another good creature. Nymphs are exceptionally intelligent and are very rarely found.

Gwyn's lineage of nymph, according to Greek mythology, would be categorized as a Naiad, the nymphs of streams, rivers, and lakes. The Naiads, or water nymphs, dwelt beside running water. Like their cousins, the Nereids and Oceanids of the oceans, the Oreads of the hills and the Dryads of the forests and trees, they were usually sweet, benign spirits. Naiads, especially, were helpful and healing, nurturing fruits, flowers and mortals. Yet the youth Hylas who went to draw water from a pool was lured by the nymphs into the water and was never seen again--meaning that despite being creatures of nature they also possessed darker roles in certain legends.

I interpret this as Nymphs being hostile around creatures who were unwelcome in their lands for being ill-intentioned.

Many times in Greek mythology, nymphs were often seen as the symbolism of beauty and love; such as Aphrodite--and because they were always describe to be beautiful and graceful women with soft, sweet appearances they often drew the attention of the Gods creating legends of romantic affairs and infidelity.

Their very beauty caused the Gods to lust after them to a ravenous extent, making the Nymphs sometimes turn to the Goddesses for help. However, not all Goddesses were kind towards the nymphs--such as Aphrodite or Hera who grew jealous of their beauty when their very beauty and natural loveliness challenged the fidelity of their lovers.

In this case, let's assume that role of Gods, of higher beings, were the High Fae in the ACOTAR realm.

In the ACOTAR realm, it's easy to assume the nymphs are somewhat--if not--wholly the same as they are described in classic literature. When Gwyn tells the story of her grandmother she states that her grandmother seduced a High Fae, resulting in the birth of her mother. If this is the case then I think I can understand why characters such as Merrill and Briallyn look down on her lineage so much because again, Nymphs, in the eyes of major Goddesses such as Aphrodite and Hera, were essentially home wreckers (even though many confrontations with Gods and Nymphs were not always consensual).

With the reputation of being male-thirsty seductresses, nymphs are looked down upon as lower-beings, that and their lack of immortality (more often then not Nymphs linked their lifelines to an object in nature: a tree nymphs links their life to a tree, water nymph links their life to a stream (but I suppose that makes them immortal?)).

With this devious reputation placed on her lineage, Gwyn is often the butt of insults with being call half-breed and all by the likes of Briallyn and Merrill.

"But you made it easy for me: you went right to her house in Windhaven. Spared me the trouble of luring you. I let those witless Illyrians take her and the half-breed as an amusing bonus." (Queen Briallyn, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 721)

"I am descended from Rabath, Lord of the Western Wind...Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am not lackey to be dismissed." (Merrill, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 315)

Merrill glanced between her and Gwyn before saying, "get back to your work, nymph." (Merrill, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 315)

Okay--so Merrill doesn't specifically call her a half-breed, but dismissing her as a lower race and simply calling her "nymph" is basically comparable to an insult.

Now, that we've got Gwyn out of the way, let's move onto Autumn Court, more specifically Beron.

Beron is an ass--plain and simple. He is the personification of a conservative abuser and is honestly one of the most disgusting characters I have ever had the displeasure of reading. However--I suppose the problems he brings do push certain character formulas forward such as Eris and Lucien. Such as executing Jesminda for simply being involved with Lucien and for being anything but High Fae.

"Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considers to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn't care that wasn't one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father's court to his scheming brothers...His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch." (Tamlin, A Court of Thorns and Roses, pg. 160)

I don't think I need to go ahead and explain Beron and his prejudices against those who are not High Fae--his actions speak enough as is. But what I do want to do is go back to the specific wording Gwyn uses when explaining how her mother ended up in Sangravah, she says: "She could not dwell in the rivers of the Spring Court, but was too untamed to endure the confinement of the forest house of Autumn."

Confinement.

Not dwell. Not live. Not prosper. Confinement.

Now, we haven't navigated Autumn for all it's beauty and culture. We've only seen the Autumn Court through the eyes of Feyre when she is traversing through the courts in ACOWAR.

But I wonder how he approached with dealing with those who are not High Fae? What if the Autumn Court is much like the Summer Court where the court works around a system of class where High Fae are put at the top and anything but is put at the bottom? Therefore assuming that the treatment of such beings is cruel and unjust, creating a defining line between the races in which they can never reach equilibrium.

If that is so that brings me to the idea that many courts outside the jurisdiction of Night Court have assumed systems such as this, making there a limited amount of options for people like Gwyn's mother to prosper peacefully. Because we already know that the main reason why the first war with Hybern happened was because Hybern demanded to keep human and low fae as slaves, placing High Fae at the top. Spring sided with Hybern, because remember Amarantha and the former High Lord of Spring were close friends, Summer Court most likely fought to keep slaves as they still continuously oppress lesser fae, so I imagine it was worse for humans. And let's be honest, Autumn remained "indifferent" but one look at their current High Lord tells me that they weren't that indifferent--not unless Beron wasn't the ruling High Lord at the time.

So with that in mind, Gwyn and her family couldn't flee to Summer, nor Spring or Autumn. Night was probably never an option--as their reputation of being dark and gloomy more than likely frightened the idea away. Winter Court was obvious seeing how it's a winter wonderland of frozen lakes, streams, and rivers. Then there is Day Court which based on their current High Lord and aesthetic, is a desert land of sand and heat--with little to no water supply for any Nymph.

However there is one court that still remains. Dawn Court. From what we know they are a more than neutral court among the courts of Prythian and mostly value innovation. Geographically, Dawn is a lush, eternal countryside rich with the weight of summer upon it. The towns were red-roofed villages with sparkling rivers--a perfect destination for any relocating half-nymph- half-High Fae born child. However we also have to take into account the time period of when Gwyn's mother was born. Remember, prior to ACOTAR, Prythian was under the rule of Amarantha for fifty years--and even if that wasn't the case Summer was under the rule of a High Lord who didn't harbor the same compassion to change the unequal class system like Tarquin did when he assumed his place on the throne. Autumn was being ruled by Beron by that time already who'd probably have her confined. And Spring was under the traditional rule of Tamlin--and despite that Gwyn's mother would've still be considered as unwelcomed by the other nymphs.

If you take the time and current dilemma of Prythian--then there was really no where to go but Sangravah--putting into question the prejudices certain courts have against beings that are of the Low Fae variety.

I predict that despite being beautiful, charming, and compassionate, Gwyn still faces so much prejudice for simply being 1/4th nymph--which to the High Fae is a stain in her lineage to be a descendant from such a deviant being.

Now, let's move onto Azriel.

Azriel, as we all know, has his own conflicts with the Illyrians. Of course, that is to be expected, especially after learning of his backstory with being abused by his family and then later forced into training with the Illyrian army. The only comfort he had ever received was from the likes of his chosen family and so I believe he is projecting his own, personal experience of being an Illyrian into his hatred of Illyria--seeing the Illyrians as no more than a means to end due to their constant reluctance to move on with the times.

Don't get me wrong, I love Azriel. But I think a big part of his character is accepting who he is. He is an Illyrian--and I believe that with the combine power of him, Cassian, and Rhys they can bring the kind of change that Cassian had only ever dreamed of to Illyria. Yet, his own prejudices against his people hold him back and that's probably because he hasn't fully faced his trauma and instead skitters back at the mention or thought of it. I think if Az was healed he wouldn't be so reluctant to visit Illyria or wish for it's demise.

"A rare visit from the shadowsinger. Both myth and terror. Az looked just as displeased to be here, but he'd come when I asked...It was healthy, perhaps. For Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget." (Rhysand, A Court of Frost and Starlight, pg. 222)

"Cassian rolled his eyes. But they both knew Azriel would sooner disband and destroy Illyria than help it. Convincing their brother than the Illyrians were a people worth saving was still a battle amongst the three of them." (Cassian, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 42)

Now, moving onto the conclusion, finally. If Gwynriel's story was to happen, I think there is a sufficient amount of evidence to claim that Azriel's plot would revolve around the Illyrian conflict.

I'm just going to drop down this link: https://yazthebookish.tumblr.com/post/648449405425516544/the-illyrian-conflict-being-set-up-in-acosf-along

@yazthebookish highlights textual evidence that hints at a possible story arc for an Illyrian plot line because yes, there is still so much to uncover in Illyria and although I believe a large part of that was suppose to be Cassian and Nesta's story I also understand why it could go to Azriel.

Azriel needs to learn to accept his race, and the Illyrians need to learn how to accept change. I think they can learn something from one another and I believe Gwyn will play a role in Azriel's adventure. Do I think she's going to be the face some enlightenment in Azriel's journey--no. That's stupid. And if you twist my words, read it again. I believe because of Gwyn's past with prejudice against her and what she is, she can level with Az and understand him in a way that can potentially help him develop better as a character. Yes, she might be there for guidance or to give Azriel counsel, but in the end I think it's Az's job to tackle down the Illyrian conflict while Gwyn, with the help of Azriel, tackles down her own, whether that be discovering her lineage or where she came from or even healing from her trauma as a SA victim.

Please be respectful and leave your thoughts in the comments.

[herarhearp]

Who: Thanatos ( @deathsknife​ )

When: February, 2130 - First week of the Kalavria Summit

Where: Glass-bottom boat tour around the archipelago

The boat tours sound like a lovely chance to get to know the coasts around Pontius, but the paradisiacal views are not what brings Hera to one. She is far more interest in the break from the crowds, the reduced amount of curious looks. Not that she isn’t used to that by now. It’s just more irritating when her mood is already not the best.

She finds a serene area of the boat to appreciate the ocean, understanding why Poseidon chose this to be his empire. The sea is wild, mysterious, unpredictable, the calmness and the storm taking turns. It is enough to make her forget the chaos above water for a moment. “I sometimes forget how much life is out there, beyond our sight.” She comments to nobody in particular, before she notices Thanatos Erebus standing there in silence. Nyx’s kid used to come around Pontius often, but Hera hasn’t seem them since before Heteraidia.

[thegrapeandthefig]

On offerings of fruit and nuts

This was also a requested topic, in the same vein as my posts on salt and water. The twist though, is that I am going to be focusing on fruits and nuts in a general context and leave out the concept of first-fruit offerings (aparchai), which probably needs its own post.

Fruit offerings are extremely, extremely common in literature and iconography but they are rarely explained. This probably has to do with the fact that it would be so normal and logical for the Ancients that it did not need explaining (at least, outside of first-fruit offerings).

Food offerings in general share a few particularities:

For the most part, they are easily available

They are a reminder and acknowledgement of the divine powers responsible for them

Fruits, as all food offerings, do hold this idea of giving back to the gods for the substenance they bring us. This is maybe something that modern city-dwellers like most of us are have forgotten a bit about. If you've ever come across a tree full of fruit in the wild, you might find it true that there's something special about finding food. The presence of a plant that creates something edible for no cost challenges our value-centric conception of the world where everything is bought and sold.

There does not seem to be a strict pattern to who could or could not recieve fruit offerings, and I made this little list to prove the sheer diversity of deities that are either somehow linked to fruits or are said to have been offered fruits:

Zeus Chthonios, Zeus Georgos "Cultivator", Zeus Karpophoros "Fruit-Bearing", Zeus Epikarpios "Bringer" or "Producer of fruits", Zeus Karpodotês "Giver of fruits" and he is considered as karpôn aitios, the ‘cause of fruits’

Demeter Hagnê "Pure", Demeter Karpophoros "Fruit-Bearing", Demeter Malophoros "Bearer of Fruit/Apples"

Persephone obviously, especially in the context of the Eleusinian mysteries amongst a lot of other offerings.

In Patras, Artemis Laphria "Devouring" is said by Pausanias to be given "the fruit of cultivated trees" at the altar. A votive relief found in Achinos also shows a basket of fruits bring brought to the goddess alongside other offerings.

Aphrodite has probably been given all kinds of fruits, but apples are obviously very appropriate for her. This statuette has been found in Argos and shows a woman holding two round objects that are thought to be apples. 

Hera is portrayed showing the goddess with a phiale and a pomegranate in her left hand on this figure found at Foce del Sele. 

Poseidon: we know of a priest of Zeus who came to the oracle of Apollo in Delphi to ask what they should do to protect their city from an earthquake. The answer instructed to "sacrifice roots, fruits and corn with a pure hand" (corn here refers to grain, not maize) amongst other ritual actions. 

I could go on but you get my drift. Fruits are so universal that they appear everywhere and for all types of deities. Some sources also hint towards fruits left near springs and caves, which would indicate a cult for the Nymphs. Because those offerings are biodegredable, we have probably lost a lot of evidence too. 

However, Pompeii and its exceptional conservation state gives us a good look at what could be offered. Sure, it's a Roman city of the 1st century AD, but I still think there are elements to take in consideration there, especially on the question of nuts. Have been found, in no particular order:

pinecones/pine nuts

hazelnuts

walnuts

chestnuts

figs

grapes

olives

dates

pears

apples

All have been found in the context of offerings that were burnt to the gods (alongside other remnants like animal bones). The ritual context in which such remains of offerings have been found are also diversified, from domestic rites to rituals done during the construction of a house, for example.

Fruit offerings do raise the question of seasonality and conservation. I think this is where nuts play an important role. If we were to make a harvest calendar from the list of produce above, we'd notice that a lot of the harvest season for those begin around July/August and end around December/January (with the exception of apples and pears, which can last until April). My theory is that nuts, apple, pears and fruits that could be dried (like figs, dates or even salt-cured olives) helped fill the lack of fresh produce during the winter months as those can be safely stored.

In conclusion: Fruits were part of the larger group of offering that food as a whole constitutes. While certain of them are more or less associated with certain deities, fruit offerings are found for nearly every divinity. In term of ritual significance, it can range from a casual act of thanksgiving for the substenance brought by the gods, to a celebration of fertility, to humbly giving what you have access to. Nuts hold a similar significance, with the advantage of being less easily perishable compared to more sensitive fresh produce. 

Sources: Bremmer N. J., Erskine A., The Gods of Ancient Greece: Identities and Transformations, 2010 Prêtre C., Le Donateur, l'Offrande et la Déesse, 2009 (image comes from there) Stavrianopoulou E., Ritual and communication in the Greco-Roman World, 2006 Pirenne-Delforge V., Prescendi F., Nourrir les Dieux ? Sacrifice et Représentation du Divin, 2011

[zenalios]

Untamed Seas; 5 - Shadowed

Index (R18+)

Summary

Amphitrite, sea goddess, and daughter of Nereus, is less than willing to marry an Olympian, let alone Poseidon, the very god who overthrew her father. She does so nevertheless, in a desperate move to protect her sisters following Nereus’ absence.

The marriage is beneficial to them both: Poseidon gains legitimacy through a union with her, effectively solidifying his control over the seas, and Amphitrite guarantees her sisters' safety, along with all prestige due her status as queen.

The catch? She finds his domineering personality utterly insufferable, and he, the most fearsome god, resents being stuffed into an unwelcome marriage.

They have all eternity to make it work.

TW // Abuse - Verbal and Physical ; Abusive Relationship ; Forced Marriage

The time had come for the bride’s veil to be removed. Having thoroughly showered the new queen in a flood of fruits and nuts to symbolize fertility and prosperity, along with whispered well wishes, the wedding guests and servants hastily filed out of the throne room. 

It was then that Amphitrite, daughter of the sea god Nereus and river nymph Doris, was left amidst the mess, with but a single dolphin as the goddess’s escort to the bridal chamber. 

Her heels were sore from standing nearly the entire duration of the feast at Olympus greeting her new in-laws, a wild frenzy which had flown by without any opportunity for her to savour the occasion and her last moments of freedom. This made her rather grateful for the brief respite the palace denizens had granted her in the form of peace and quiet. 

Now was a good time to shake out a few nuts from the folds of her skirt, and sweep away into her palm some dried fruits, the latter of which she did not discard, but furtively snuck into her mouth —not that she was hungry, she merely needed something to gnaw at and ease her misery.

“This way, Your Majesty.”

Amphitrite raised her eyebrows, still chewing. Had the creature bowed any lower, it would have tilted over and performed a front flip through the water. The mere thought of it alone caused her to accidentally bite down on her tongue. The bitter taste of ichor briefly filled her mouth; it did not mix well with the dried fruits she had just consumed. At this, her chest heaved. She put a fist to her mouth, another hand cradling her abdomen. She rather wished her stomach would give up its contents. 

Maybe she wouldn’t have to meet him then. 

Curses, the dolphin had raised its head. The goddess forced her shoulders to relax and unclenched her jaw, staring out into the abyssal hallway ahead. Breathe, she reminded herself. Three deep breaths and a very slow exhale later, however, and she still wasn’t ready. “Your Majesty?” The dolphin’s voice echoed.

“Just—" Amphitrite held up her hand, turning away from the poor beast as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just give me a moment.”

“Ah, yes Your Majesty!”

She tried to think of other things instead. Like how Erato had cried upon seeing her once more, how the rest of her sisters had bid her farewell as her wedding procession departed for Olympus, their precious tears glistening against the dancing twilight sky, how many gifts her new subjects had eagerly pressed into her hands as they slowly followed after her chariot, shuffling behind her in droves every step of the way to the ocean’s depths, how thoughtful it had been of Hera, Hestia, and Demeter to decorate the wedding halls with deep blue corals in her preferred colour as opposed to gold the shade of her newly-wed husband’s… hair.

The hand she had raised fell to her side. Poseidon. Her husband. 

Amphitrite straightened. 

As if she was not miserable enough, the reminder of who it was she had married, and what exactly he had not done, only infuriated her all the more. Granted, she now knew the marriage was also against his wishes —something Demeter had accidentally revealed at the feast —but he had not even been in attendance, had refused to dignify, and accordingly, acknowledge her, and remained so even upon her arrival at his palace. Poseidon had not appeared throughout the entire ceremony at all. Instead, some upstart nymphs were charged with bringing her to the throne room’s hearth, their numbers barely enough. It was a far cry from the utmost care and attention her new sisters-in-law had put into hosting the elaborate feast held prior to her departure. 

What really grated at her, however, was that Zeus had travelled to Oceanus in the form of a dolphin to pressure her into this marriage, and now she was still being led by one to consummate it. 

Call her stupid for attending that party and gaining her fellow gods’ attentions, but how could a simple nymph like her have expected that the most lecherous member of the triumvirate would go against his word and actually attend. It was supposed to have been a simple affair on an island hosted by Amaltheia and other minor gods, her sisters and herself attending in their missing father’s stead, without the king of gods present, without leading to her being chased, no, hunted down, to her grandfather’s waters, without her sister being taken hostage in exchange for her agreement.

Only a digging sensation in her palms made her aware of how tight she had squeezed her trembling fists. Now released, they left little red crescents where her nails had been. She stared at the imprints a little longer, as if they could tell her who the exact source of her misfortune had been, or what, even, this particular emotion was supposed to be.

The dolphin started as Amphitrite cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry.” She said awkwardly, shooting the creature a quick smile that dropped without even meeting her eyes. Her body was still quivering from the adrenaline that pumped through her unsteady heart. She inhaled deeply once more as she readjusted her veil and allowed the air to slowly slip through her lips.

“Let’s go.”

The passage itself felt suffocating. Though the three Olympian goddesses had painstakingly redecorated Poseidon’s palace to welcome its new mistress, and in accordance with her tastes as well, it still did not change the fact that the goddess herself remained uneager to meet her new husband, let alone be his wife.

At first her escort swam immediately beside her short of grasping her arm, as if fearing her dragging pace meant she planned to vanish midway on their little journey to her husband’s quarters. If only she could. Perhaps it worried she would stall for more time, and delay the ceremony so as to invoke the sea king’s wrath, as to be expected from someone who behaved as though the world revolved around him; this was most likely the case, she realised. 

Though Amphitrite had yet to meet Poseidon himself —again, she bore absolutely no inclination whatsoever to consort with someone who had ousted her father, and she could not guarantee that she would not slap him upon making his acquaintance— rumour was it that he lived and breathed the concept of “perfection”. They even went so far as to call him a “god among gods”.

Was it any wonder, then, that her arrival had been more lacklustre than her own family's welcome for a new maidservant? Such a vain god expected time and the world to stop for him, even when he himself would not stop for others. Like father, like son, she thought with distaste. She had already met Zeus, and he was bad enough. Unfortunately, such a god had now become her husband, and she would have to live with it for all eternity. 

Small wonder then, that her sisters-in-law had tried their best to ensure a grand festival on her side; they must have known things would fail miserably on her husband’s end. 

Amphitrite blinked. The dolphin was now a short way ahead of her in the passage. Did I stop? She couldn’t recall having done so since they had left the throne room and the rest behind.

“It’s alright, Your Majesty.” It spoke before she had the chance to ask. “You will be good for him.” This time, her footsteps did grind to a halt. Amphitrite stared at the creature in disbelief. 

“Really.” She noted sarcastically. It was true. She was doing Poseidon a favour, not the other way round.

A minute later the dolphin gasped, as though it had committed some unspoken cardinal sin —really, she could not tell what swam through that sleek grey head, or what the creature was overreacting to. “My apologies for speaking to you without permission.” Oh. So that was why. She nodded .

“Er- Your Majesty,” it hastily added, only adding to her bemused state. What a shame her thoughts of Poseidon had stifled any laughter that might have bubbled. Nevertheless, she could still afford a smile, this one more genuine than the last; now she allowed it to reach her eyes, and it stayed even as her chest grew tight.

“Is that so.” Were those words the truth or merely what the creature thought she wanted to hear? Amphitrite scrutinized the dolphin for a moment, before shaking her head, “I’m sorry.”

At this, the dolphin shot her a quizzical look. She supposed it was not used to being on the receiving end of an apology, least of all from a god, considering just who it was the creature served.

As she opened her mouth to explain, an afterthought struck her from the shadows cast over dim light. Surely it had been a figment of her imagination? Upon second glance at her shape and the dolphin’s streamlined figure flickering against the wall, the bend of a strategically-placed vase curved to reveal the edge of a twitching tail. One that could not possibly belong to her, for she had never possessed a tail, nor the dolphin, whose fins were smooth and sleek —everything this one was not. The longer she stared, the more apparent it soon became to Amphitrite that more tails lay in other similarly inconspicuous locations, each a foreign presence to her. 

The young queen now swallowed whatever thoughts she initially possessed of confiding her feelings in the creature. Perhaps she should not even have apologized to begin with. After all, the creature served Poseidon himself, and so did the many pairs of eyes watching her still. And if they all served him, did that not mean they were defectors who had betrayed the memory of her father? 

Feeling exposed, she tugged the veil forward to cover her bare arms. It all made sense to her now, she thought miserably. The nymphs that greeted her upon arrival now lay hidden to scorn the daughter of their previous king, their previously whispered words carrying not blessings but ill-wishes. The same sense of grief that had struck her upon departure from her sisters washed over her anew: the realisation that she was well and truly alone in this palace.

Amphitrite grit her teeth, willing herself to endure their stares. “It’s nothing.” In truth, the bridal chamber was not so far away, the greater distance completed when she was escorted to the throne room itself. From there onwards, it was merely a simple trip into the heart of the palace. However, it was still larger than her father’s grotto, and far more stifling owing to the expectant audience that surrounded her. 

By the time Amphitrite’s thoughts ground to a halt alongside her own footsteps, the newly-wed bride was utterly dour.

Her escort swam forward, rapping once, then twice, on a looming pair of golden doors. “Her Majesty has arrived.” There was no response. Amphitrite’s scornful frown deepened. Just a cubit away, her ears picked up on chittering from the hidden nymphs. The dolphin cleared its throat. It knocked again, speaking louder this time, “Her Majesty has come for the night.” Amphitrite folded her arms, glancing upwards with an impatient huff; still no answer. 

As a result, more whispers were thrown in her direction, wearing Amphitrite’s nerves dangerously thin. Either they knew that she knew they were there, and simply did not care, or they remained blissfully unaware of the fact that their voices had increased in volume, so revealing their presence to her.

Growing up Nereus’s firstborn, the new sea queen was used to being stared at by the multitude, had practically been raised to ignore their presence as she carried about her business. It was the only reason she had been able to cope up till now. But now, their voices were an extremely unwelcome addition in this smothering hallway —her skin crawled with every murmur and response, that even the silk veil placed over her hair tugged at each follicle, further weighing her scalp down with every turn and swish. Her nails bit down on her arms in a desperate attempt to prevent herself from being overwhelmed. 

It was the lowest moment of her life after her father’s disappearance, and these upstarts had come all the way to watch her, to laugh at her suffering.

“You’re a goddess now.”  Hestia said earlier that morning during the nuptial bath as Amphitrite was being scrubbed down, “I believe you will be a good one.” Sorry, Hestia, a small voice within her apologised, though Amphitrite herself remained unsure what exactly for.

The next time she heard another sound, the sea queen whirled towards that particular column. 

“Enough!” She snapped viciously. 

One stamp, and the maiden was sent hurtling against the opposite wall with a loud thump. 

The only relief such an act of violence brought was release and a small sense of satisfaction as the rest began to scatter away; deep down, she felt sick to her stomach at the way the girl had hit her head, now limp and unmoving. 

Only two nymphs lingered behind, hesitating as to whether they should save themselves first or leave their friend to her demise. They flinched when she turned to them. 

“Take her and go.” She ground out, waving her hand at the offending nymph. At once, the pair sprung into action, one hurrying forward to grab the girl, the other looping a limp arm around her. Both hastily bowed as they retreated.

Amphitrite released a shaky breath. 

Now that the nymphs were truly gone, the goddess was forced to face the extent of her actions. She needn’t have gone that far when a simple “Begone!” would have sufficed to send them scurrying. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her escort raise a trembling flipper to knock once more. 

A pang of regret shot through her chest. It was something she imagined only Poseidon would do, and now she had stooped to his level too. 

The dolphin’s attempt was met with a hand. This unwanted marriage deserved no such pomp and circumstance: if the groom himself did not care for it, then neither would she. “Enough,” The bride spoke firmly, a trace of bitterness creeping into her words. She tentatively pushed at the door —and winced.

A sudden stream of golden light burst through the darkness.

“I can do it myself."

4 - Enalios, β ; 6 - Brine

[starforgednegativespace]

Part One: Animus

I had been on Animus less than a stellar day and already felt like I'd been gargling with lava. Even within the relative shelter of Rampart, the planet-side mining complex where I'd come to meet my contact, the air was barely breathable. Decades of disrepair had left the air scrubbers barely functioning; apparently the locals were used to it, but even the recycled air on Rune Song tasted how I imagine a cool summer breeze would taste by comparison.

In the warm rain, Rampart's wide streets, asphalt peppered with sickly coloured dust, shone under flickering neon lights from overhanging signs for drug bars, pubs and brothels; everything a miner risking their lives and health could want. I walked through the darkening streets, hands jammed firmly in the pockets of my deep red flight suit, one hand gripping the barely functioning bolt pistol in my left pocket, concealed under the bulk of my belt pouches and rain-slicked overcoat. I was tired. Being a spacer, you have to deal with local times being different in settlements than the ship time your body gets used to, and right now I should've been wrapped up in my bunk aboard Rune Song letting the Six-Ten-Ten handle things, but instead I had planet under my feet and an early evening appointment I had no right to be keeping to keep. I stifled a yawn, pushed my rain-soaked mauve hair back from my face with my free hand, and pushed open the door of Kenji's saloon.

The saloon air was warm and smelled like stale liquor and just the faintest hint of the pervasive toxicity of Animus. Behind the bar, a bent-out-of-shape old timer with sharp, angular features and a bad prosthetic arm was pouring liquor for grim faced miners, while a couple of disinterested looking girls wearing revealing outfits which showed the toxic scarring on their thighs and collars pulled silver from eager locals for games of Traust. Some patrons gave me a quick look, and few looked long as I entered, turning back to their drinks and gambling, muttered conversations lost under the distorted electronic jazz sputtering from the jukebox in the corner. I opened my jacket, shook some rainwater from it, and scanned the room. Over in the opposite corner from the jukebox, sitting alone with a pair of drinks, was Shepherd. She nodded, full lips curling slightly into what you'd charitably call a smile, motioning for me to go over. I scanned the room again; none of the people here looked like Ikaro's goons, and none of them had the air of mercenaries about them. My grip on the bolt pistol relaxed, and I headed to her table, dropping into the worn synthetic-leather booth opposite her.

"Kiri Quint, in the flesh" she purred, raising a slightly grubby glass to me. "How long's it been?"

"Too long, Shepherd" I replied, courteous as I could muster, and reached for the second glass. Her hand slapped mine away. "Sorry, I assumed..."

"The good liquor doesn't come cheap round these parts," she shot back. "I'm sure Kenji has some forge-spawn piss the locals love so much with your name on it." She motioned to the bartender, then pointed to me. The bartender nodded and started pouring what I assumed was some cheap local faux-liquor into a plastic tumbler. Shepherd smiled that tight, half smile again. "It's on me."

"Still a saint, huh Shep?" I pulled the hip flask from my inner pocket, unscrewed it and took a pull of the burning liquor within. Shepherd's eyes narrowed. I offered her the flask. "This is the good stuff."

Shepherd declined the flask with a wave of an immaculately manicured hand.

"No offence, Cutter, but I don't know where you've been"

The bartender, Kenji I assume, brought the dirty plastic tumbler over, dropped it in front of me and grunted, eyes giving me the once over. He glanced at Shepherd like he was waiting to be dismissed, then slinked away when she continued to ignore him. I picked up the tumbler and sniffed it.

"Smells like hydraulic fluid. You trying to poison me, Shep?"

I forced a laugh, took a sip and grimaced.

"Always willing to try new things, huh?" Shep smirked and sipped her drink, long lashes fluttering slightly over the glass as her eyes stayed on me. I exhaled, stifled another yawn, and looked around the dingy tavern. I motioned with my finger.

"This yours?"

"Mostly. I have a controlling stake in operations on Rampart. With that comes, I guess you could call it a stewardship of the local entertainment. It's a symbiotic relationship."

"Oh, I get it, you pay the miners salaries then take it back through whatever means necessary?"

She smirked again.

"Pretty much, yes."

I took another sip from the dirty cup of cheap synthesized booze and fished around in one of the many pockets of my flight suit until I found the crumpled pack of nic-rods. I put it to my mouth and Shepherd, right on cue, was there with a light for me.

"Thanks." I blew stale smoke to the side. The nic-rods were old, and I barely smoked unless I was very, very tense; and right now I was just that. Shepherd had that way about her. Always had, even back when she was calling herself Hal and sporting a man's body.

"You're welcome. I know yours isn't working."

Rust-dammit

"You heard about that?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. If Shepherd knew, then that meant Ikaro probably knew, and if Ikaro knew...

"I like to keep tabs on my favourite Spacers. I have to admit, I was impressed when I heard our little Cutter was Ironsworn now." She put her drink down and lit a nic-rod of her own, blowing sweet-smelling smoke towards me. "Relax, Kiri. She doesn't know. Vlada Ikaro and I are no longer associates."

Associate was one way of putting it. Executive assistant to a blood-thirsty warlord was a more accurate description.

"Nobody leaves Ikaro" I said flatly. My hand slipped back into my pocket to make sure the gun was still there, my instinct to get up and run from this place was overwhelming. Cut and run at the first sign of trouble, like I always did. That's why they called me Cutter back then.

"You did. I never got the chance to tell you how much it amused me to learn that you took her cargo. Her ship too. The sheer audacity of it."

"I earned Rune Song."

"I'm sure you did. For what it's worth, Vlada and I parted company on rather better terms. We came to an amicable agreement."

"How much of your share in Rampart does she get?"

That was maybe too far. Shepherd sucked her teeth and put her glass down. Guess I hit a nerve. But my point still stood. Nobody leaves Ikaro. Not really. "Look, I was surprised to hear from you. I had no idea you were even in this sector, having a Herald track me down came as kind of a shock, not least of all because this whole set up seems a little unglamorous for your tastes."

She seemed to loosen up a little.

"You'd be surprised; far end of town there are some really rather lovely subterranean apartments. Clean air, access to all the best shipments, the works. And far less getting my hands dirty in the process than organising wet-work for Vlada Ikaro. No, I do well here."

"Here's to moving on." I raised my cup and drained it. "Now, why don't you tell me why you asked me here?"

Shepherd raised her glass, took a sip, and stubbed the half-smoked nic-rod out in a copper ashtray.

"I need a courier. Someone capable"

I narrowed my eyes

"You have silver to pay for Heralds who can track me down, why not use one of them?"

She smiled that slight, tight smile again.

"The Heralds share information. I need someone who can afford to be more discreet. Someone who would get the job done no matter what..." Wait for it...  "Someone Ironsworn."

There it was

"Why all the secrecy, Shep? What's the job?"

Shepherd's eyes lit up like she couldn't wait to tell me some wild secret. She leaned in close, so close I could smell the expensive booze on her breath.

"You want to know why I picked this world to settle on? Why someone like me would choose to cool their heels in a rusty mining colony on a toxic shithole like Animus?" I nodded. " Let me ask you this, Kiri, when you were landing here, did your nav-com take you on an unusual trajectory?"

"Yeah, I figured atmospheric disturbances or something. It's not uncommon for a world like this"

"No. Port control have orders to steer ships away from a particular region of near space. You see, up there..." she pointed upwards. "Orbiting right above our heads, just out of atmo... is a fucking precursor vault."

By Iron, I swore. I unscrewed the cap of my hip flask and took a long pull. Precursor vaults were scattered throughout The Forge; unimaginably ancient relics from a long-dead race of technologically advanced beings who once ruled this region of space. Rumours of tombs filled with relics of incredible power and technology were common among spacers. Some people thought they were myths, but those people had never flown the drift and seen the horrors of the forge up close.

"What's the job?"

"I need you to take some cargo to Paradox Station at Hera, I have a contact there who'll give you the co-ordinates to a deep-space research station where the cargo goes. A simple delivery job with a stop-over, but it's long distance and I need someone I can trust and someone with an Eidolon Drive. And if I recall, Rune Song is equipped with such a drive..."

I nodded again and stubbed the nic rod out.

"That kind of distance is gonna cost, Shep. At least -"

"Twenty thousand silver, ten up front, ten on completion."

Twenty thousand silver was a lot of money for a simple cargo run. More than double what I was going to ask, and what I was going to ask was double what the job was worth. There was a lot I didn't trust about this whole situation, but Rune Song needed repairs and I was down to my last few silver. Shit, it was worth it.

"What's the cargo?" I asked.

[lothpup]

Well it’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually written any fic, let alone posted it so I’m a little like !!! But between finishing rebels, and a pal getting a mouse, whatever this is happened! It was fun to write at the least! A Mischief of Mice  1214 words Kallus likes to fix up droids. The spectre kids and their big cat brother like to make terrible jokes. Mischief ensues. Below the cut, because it’s actually a little bit longer than I thought it was!

Giggling, as Alexsandr Kallus has come to find out rather swiftly, is never a good sign when one is onboard the Ghost. The sounds of the youngest spectres snickering somewhere just out of sight is far from the sweet, innocent sounds of the young ones finding joy.

He almost regrets sitting in the very corner of the main room, the cabins where the culprits are up to whatever they’re up to are working.

That giggling is a terrible omen, a harbinger of doom, the crack of thunder just before a terrible storm.

It’s particularly a bad sign when he has a so many of transport logs to finish combing through that Draven expects by morning.

Each peal of laughter only serves to heighten his dread. And perhaps the sneaking curiosity at what exactly today’s antics are that have prompted such giggling. It isn’t the most common sound, and certainly wasn’t common in all his years under the Empire.

The moment he hears the hearty gruff belly-deep chuckle of Garazeb he knows this is going to go spectacularly awful. For him most likely.

“No, we’re not done with them, and no you can’t throw them in the trash! Chopper!”

Chopper passes by very quickly, paint in a calico of colours splattered across the droid.

Following Chopper is the chorus of impending disaster.

If he weren’t so apprehensive thinking of all the potential things those loth rats were up to he’d be quite impressed with their hyena impressions.

“Hey Kallus,” Ezra emerges first, hands clasped suspiciously behind his back. Trying very hard and failing spectacularly to hide his grin.

“Whatever you lot are up to back there, I don’t want to know,” Kallus answers quickly, turning back to his datapad. And having to re-read the same line the fourth time over.

“Up to something? Us? We’re not up to something, are we Sabine?”

Sabine peeks around the corner next, not even trying to hide her smirk, “No, I don’t believe we are. We would never be up to something. Not us. Couldn’t be.”

Zeb following Ezra into the main room with his ears forward and eyes gleaming is most definitely never, ever a good sign.

“Oh look,” Zeb starts, the words clearly rehearsed. “I wonder how those mice got in here!”

Sabine scans the ship, looking at nothing in particular. “Mice? What mice–”

“Oh no! Mice, on the Ghost? What ever will we do?!” Ezra collapses back against the wall with all the dramatic grace of loth cat falling over.

Kallus is about to snap at them to knock of whatever this game is, when he hears the telltale squeak of one of his MSE droids.

Although, it seems to be more of an actual mouse now.

The brown-white-and-black splashed across Chopper earlier makes more sense now. complete with felt ears, a tiny tail, and drawn on mouse-face the poor thing is no longer the burnished grey of metal but bright patches of golden brown-and-white.

The first one isn’t alone. The other two are painted one grey and the other black-and-white. The same little ears stuck on top, same little faces complete with whiskers, and the most ridiculous tail stuck to the back.

“Looks like a real mischief of mice in here,” Ezra beams, gesturing at their handiwork.

It takes a long time for him to find any words, because of any possible outcomes this wasn’t one of them. MSE droid. But now they are mice. Ordinarily anyone messing with whatever droid he’s working on would get harsh words, but then the thought occurs to him: he’s been included in their family pranks.

He’s no stranger to them, but usually as a bystander caught in the crossfire. He’s heard the infamous tale of Chopper pulling the support bolts from Ezra’s bunk, the moment painted on their cabin wall. Besides that, usually it involves someone stealing something, and ends with Chopper trying to electrocute someone else.

“What the actual kriff.”

It’s the most eloquent thing he can put together.

“Mouse? Mice? Get it?” Ezra prompts.

Sabine checks him a little harder than necessary, hissing at him that it’s not funny if he has to explain it.

“Pancake.”

It’s the spectres’ turn to look at him strangely.

“I had a pet mouse as a child. A cream mouse, named Pancake. Well, pet might be a loose term when it was more I fed this wild mouse who lived under the kitchen sink.”

Ezra hums thoughtfully, his expression flickering. “You know, you never struck me as the type for pets.”

“And that means what, exactly?” Kallus scolds himself internally at that, what’s he going to accomplish picking a fight with this child?

“It means it’s good. You aren’t completely soul-crushingly evil or anything.”  

“Ezra, has anyone told you to think before you say stupid things?” Zeb growls, knocking Ezra’s shoulder.

“Thank you, I think,” Kallus nods, still not quite sure what’s happening and why. If they were trying to annoy him off their ship, he’s more puzzled than anything.

“So you like it or not? Look, we spent way too long and I invested way too much of my good paint for you to look like a bird who hit a window. No Ezra, you can’t throw him through glass again.” Sabine stares at Kallus expectantly, one hand on her hip in a way that’s eerily similar to Hera.

He’s never going to hear the end of that.

“Yes, no, I mean- It’s very… cute.”

Sabine, seemingly happy with the reply grins. “All I needed to hear. C’mon Ezra, we better go see where Hera and Kanan snuck off to.”

The pair skip off down the ramp, Ezra’s voice carrying. “He said the word cute, are you sure this is the same guy?”

“You really had a mouse called Pancake?” Zeb snorts once the kids are gone.

“Well, I was hardly going to call him something ridiculous like Kitchen Scrub-brush was I?” The reply comes out entirely too fast, and entirely too high pitched to be composed.

“Easy tiger, ‘m not insulting your childhood mouse’s honour.”

“This is going on the list of things I’m never going to hear the end of isn’t it?”

Zeb just laughs, nudging Kallus’ shoulder, “Nope. Not a chance.”

“Fearsome warrior Kallus, and his loyal pet… Pancake the Mouse who Lives Under his Sink.”

Kallus groans, turning his head away to try hide the flush across his cheeks. “He really liked pancakes.”

“Well, you gonna name these ones after food too?” Zeb looks at the m(ou)se droids. “If not, I vote you call one Kitchen Scrub-brush. Maybe the grey one, that one looks the most ridiculous.”

If nothing, the new paint jobs prompt a lengthy and loud debate that night over what the droids are to be called between all the spectres. Chopper seems insistent on one being called words Kallus isn’t sure even teenagers should be hearing. Zeb votes loudly for Kitchen Scrub-brush, and Kallus’ flustered attempts at other names only egg the spectres on.

For the first time, he doesn’t feel like he’s on the outside looking in on the family.

(And, if Kallus is able to use the distraction to get Pancake the Second from his pocket back to his quarters unnoticed, well he’s not going to complain about that either.)