#i want to put a laurel crown in his hair....

[skitskatdacat63]

Just gonna put these here in hopes that you understand my vision...

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Paris, 1890

steddie, omegaverse, artist and muse, mpreg

After five years of struggling and starving, scrimping and saving, choosing to buy paints instead of food, Édouard Munson has become an overnight success. All the wealthy families of Paris want one of his paintings, enchanted by the way he has captured the beauty of his new favored model.

The first to gain notice, “Eos,” features Stéfan from behind, asleep in their shared bed, the rosy light of dawn illuminating his skin, making his hair glow bronze-gold. He covered to the waist with a thin sheet, but he is not cold—unseen to the viewer, the room is well-heated by the stove. Behind him, the indent left by his lover promises he will not be lonely long.As do the tiny indents at his neck.

“Eos” sold the day it was first exhibited.

Next comes “Dionysos,” an outdoor scene, lush with flowers, the young man crowned with laurels and draped with rich, purple silks. He holds a goblet to his lips, eyes closed in gentle ecstasy. Nymphs and satyrs dance in the background, and a rivulet of wine runs down his chin.

The gallery had a buyer lined up before “Dionysus” was put on exhibit.

After came “Apollo,” “Eros,” “Hedone,” and “Helios,” each of them selling for enough that Eddie could easily keep himself and Stéfan comfortable for a few years without selling another. But his heart still cries out to create, so Eddie keeps painting.

“Aphrodite” features a naked Stéfan in the bath, standing, facing away, his plush bottom on display and glistening with water as he reaches for a towel. The gallery owner buys it for himself.

Then, Eddie takes greater risks with his art style, painting Stéfan in rich, dark blues, his body becoming the night sky in “Selene,” each of his beauty marks a golden star, his navel now the moon, his small belly cradled with his hands. He is the whole of the cosmos, caring and sensual.

A collector snaps it up as quickly as possible, proclaiming, “Now he is finding his vision!”

“The Marriage of Hymen” is a further departure, showing a small garden plot. A circle of seeds indent the dirt, next to a flower, its petals pink and red, wet with morning dew. It earns Eddie questions, and Stef blushes at his side. Even so different, it finds a buyer.

He returns to a more realistic style with “Pan.” It features two right hands, fingers slotted together, caressing a small breast. A rosy nipple peaks through a gap in the fingers. The tips of the fingers curl into a thatch of hair at the chest. It goes to the alpha who owns “Eos.”

That is followed by “Psyche,” a closeup of Stéfan in profile, lips parted, the fluttering of his eyelids created by the energetic strokes of Eddie’s paintbrush, the lashes dark with tears. He exhibits it, but refuses to sell, explaining that it was a gift for his omega.

Stef is on his arm and at his side at the gallery then, smiling when the prospective buyers turn to him, begging him to consider their offers. “I am sorry, monsieur, it is too precious a gift. I have been working on my own masterpiece for my husband, and I think this gift almost makes up for it.” His hand rests on his rounded stomach, and he rubs against the kicking of their pup as he gives a teasing wink.

That night, lying together in bed, Eddie holds Stef and kisses his neck. “Sometimes,” he whispers, “It is hard to believe that I have found you. Then I feel your heart beating next to mine and it seems inevitable. My soul knows your soul.” His hand joins Stef’s over their pup in his belly. “I think it always has.”

“It has. That’s why you see me the way you paint me. You see all of me, even the hidden parts—the parts that are only beautiful to you.”

“All of your parts are beautiful,” Eddie insists with a pout.

“Everyone has rough edges, my love, even me.”

“And they are beautiful in their roughness.”

“Eddie…”Stef turns to kiss the pout off his alpha’s lips, struggling because of his pregnant belly, grinning as Eddie rushes to help him. “All I care is that you love me. That you love us.”

Eddie kisses him back, soft and slow and sweet. “I always, always will.”

[spookie-puppy]

This has taken too long, so I give up. Im just gonna post this now with all this here. Ill probably not do more, but if I do, theyll be here.

ALSO THESES ARE NOT PERMANENT I MIGHT CHAGE THEM!!!!!

HEAD CANNONS FOR (drawing vrs (not personality just looks)) THEM BECAUSE YES

ZEUS - His hair is really fully and curly to represent the clouds, but when he's angry is straightens like the rain pour. His eyes fade from a lighter blue to a dark blue for the day fading to night. The line steaming from his eyes is both the rain and the lightning and can change color based on his mood just like his hair. (blue to yellow) He wears the laurel wreath to show his accomplishment of become king over Olympus. His cuffs both have lightning bolts on them for his thunder power.

I made him look like a young adult, just to show that he is the youngest of them all and I feel like he would look like this just to indirectly tell people that yes, a kid beat their dad.

POSEIDON - His skin is see through and his hair is black like his brothers. His hair is curlier at the top and gets straighter and darker as it goes down because I wanted something that like the waves to the floor. I wanted to try and show his bones through his skin like a deep water fish. I also didn't want to take long designing, so I made his bottom half a water fall like thing.

He looks stronger than most because I wanted a way to show how strong the water can be.

HADES - I gave him a pomegranate flower wreath for his headdress because of Persephone. I wanted to make it something she gave him to remember her in the summer months. I gave him black hair like the other two, so the big three all look like close related brothers. His hair is messy and off because he probably wanted to try and let his wife try to cut it. His belt has a small symbol on it of a skull with a flower crown. I wanted the belt to match cerberus' collar.

He looks smaller and paler than the rest because he is the ruler of the dead. I wanted him to look like he was meant to be there among the dead.

Athena- I kept the red hair that most people give her, but I gave her a blue outfit instead of a red. It still has red accents, but I wanted to go for an after the Wisdom Saga look. That's also why I decided to Give her scars along her body. I also gave her an owl like smile.

Hermes- I decided to give him more of a modern look for some reason. I tried to make him look extravagant with the shirt. I kept the curls, gave him a mischievous smile, and gave him more gold. His gold rings on his arms are for decoration, but I really wanted to give him the golden wings. I didn't want them on his shoes like they normally are, so I put them on his head instead. He also has a cape and hood for colder environments that he has to travel through.

drawings after the cut.

[my-name-is-apollo]

Hi 💙

Sorry for bother you, but i wanted to share with you something i found while i was looking for Leto, Artemis and Apollo's images 😅

Is Leto making Apollo's hairstyle? She had a hair band in her hands and is about to put it on Apollo's hair 🤭

I found this and now i love Leto more that i loved her before, she is the best mom ✨

I think it's supposed to be a diadem or a laurel wreath to crown Apollo's hair with :D like seen in this vase painting where Nike is crowning Apollo

And here both Artemis and Leto stand ready with laurel wreaths in their hand

[ghoulsister1]

🥀♡•♡"Wherefore art thou Dante?"♡•♡🥀

Dante Sparda x Female Reader. Some angst. Hurt/Comfort. There's fluff don't worry. Forbidden Love. Romeo & Juliet inspired. Disapproving parents. Love is powerful. Secret relationship. Eloping. Happy ending.

🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡

Your family have always had a disdain of Sparda and his kin, despite Sparda being a kindhearted and caring demon with a beautiful and sweet human wife and two handsome sons who were twins, but still they hated them. And they would hate you if your family found out about your secret relationship with Dante, younger twin brother of Vergil, son of Sparda.

For years, your family hated demons and devils. They hated what they done to humans and hated the wars raged on them by Mundus. And in particular, they hated Sparda. They despised him despite Sparda betraying Mundus and protecting the humans from harm. They hated him even when he choose to live amongst the humans and married a beautiful woman, Eva. They hated him, even when Eva gave birth to twin sons, Vergil and Dante. They could never let go of their hatred towards demons and Devils, even if there were good Devils in the world.

And you knew, if they found out what you were up to when you snuck out at night, they'd definitely hate you. Possibly even disown you. Because you were in love with Dante, son of Sparda and younger twin brother of Vergil.

You two met at a masquerade ball, hosted by your parents. They had forbade Dante and Vergil from attending, but that didn't stop Dante from planning on crashing it for fun. Vergil warned him not to do it, but Dante being Dante he went along and snuck into the ball with his own masquerade disguise.

His plan was to sneak in and cause a ruckus, maybe switch out the classical music for some heavy metal songs and put them on full blast throughout the speakers. He had a whole plan laid out to wreck this boring party, until he saw you. And you saw him.

You were dressed in a beautiful, white and gold dress adorned with a gorgeous matching masquerade mask. Your hair done up and adorned with a gold laurel leaf crown. You were stunning, an angel sent from above to Dante and his plans of wrecking the party was all forgotten.

You couldn't help but notice Dante, striking white hair, beautiful blue eyes and dressed in striking red with a matching masquerade devil mask. You two stared at each other, both lost in each other's eyes.

Without thinking, Dante spoke.

"You wanna blow this place?" Asked Dante.

"Only if you share a dance with me first" You Replied.

"With a beautiful angel like you? Hell, how could I say no?" Remarked Dante winking. You giggled and soon you two took to a slow dance on the floor, your parents wondering who was this mysterious masked man dancing with you.

"Who is he? That man in the red masquerade get up?" Asked Mother. Father narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know. He looks familiar but I can't say I've seen him. Perhaps it's the hair" Remarked Father. When the dance ended, you two slipped away from prying eyes and snuck outside together, giggling and laughing all the way.

You spent that wonderful night with Dante under the stars, getting to know one another and sharing a few laughs. However, when the party ended and your family went looking for you, Dante fled into the night, leaving you with a promise to return again.

And the next night, he visited. You snuck out and even went into the city with him, took you to a diner where you and him shared a strawberry milkshake and some burger and fries. You wished this night wouldn't end and wanted to stay longer with the charming half-Devil, but sadly you knew your family would come looking and so with a reluctant sigh, Dante returned you home.

"Promise me, we'll still hang out together? Promise me you'll return" You Pleaded as you snuck back up to your bedroom balcony.

"I promise!" Whispered Dante and with a wink, he was gone into the night once more. You giggled and felt your heart flutter at just the mere thought of him as you lay in your bed that night, the sweet taste of strawberry milkshake still on your lips.

This continued for many nights and with each passing day, your love for each other grew. You hoped with time, maybe your parents might hear of Dante's good deeds and look upon him more favorably. But alas, that was not the case.

"Did you hear about that rogue Devil in red running amok? Causing nothing but damage to our city!" Spat Mother angrily.

"But he's just trying to keep the people safe from the demons and devils that try and hurt us!" You Argued. Mother laughed bitterly.

"You are much too young and naive to understand. He is the son of Sparda, a Hell spawn half-breed. He belongs in Hell with his family" Remarked Mother bitterly. Your heart clenched at such a harsh remark, knowing that only Dante and Vergil were the only ones left of Sparda's bloodline, Eva died during a demon attack and Sparda had vanished, presumably held captive or killed by Mundus. You knew Dante and Vergil still felt the pain of that tragedy.

"Mother, how can you say such cruel words? Don't you know those brothers still bear the scars of the tragedy that befell their mother?" You Asked, holding your hand over your chest.

"Don't feel sympathy for those Devils my child, they are nothing but monsters and god forbid should you associate with them. The very thought of you mingling with those vile creatures makes my blood run cold. You aren't in league with the Sparda twins are you?" Asked Mother, eyeing you suspiciously.

You shook your head.

"No Mother" You Replied.

"Good. The last thing I want is for my daughter to be tainted by such unholy creatures" Remarked Mother. You said nothing. It was clear that your parents still held deep hatred for Sparda and his sons.

You still continued to see Dante in secret, making sure to always keep a low profile, especially when in the city. He took you to Love Planet and though not the most romantic of places, he did make you laugh by swinging on the dance pole.

"You've got moves that's for sure!" You Laughed.

Dante chuckled along with you.

"Glad you enjoyed my little show for you" Remarked Dante sending a flirtatious wink that made you blush and giggle.

"Oh Dante" You Giggled as Dante sat beside you, wrapping an arm around you.

After a few drinks, you two shared your first kiss. It was sweet, passionate and very hot all at the same time. When the kiss broke, you were breathless.

"Wow!" You Giggled.

"I was thinking about doing that all day" Admitted Dante, a pink blush coming to his cheeks.

"Oh Dante, I love you but how are we to be together? My parents hate you and should they find out about us......God I shudder to think what they'd do to me.....to us" You Admitted sadly. Dante held you close, comforting.

"We'll find a way babe. We'll find a way. One day you and me will find a way to be together. No one will stop us" Promised Dante.

"You promise?" You Asked.

"I promise babe" Assured Dante.

And that night as you snuck back in, you still felt the lingering kiss on your lips.

One morning you awoke to the most dreadful news. You were to be married off to a wealthy man's son. You cried in your bedroom all day and night, dreading the awful future that surely was to come, until a pebble at your window caught your attention. You came out on to the balcony and saw Dante, smiling.

"Let me come in Y/N!" Whispered Dante. You wiped away your tears and allowed him to climb up and join you in your bedroom.

"You've been crying. What's wrong?" Asked Dante noting your tear streaked face.

"Oh Dante it's awful, I'm to be married off to some rich man's son and though I tried to protest, they wouldn't listen to me! I don't want to marry him! I wanna be with you! We don't have to marry if you don't want to but I just wanna spend my every waking morning and every sleeping night with you Dante! I love you, I don't want to lose you" You Sobbed.

Dante held you in his arms as you cried. It was then a plan had formed in his head. It was a huge risk but it's now or never.

"Then pack whatever essentials you need, whatever you consider valuable and let's leave together" Advised Dante.

"Tonight?" You Asked unsure.

"Tonight. We don't have much time. It's now or never Y/N. I don't wanna lose you either. I love you" Admitted Dante.

You smiled softly at your lover and he smiled back.

"So what do you say?" Asked Dante.

"Let us leave" You Answered.

That night, Dante helped you pack a bag and you two ran off into the night hand in hand together. No matter how hard they tried, your parents couldn't reach you or Dante. You both were left alone in peace.

And you two lived together, happily for years to come.

🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡🥀♡

Thanks again for requesting @xx-scene-queen-of-vampires-xx and I hope you enjoy the story! Thank you!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Daughter of Olympus (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: This is a sad one -Danny Words: 2,647 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter / Next Chapter Listen to: 'gold rush' -by Taylor Swift

XXXVII: We Ran Out of Chill Pills

The walkie turns on, and Lily picks it up quickly. "Mike?"

The sounds of battle startle us, and we think Michael's in trouble. We almost drop everything and run straight to where he is, but then he speaks. 

"Do you know that look in Ara's eyes when she's training?"

"When she looks insane?"

"Hey!"

"Precisely," Mike replies.

"Hey!" I repeat in outrage.

"I think I get it now," he continues. "Listen to this..."

Way in the background, we hear a manic peal of laughter. I recognize it only because I've heard my brother laugh that way before, when he's demolishing me while playing UNO.

"What's Percy doing?"

"That's your brother?" Lily asks in shock. "He sounds crazy!"

"He looks crazy," Mike states. "He's helping though, the bridge was—Oh, wow! Hang on."

I finish my bombs and Lily finishes her traps in a hurry, we start to walk in Mike's direction, we want to help him. 

"Yes!" He laughs, it sounds like he's running. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"Sounds like it's going well," Lily points out.

"We're going, Mike, maybe you can put our bombs to use!"

"Yeah, maybe..." I don't know how he's able to speak to us and shoot arrows at the same time, but it sounds like it's no biggie for him. 

We haven't been walking for long when Mike talks again. No fight noises are coming from his line, and he's whispering.

"Don't come."

Lily presses the comm. "Is it over?"

"He's here," Mike replies, and we immediately know who he means. "Annabeth's been hurt. Don't come."

We look at each other, and instead of listening to him, we run. Probably not the best idea considering we're carrying bombs, but we aren't thinking about our safety.

"We're going!" Lily yells to the walkie-talkie. "Hang tight!"

"Blackjack took Annabeth to safety, Lily. Go to her—Do not come!"

I snatch the walkie out of Lily's hand. "You must be out of your mind if you think we're leaving you!"

"I'm not repeating myself!" His line is failing. "Focus on your mission, beast. Good luck."

Ara's eyes linger on the wall where Michael's picture is hanging.

Next to him are Austin and Kayla, they're hugging each other and making faces, Michael is laughing with his whole face like he used to. Ara remembers how he glowed whenever he did that.

Michael's leaf-green light was so easy to bring out, he had an awful temper, but man, whenever he laughed...

"Wow! Are these all former campers?"

Ara gives a start, Leo's standing at the doorway. She points to the wall next to her. "Yeah. That's Percy, in case you were curious."

Leo approaches and takes a look. The picture shows Percy and Annabeth arm in arm, he has pitch-black hair, green eyes, and a great complexion. Now that's a demigod. Then he notices the girl clinging to Percy's waist: A younger version of Ara that barely reaches her brother's shoulder.

Leo has never seen her smile the way she's doing in that picture. His eyes wander as they always do, and there she is, same age as now but different. Her face is solemn yet more childish, a laurel crown rests on her head and her purple cloak is on her shoulders covering a white sleeveless dress. The girl's holding Almighty with both hands, the blade pointing down.

On her right side stands Lily Saggio, trying and failing to look lively. On her left, there is a boy with dark hair, dark eyes, black clothes, and a sinister expression. Still, Ara stands out the most, she looks like a queen. The picture was definitely taken the day she got Aphrodite's blessing.

Leo realizes he's way over his head with Ara Jackson, completely out of his league—They're not even playing the same sport!

"Why did you come here? Leo?" She speaks at last, then follows his line of vision. "Oh."

Leo can't make eye contact, he vaguely points to the picture. "You look amazing in that one."

Ara makes a face. "I look like a toddler wearing adult's clothes."

"Don't downplay yourself, you look like Aphrodite in that picture," he tries to tease her, but he sounds way too flustered to make it work.

She chuckles. "You've never met my mother, how would you know?"

He forces out a laugh trying to hide his anxiety. "Right. Still..."

There is a hesitant smile on Ara's face and he wants to make her laugh for real, but he wishes she could go back to just being Ara in his mind. Why can't she? It's not her fault, he knows that, but she could at least try to be less perfect...

And why isn't he talking? Why is a picture affecting him this way? It burns in the back of his mind like he's got it tattooed on his eyelids. 

Ara tilts her head with amusement. "What's the matter? Ran out of lines?"

Leo clears his throat determined to speak, he wants to be honest even if she doesn't believe him, but at the same time... she's so many things to the world, and he's got nothing to offer.

Ara tenses suddenly, she walks past him at once. "I think Lily's coming, we should go back."

As soon as she's out of sight, Leo grabs fistfuls of his hair and pulls in exasperation. What the heck is wrong with him? He's never been this speechless before! His gaze goes back to Ara's picture, looking like a young goddess guarded by two murderous wards. 

It was easy to pursue her when she was just a pretty girl he met under weird circumstances, but Ara's a war hero, and in the past six months, she's done more than Leo in his lifetime.

He can light himself on fire for her amusement, and build her a few toys, but he's bound to bore her someday. It takes one look at her brother to know Ara doesn't belong in Leo's world.

Even Ara, who's the most thoughtful cute girl he's ever talked to, will end up hurting him.

Leo has been staring at her the whole movie and it's getting on her nerves. It's not a cute stare, she can feel him scowling from across the room. 

He's no longer flirty and fun, he's "Sorry, General" and "Thanks, Strategus", and Ara hates it. He's been like this the whole day, and the week is ending soon.

Lily locks eyes with her, and Ara doesn't understand how, but it's like she knows exactly what Ara's thinking. 

"Well, we better hurry!" Lily nudges Connor's arm. "Hey, Queen B, you have no problem cleaning up after us, right?"

Ara smiles. "None at all."

"We'll help—" Jason starts, but Piper stops him.

"Actually, I need your help with something," she pulls him along, giving her sister a brief but significant look. "Thanks, Ara!"

As the girls hurry to take the boys away, Ara catches Leo's wrist and pulls him back onto the couch, maybe a little too roughly. 

"Ouch!" Leo winces. "Ara, watch it when you manhandle me!"

She blushes, but his complaint is not enough to distract her. "Tell me what's wrong."

He scowls at his feet. "Nothin'."

"Leo."

"It's stupid."

"I want to make things official." The boy looks up at her, mouth slightly agape. He tries to speak but Ara stops him. "I can't be comfortable with that decision if you don't trust me enough to be honest about the things that upset you."

Ara knows his mind works as fast as his hands, so she gives him a moment to catch up and put his thoughts in order. This is not as fun as she'd dreamed it'd be.

"I'm not right."

Ara looks up. "Not right?"

"Yesterday, I overheard one of your siblings saying that you'll end up dating a buff Greek guy once we sail on our quest, 'cause it's the only match that makes sense for you..."

He rants about all the things he's been repeating over and over in his head, only growing more frustrated. 

"...And I laughed at first, 'cause we'd kissed and they had no idea��But then..." he shakes his head. "I saw that stupid picture..."

For a moment she doesn't know what he's talking about, then she remembers. "The one in Chiron's office?"

"You're beautiful, Ara," he blurts out defeatedly. "Why are you with me?"

"Argus took that picture the morning after we won the war," she explains to him. "I had just gotten the child of Olympus' blessing, of course I looked unreal! But I don't look like that all the time!"

"But it's you!" Leo insists. "The one who picked me up at the Grand Canyon, and fought the Cyclops—That is your best self, and I..." he gulps. "I'm just a mechanic."

It disturbs her to hear him say those things, this is exactly what she was afraid of: her friends building walls around her, feeling like she's unapproachable... it's such a lonely life, and Ara's not built for that.

"You think I'm impressive because you met me at the right time," she replies patiently. "Ask any of my friends... better yet, ask me. I'll tell you who I really am." 

Ara's heart is pounding and her hands are cold, but she needs to talk about this. She's seen Janus again, something's coming her way soon.

"There is someone I haven't mentioned yet," she says, hands so shaky she has to close them in tight fists.

Leo looks at her with a frown. "Who?"

"He... I couldn't talk about him before," Ara takes a fragile breath. "He was..." her chest feels so tight she has to take a moment. "He's the reason I became a daughter of Olympus."

The boy places a hand over her fists, trying to loosen them. "Ara," he says, forgetting about his worries for a moment. "What happened?"

Leo touches her and suddenly she's no longer drowning. She's in pain, but her vision sharpens, and she feels strong enough to walk through her grief if only for just a moment. 

It helps that she's doing this to ease Leo, makes her feel like she has permission to think about the past, and makes her sorrow a thing of use. Ara has to do this, Leo will never believe they're in the same boat otherwise.

"I used to have two best friends. One was Lily, the other was a son of Apollo," she gulps. "His name was Michael Yew."

As soon as she says it, Ara bursts into tears.

Austin runs up to us, looking desperate. 

"We can't find him—We can't find Michael."

Lily abandons her bag on the ground, running towards the destroyed bridge. I follow her without a second thought. 

We scream Michael's name until we can't speak, but no one answers. I find his bow and backpack on the floor, near the edge. My knees give in and I fall, holding onto his bow tightly.

"We should've been here," I whisper hoarsely.

Lily inches closer to the edge of the bridge, but it's too unstable. I catch her wrist before she gives another step forward. 

"What are you doing?" I ask, voice shaking.

"We have to keep looking," I know she's thinking of every possible scenario, refusing to believe this one. "He could be down there."

"Lily," My thumb presses on the scar on her wrist, the mark Michael left on both of our bodies. "He wanted us to stay away..." I pull her back. "It's time we listen."

"Now more than ever it's when we shouldn't!" Her breathing's getting heavier. "He could be alive—he needs us!"

I lift Mike's bow. "We're too late!"

"No!"

I want to scream again, my vision's getting blurry but I try to hold on because Lily needs me to. "He knew what was going to happen. He asked us to keep going, don't quit on us now."

She looks back at the edge, and a whimper abandons her and she rubs her eyes furiously. "I'm sorry..." she covers her face in shame. "Forgive me, brother..."

I get up and hug her as tightly as I can. We're the same height but I'm stronger, so I squeeze her so she feels something other than despair. Lily buries her face on my shoulder and sobs.

"It's you and me now," I cry quietly. "I'm not leaving your side until this war is over."

She doesn't speak, only holds onto me tighter.

"Everyone always took care of me—Michael, Charles, my sister... they slipped through my fingers and I just... I was so far from where I should've been, every single time—"

"You didn't fail them," Leo holds her face. "From what I've heard, you did great things after they died."

"Michael was the first to believe I could be someone great... and he died because of me. He swore on the Styx that he'd make me a child of Olympus," she sobs. "I don't want you to think I'm more important than your well-being—I became a child of Olympus to make sure no one would sacrifice themselves like that for me ever again."

"But being a child of Olympus doesn't mean you can control..." he hesitates, understanding what she's trying to say. "How you're perceived by others..."

Ara's heart is in her throat. Leo's hands hold her face so gently, almost as if she's made of the finest silk.

"I'm sorry I dropped this on you with no warning..." she says hoarsely. "I needed you to understand... I'm as worried as you are... about not being the right fit," Ara stares at him with deep distress. "Just to imagine how it'd feel if I lose you too..."

Leo wraps his arms around her carefully, allowing her to decide whether she wants the contact or not, and she welcomes it fully. He pulls her closer, wanting to say something but having no words. He rubs her back gently. 

"I won't make any promises if that's what you want," he struggles but tries very hard to voice what's in his mind. "But I have never cared the way I care about you, so we'll go to the gods-darn Underworld together if we have to."

"No rebirth or anything until we see each other one last time?" She asks, barely keeping control of the lump in her throat.

"It's a deal," he dries her tears with his thumbs. "Until then, you can lean on me. I'll lean on you too if it makes you feel better."

Ara doesn't understand why Leo is so perfect in her eyes. She wouldn't change him at all, except for the parts that hurt him. To think it's been just a few weeks since they met...

"What?" He asks, amusement dancing in his gaze. "What's that look for?"

"I'm in love with you."

Leo blinks, not expecting those words to come out of her mouth at all. He stares at her, convinced that he's lost it, there is no way he heard that right. "What?"

"I love you," Ara states with certainty.

Leo's heart rate goes off the charts, his entire body lights up so brightly Ara has to look away. His smile grows as he processes what Ara said.

"I love you too," He's been dying to say it ever since they first kissed, but now he's hardly able to sit still and form a coherent sentence. "Are we crazy?"

"Yes, extremely," Ara wraps her fingers around his wrists. He's still holding her face but he's stuck, he either stays frozen or he'll bounce off the walls and wreck the rec room. "But I mean it with my whole chest, and that's when you're supposed to say it."

"I believe you," he gives in easily. "You're an Aphrodite, if you say you love me, heck, who am I to say it's not true?" He smirks. "I've loved you for longer, though."

Ara laughs, messily cleaning her nose with the back of her hand, in a way that Leo loves cause it makes her look so normal. She's not the pretty girl he met before or the impressive hero everyone keeps away—Ara is his girlfriend, his favorite person in the world, and that's nothing scary. He won't be able to keep his hands to himself after this.

"You're the best boyfriend ever," she sniffs. "And an idiot."

Leo is always expecting her to roll her eyes and disregard his comments, but she never does that. Gods, he loves her.

"Maybe," he replies with a smile. "But most importantly, I'm officially your idiot boyfriend."

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @ash-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles

[songofthesibyl]

Phantasmagoria In Two

For Nos Calan Gaeaf—when Tam Lin is rescued from the fairy queen in The Ballad of Tam Lin— a short piece from (ACOTAR) Tamlin’s POV, set just as Rhysand visits him for a second time in A Court of Frost and Starlight.

He remembered—

Spring. The sting of hawthorn. Rose cordials. Sugared violet petals on butterfly cakes. Green salads peppered with nasturtium. Apple blossom jam, and lilac syrup. Plate after plate, a riot of color. A softening to thin layers of pastry, and swirls of pink and white in the shape of cherry blossoms. Sweetness on the tongue. Too fussy, she said. But then she brought it to her lips, and a sound of pleasure at confection, at designs on plates in sugar and cream, that were a waste on her, she said. Then a dollop of strawberry cream on her nose, and her face scrunching up. Sweetness, and frivolity, and nothing hunted. 

He remembered—an arrow through the wood, and the pulse of blood gone, and skin peeling off. 

No—

A flush to the cheeks, strawberries, and red roses.

Blood to his head. Hanging by his foot. 

Blood dripping on the marble floor, drip, drip, drip.

It’s all over now, you can rest.

Wild laughter at bad poetry, screams at Hybern’s camp, heads rolling to the ground, he saw.

Stars glittering, and a crown, and the parting of lips, and poisonous words.

Have you—

Have you noticed that little noise—

Bat’s wings, bat’s wings, no—

No.

Hair flying as they rode on horseback through the wood. Wind in his ear.

You have to. Show of strength.

They’ve had months to save enough money. They want to give. You saved them. This is right.

Bodies of wolves, sentries in ribbons. Rhysand’s scent, a burnt floor.

If you don’t do it, I will find a more creative punishment for him. Do you doubt I can? Look at the wall, and see.

Crack of a whip.

You must punish them.

Twenty-one lashes, High Lord.

No choice. No choice at all.

I couldn’t bring myself to—

There are no High—

He couldn’t find her, he remembered, he couldn’t find her. Fire, and dried woad. He smelled her before he saw her. Dark green scales under his fingernails, and entrails on the ground. 

He remembered pulling away thinking she finally had what she wanted, her taste in his mouth. And spit her out, and blood leaking from her head, and in a motion gone, and Feyre’s broken body, and blood from her nose. And no screaming, and a terrible silence.

And he could hear it now. Dripping on the floor. 

He remembered cases of frothy dresses in pink, and purple and blue, laced with flowers and ribbon. Barefoot in the grass.

Bodies pulsing, and sweat-drenched. 

Emerging from a pool, stars glittering, dropping from their skin like pearls. 

A chair set up in a meadow full of wildflowers, and blankets laden with food and drink, and a table with a case of paints, and water, and palette, and lazing by the willow, drifting in and out as he idly watched her paint. And then the sudden shift, and rain pouring, and paint running down the canvas onto the grass.

And him rushing up, and getting the blanket, and putting it over her, but her taking it and putting it over the canvas instead, and letting the rain soak her hair before he winnowed them inside, and her laughter as the water in her hair fell onto the floor, drip, drip.

A warm hand on his, and soft cloth wrapping, and splinters everywhere.

And red paint dripping. 

What have you done.

Traitor.

A fist to the face, and a look of pain, and stinging tears blinked from his eyes, and black leather squeaking.

And he remembered a cauldron for cooking, boiling hot. And humans thrown in, and vomited back onto the floor, their dresses sopping wet, and their hair dripping onto the floor. And the horror, and fury in Feyre’s eyes.

And the horror in her eyes, and the guilt, and vomiting herself up in the next room, because of him.

Are you running low on food?

A crown of laurel.

I thought it was over.

Flowers in her hair.

You deserve this pathetic, empty house.

He remembered a glowing crown, and dark shadows rippling, and his claws outstretched at his sides, lying limp, dripping with his father’s blood.

He remembered.

Rhysand. Here again. He scented her on him. The smell of sex on him, everywhere. Every time he saw him, he smelled her first. Even with his senses dulled, even with the blood, everywhere. Red on splintered wood, red on the infirmary table, red in his mouth, soaked with it, bathing in it, a cauldron of it burning, a cauldron for cooking. The scent getting stronger, he was coming, it was time, dark shadows rippling, and skinning it, and hands limp at his sides, covered in blood, onto the floor—

Drip, drip, drip.

[fuckable-old-man-battle]

  Xigbar stared down at the tablet screen. Who the fuck was trying to put Showie back with her ex. Who the fuck was stealing her. 'Bestfictionaldivorce'??? They were apart for a REASON. 

He resisted the urge to frisbee the damn thing out the window. No, he needed the tablet if he was going to keep an eye on things. He couldn't lose his head if he wanted to get her out of there. 

Why did he want her back so bad? He didn't care about her. He was just her goon. Just her fuckin' goon. Frankly, this made things easier for him. No one to make him scrub soup out of rugs, or get shot in the face, or make him cut her hair, or… You get the picture. Showie is nothing but a distraction. This could be his ticket out of here. 

But instead… Xigbar scrolled through tumblr a bit more. No, he– he wasn’t that much of a dick. He couldn’t just let Showie get dragged off to some tournament with her ex. He kinda… owed her one? Maybe. Yeah. Sure, let’s go with that!

Xigbar sighed and decided to try and talk to… Stanley. Hm. He didn’t really want to, but the original post that ‘bestfictionaldivorce’ had made had mentioned him and the Narrator.

He pulled the snowglobe out from his pocket dimension and checked– no, the Narrator was still inside. Good. He gave a few shakes, just for funsies.

He didn't want to actually talk to him yet. Not unless he was sure he had to. Might as well just cyberbully him instead. 

… Cyberbullying didn't work. Not entirely. Whatever, though. He can be civil. Not like he's never worked with someone this pathetic anyway. At least Stanley could be more counted on to get shit done than Demyx.

A quick knock in a one-two pattern rapped on the door.

"'S open!" Xigbar yelled. He didn't want to get up.

Stanley opened the door and walked inside. He squinted at the… equipment that had been used to give Showie her most recent makeover, and then sighed.

[So, what’s up?] he signed.

"Showie's missing. I found something on Tumblr, but it's… We need to get her back. The post mentioned you, too. And your Narrator."

[Ok. Back up. Show me the post. I didn’t see that. I don’t follow you. Only some button stim blogs.]

"Here." Xigbar handed the tablet over to Stanley, already pulled up to the post. Like he'd been staring at it.

" @bestfictionaldivorce:

FUCK IT

Showie and her Ex-Husband from @white-boy-bracket are now in the running! Why? Because why the fuck not

also Stanley and The Narrator are back in the running, going against Showie and her Ex!"

Stanley looked at the post, scrolled down a tiny bit, smirked, and handed the tablet back to Xigbar.

[Yeah, that’s probably not good. Also you did push the button. Ha.]

"Shut the fuck up."

[I haven’t said a word.] Stanley signed with a grin. [Okay. Is the Narrator here, or was he taken too?]

"He's still here. He's not fucking important right now! Do you have any idea what Showie is going through right now?" Of course Stanley didn't. He hadn't seen her flashbacks. 

[You’re right.] Stanley signed quickly. [The Narrator isn’t important at all. We should only focus on her. Alright. Well, I… you went to a different tournament before, right? How does that work?]

"I didn't have a choice. I just got pulled there."

[So…. okay, well, how’d you get here? You weren’t an original competitor.]

"Election fraud. It happens enough and then I'm here. It comes with the crown, I guess." Weird time to flex being Election Fraud King.

[Right. That.] Stanley signed, glancing over at Xigbar’s… laurels was perhaps too kind of a word for his sash and crown, but they were still trophies. [Hm. Well, I guess… I’m going to get pulled there eventually. I could try saying please a lot to summon you. That sometimes makes election fraud happen?]

"It can't hurt." Xigbar tried to force his leg to stop bouncing. Being stuck here was driving him crazy. Who the hell knows what kind of shit Showie was having to go through right now? 

[And, once I’m there, I can help her out. Her ex, yeah? I can… I don’t know, try and make things less awkward for her? And if Narry’s there, he could… uh. I. Maybe do something? He is an eldritch being.]

"Right. The tentacles. I saw some of that when we got teamed up together when we got sent to Fuckable Old Man Battle."

[I’m sorry, Fuckable Old Man Battle?]

"Yeah. Other tournament. They had a season two. He was in from the get go, but I got sucked in later. … He had too much shit to say about my bikini."

[There were bikinis? There. Did he wear a bikini.]

"NOW ISN'T THE TIME TO BE HORNY, STANLEY." 

[SHUT UP.] Stanley signed aggressively. He pinched his brow, and then sighed. [Okay. Okay. Moving on. I will try to help {SCEPTER}. I will try and get Narry to help {SCEPTER}, which might be a bit difficult, for… a number of reasons. Uh. Could you… clear one of my commands, before I go?]

"How do I do that?"

[You give a new one. Duh. Okay, so… {SCEPTER} gave me one, so that… I can’t be happy if I’m around him. It’s gonna be really hard for me to talk to the Narrator if I can’t be near him. So. Please help.]

"Fine. Whatever. You can feel whatever the hell you want around your Narrator."

Stanley smiled in relief. [Thanks! I knew you’d help. It’s nice to be able to know I can do that again. Okay, any more prep I should do?]

"Do whatever you have to do to get the election fraud to happen. I need to get in there." He needs to protect her.

[Gotcha.] Stanley signed, and then did twin finger guns. [I’m gonna go press some of my buttons. If you’re feeling stressed out I have one you can borrow. Bye!]

Stanley turned around to leave.

"This doesn't mean we're friends. The second she's safe, it's back on."

Stanley turned back around and grinned.

[Oh, please. You’re an awful liar.]

"What."

[What?] Stanley signed. [You lied about the purple button, and you’re lying now!]

"As if. I didn't lie about the button. I was being vague. And I am definitely not lying now."

Stanley frowned, and it seemed like two separate codes were trying to fire in his brain simultaneously. He clutched his head and shut his eyes.

"Are you having a mental breakdown right now? I don't want to carry you back to your apartment."

Stanley grimaced and opened his eyes slightly. He started to sign, though his hands were a bit shaky. [Not any mental illness. Just. My will. It. It hurts. I.]

Stanley took a deep breath in, and then let one out.

[I know you’re here for me. But I don’t need your help right now. Thank you.]

  What.

  "What do you mean by that?"

[You’re not… a bad person. You wouldn’t ever hurt {SCEPTER}. You’re different. You’re nice!]

Xigbar froze. He's… different? That wasn't Stanley talking. No. Stanley knew perfectly well how cruel he could be. That had to have been some kind of command from Showie. 

Something in his gut twisted. 

"Just… Go. Get out of here. Go get yourself ready for whatever the hell is coming."

Stanley nodded, and quickly turned on his heels to leave.

When the door closed behind him, Xigbar sat back down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Showie thought he was different. He wasn't. She just didn't know. 

But he almost wanted to be.

@misspelled-magic

[phoenixcatch7]

Reading some excellent Merlin fics and got suddenly seized by the urge to make a rendition of Emrys, so here you go!

Still not entirely sure if I'm leaning more deity!Merlin or just more of a true form/centuries old forgotten his humanity!Merlin. But he came out so well either way 😔

Details! He's got Arthur's mothers sigil on his finger, I couldn't not include that. No room for an actual marking, alas. The gold swirls coming off the grass are my attempts at a magic aura, they're the same colour as his eyes. The butterfly wings are because of his magic blue butterflies he made, and I've always felt they're more symbolic of his true self than, say, a merlin. I'd intended the robes to be more gold but there's only so much yellow you can put on a piece and I wanted to balance the wings. Living laurel crown, ofc. Blue eyeliner to really make it pop, and the gold tattoos invoke a vaguely celtic knot style like the druids and their triskelion. His red neckerchief, of course! Really finished it off. I went with a non human skin, like the magic is just glowing from within. Lengthed his hair because yes. Absolutely. Elf ears to reference his big ears, but ✨magic✨. He's barefoot, too, to live as one with the land. I was torn between a wooden branch and a proper staff, I wanted to give him diolegu from 'from the shadows to the light' which is a REALLY good fic, recommend, but a more natural look worked better here. Nice and simple robes because he doesn't care for pomp and glitter and there you go! I liked the pose I picked as well ^^

Man I wish I could 3d animate these guys.

[skitskatdacat63]

These sketches are dedicated to everyone in the tags of my original post agreeing with my vision 🙏 but especially to @tinyweltmeister for the little snippet you wrote!!

+ silly sketches

[minarcana]

Laurel hops on a chair in the Waking Sands, sitting sideways. "Uri, do you know how to braid hair?"

She’s interrupted him in the middle of what he claims to be breakfast (and which she claims is first off too small and second off, far too late in the morning for such a title), and he simply regards her owlishly for a good couple seconds before putting down the cup of tea and responding. "Wherefore is it me thou asketh?"

Laurel gives him a clearly puzzled look. “Uh. Here?”

She misunderstands. “Ah, nay. Hm.” What’s the word. Something... they’re all wh- words, and it never comes to mind.... Settle for an equivalent, then. “For what reason is it me?”

“Oh!” She has no idea why he had to phrase it like that in the first place, but now she’s got it. “Because you’re here.”

“I know not how.”

He’s not escaping that easily, especially now since Laurel’s made up her mind. “Then I’ll show you.” She’s perfectly pleased with this, and sets about doing exactly as promised. Urianger, recognizing that all fights with Laurel wanting to her her way are losing fights, settles for paying attention. One never knows when new knowledge will be useful, after all.

She shows him how to braid with a section of her own hair, pulled over her shoulder seemingly at random. She also doesn’t really give a good answer when he asks why it has to be him when she’s clearly perfectly capable. Ah well.

Laurel directs him simply once she’s satisfied he understands the admittedly very straightforward task. Urianger is to create a braid from each side of her crown, long enough to meet at the back of her head.

They’re not the neatest of braid. Laurel can feel unfamiliarity in his hands, and he’s a little prone to tugging either too much or not enough, but she doesn’t mind. “The young woman guarding the entrance would likely do a better job.”

Probably, but Laurel’s already friends with her. That’s not the point. "Mm. I waited for you to get up before I left so you’d do it."

"Thine argument is not sensible, warrior of light."

"Maybe not. Hey, Uri. Are you ever lonely?" She's seen him in the same corner for too long, always lost in thought until she approaches. There are only rarely others in the room with him. The way he speaks often of what isn't or what might, rather than is. It's lonely.

Urianger's fingers pause for a moment, before she feels him pick the braid back up. "Nay," he says afterwards. Laurel can tell he fully believes the statement. She doesn't, though, and has a sneaking feeling he believes it because he hasn't thought about it. Well... perhaps she's just being nosy.

Perhaps she's projecting, too, but it can't be anything other than lonely to be thinking only of ghosts. "That's good," she says, and lapses into quiet as Urianger continues braiding. Neither of them speak until Urianger voices a question as to what he should do once he's braided the side strands of her hair.

Laurel directs him lightly. This time, she'll settle with combining them into a single larger braid... she gets the feeling a neat bun would be beyond Urianger's capability, and the act of tying a good two feet of hair will occupy him long enough for her to figure out how to politely say what she wants.

He's close to the end of Laurel's hair when she figures it out. "So, I hate doing my own hair. My siblings always did it when we lived together, so doing it by myself when I don't have to makes me lonely. I only let family do my hair, though."

"But I am not—"

"And by that rule," Laurel holds up a finger, angled backwards towards Urianger, "the reverse is true, if I let you do my hair you're my family." She leans back now so she can look at Urianger, her red eyes just barely managing to fix upon him. "That means if you ever need things or want to say hello, you're allowed to call on me. I have a linkpearl. Thou haseth my number."

"Hath," he says, for lack of any other immediate response. Embarrassing...

Laurel laughs, bright and unabashed. "Arse. Now tie your braid off."

[daylesspax]

Dolled up and depressed Odysseus for the win

So uhh, yeah, I took this idea and ran with it

To be honest I just wanted to draw him in flowy fabric and all pretty… but yeah, as much as I love Ody being a sopping wet stray, I like him dolled up too <3

Some design notes:

I did some brief research (from credible sources) of Ancient Greek fashion to make his Ogygia design

What he’s wearing is a chiton (the white tunic/shirt he’s wearing) that is under a himation (the big ass blanket wrap lol) which is often how kings/upper class are depicted. These clothings are often decorated well with elaborate designs (the shells on the himation, the beading+shells to have the weight rest nicely over the body, etc.)

The rest of the embellishments like his laurel crown, collar/necklace, and bracers are inspired the descriptions in ‘Time’s Curse’ by ‘mydnyteraven’ on AO3 (check it out!) (also: during the cliff scene in ‘Love in Paradise’ will probably include him tearing off the jewelry out of anger, frustration, etc.)

I believe in at least one of my sources they said that Greeks often stayed barefoot when they’re home so… Calypso probably forces him to be barefoot

He has super long hair! Seven years is a long time! And Calypso probably prefers playing with his hair and braiding it and braiding flowers into it even though Ody doesn’t like it (and he will probably get a dramatic scene of chopping his hair off, Mulan-style)

Calypso put him in ‘her’ colors! (I’ve always imagined Ody to be blue-coded) showing, once more, the lack of control he has

His Ogygia clothes are much more fancy/gaudy than he’s used to, his clothing much more on par with a god’s! Ithaca (as far as I know) is a modest kingdom and thus, he wore modest clothing even as a king and he’s never wanted to wear more than that

It was a pretty long process to get him to this point, he clung to his rags until he physically couldn’t (or Calypso forced him) and he was just gradually forced to keep compromising until it wasn’t worth it to fight her

And that’s all I could think of so I hope you all appreciate my thoughts on this concept <3

I know people really like disheveled Odysseus but like, wouldn't it be worse if during his stay at calypso's island he's the most cleaned up and groomed he's ever been during his voyage. His hair is long and silky smooth, his beard is trimmed, his clothes are pristine and hang nicely from his body. Calypso treats him like a prized possession, and how could she possibly let it (her pet? her toy?) get unkempt and scruffy? Idk something about him having a complete lack of agency and no choice in even the way he looks and his stay in a supposed paradise reflecting on his person

[pyromaniacldrt]

Heyyy so, I've been listening to The Epic musical lately and I came up with some designs for the gods:)

I call it the God saga, I'll make the ppl+ monsters later

plus some Artemis and Dyonisus because I love them and I didn't want to leave blank spaces.

Rambling below👇

Okay, first we have Athena and Ares, as well as Hermes and Eolious(she was my first design, but I'm not a big fan of it). I liked a lot making Ares helmet:), and I thought of giving Athena a cape made of feathers that could work as wings!

I really liked the designs of Hermes were his eyes didn't appear (credits to @gigizetz for the idea!) and while I wanted to do something similar, I tried to make my own thing by using a blindfold instead. Plus, I made him look more humanlike to have a more obvious parentage with Ody.

Then we have Hera and Zeussy. I really liked her design, it screamed Classy Queen to me, and while drawing her I felt she was about to start singing at any moment. While making her hair I remembered my little pony Equestria girls, and I was like "I have to make her hair look like a cow's tail". I wanted to give her some sort of chal to make the colors more appealing, but it didn't come out well... On the other hand, my design of Zeus is exactly how I pictured him. He looks like a bodybuilder, unlike Ares, who looks like a powerhouse. I wanted to make Zeus look like someone who cares more about his appearance than about practicality, which can be seen in his clothes, skin, pose and crown. Plus, I made it look red so it would stand out and get everyone's attention. Also I made him wing tattoos because I can.

Then we have Apollo and Aphrodite! I didn't really put too much though when making him. I just gave him kind of a sun crown(?), Green eyes to represent Artemis, a Hyacinth and laurels. I think he'd be the type to carry his exes around.

Then we have Aphrodite, and boy do I love her design! Originally she was going to be blond w/ pink flowers, but her being a redhead suits her a lot. If I have to be honest, I never drew characters with little to no clothes on, and I was embarrassed at first of making her, but even if there was the option of giving her clothes, it wouldn't feel like the vision of Aphrodite I had at all. I was inspired mainly by the Hades games when I made her, Hermes and Zeus, and I don't regret it tbh. I also gave her pigeons!

Now we have Circe and Poseidon, who I think are my faves. When I was thinking of making her, I was heavily inspired by both @gigizetz Circe, young Shakira and Esmeralda from the hunchback of Notre Dame. I also wanted her to have a crazy bunch of tattoos, each for every single spell she casted. I also liked to give her the inverted heart earrings to make some foreshadowing.

Now, POSEIDON. Boy do I like how it turned out. I mean- the Clothes? The crown? The algae hair? The thing in his fingers!? And let's not talk about the seashell for a beard. I love it. It's interesting and intimidating and I would believe it if you told me this is the mighty sea god. Also, his skin was heavily inspired by @gigizetz like many of my designs. Are you perhaps a muse or smt?

Then we have Calypso. Gosh her design turned out really good. The top of her clothes are of the same "outfit" you could say, these being from back when she was sent to the island. Then she made her own lower dress. I think if someone stayed so long in that place, they would make a lot of seashell adornments to pass time. I covered her eyes for three things: one, so Ody doesn't notice she is a Titaness; two, to symbolize how love-blind she is, and three, to also symbolize how she ignores Odysseus's problems and makes a "blind eye" about it.

And Finally, Hephaestus. I redesinged him so many times it feels like a crime. I'm not even sure if I liked the final result, but there's definitely many things I liked. One of them is the tattoo (I'm making a lot of them lately), the hairstyle and the sling on his leg. Still, I'm not sure why he feels so... Simple. I mean, he's the god of forges, fire and FREAKING VOLCANOES. Yet, this feels like I only took the "forges" part.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed if you made it this far:)

[encomiium]

It Takes and it Takes and it Takes 8 August 2023 Roman

i.

The shade slapped his hand again.

“That is not how it is supposed to be worn,” she stated plainly, though her voice betrayed her annoyance at having to tell him a third time. Roman frowned, but let his himation go, exposing his chest and a fair amount of the rest of his torso. 

He felt his cheeks go hot. “I don’t really--"

She stopped him, whirling around as she gathered the remainder of the fabric into her arms. “And how will you secure it? You have one pauldron and I will not pierce my fabric with a fastener.” She was sure to remind him that the fabric she had draped over him was her own creation, hand-woven, perfect as it was. Even in the dimness of his too-big bedroom, Roman could see how the fabric in her arms deceived the eye, seeming black as night until the torchlight danced upon it and revealed a deep, rich violet. 

“We could tie it in a--”

She put her hand up, her pretty, long nose whipping towards the ground as she huffed a frustrated sigh. The fabric gathered lovingly in her arms, like a newborn being rocked to sleep, shimmered even as she stood still. She almost seemed to tuck it further into her chest, protecting it from his affront.

“I would ask you not to insult me with such a request,” she said, not looking up. She gave a half-hearted little bow, as was required for all servants in the House, before turning for the door. 

Roman flinched at the formality. His stomach churned, like trying to lie to a room full of people who knew the truth. It was a sickness he’d grown familiar with in his time at the House. He clenched and unclenched his fists, rolling his shoulders and trying to convince himself he didn’t look ridiculous. A lamb in wolves’ clothing.

It was all. A fucking lot. 

“Thank you, Arachne,” he called out just before she was gone. He stared down at his exposed chest, chewing on his lip and wondering, genuinely, if it might be more modest to just remain nude.

Arachne stopped at the door. When he didn’t hear the heavy wood creaking at her exit, Roman looked up.

She was staring at him. Her mouth was still tight and guarded, though her dark brown eyes glistened with her surprise and confusion.

“Hypnos told me your name,” he said quietly, his chest a little sore because she was looking at him--truly looking at him. He wanted to reach out for her, to jog the long distance between them in his too-fucking-big room and grab her arms and make her stay just like that, looking at him. No one fucking. Looked at him. Anymore. 

But he didn’t. Because that wasn’t what princes do.

“Because you asked?” her voice cracked. Roman thought--maybe this was the first time anyone was looking at her, too.

He nodded and she sighed, her nose pointing to the ground again. He thought he saw her chin tremble, but she turned for the door again and began to push. She paused, however, before turning her head back to him just a bit. 

“You should not be ashamed of my design. Your body is… adequate to wear it.” 

She paused again. And Roman didn’t silence the quiet bubble of laughter that floated through him. Although he couldn’t see it, he imagined she was smiling too. 

Arachne nodded once before pushing her way out and allowing the large, heavy door to shut behind her. 

--

ii.

The shades turned away when Roman walked down the hall. 

He had tried, many times since he had arrived, to rip the laurels from his hair, as if the absence of a crown could disguise him. But it grew back every time, the fronds tickling his scalp and giggling into his temples as they re-wove themselves about his head. He felt Persephone in the way the amethyst leaves hung about his skin, peppering tiny kisses to his brow just like she did when she found him at the lake. 

Roman would still get a little sick when he thought about it too hard. When she was near, she was intoxicating, trance-like in the way she gave her love so freely. When they were apart, Roman agonized over how stupid and embarrassing it was that he believed every word she said, every brush of her fingers and well-placed kiss, without question. She made him feel safe and loved and seen the same way his mother did, the same way--

He had never had extended family. His mother was alone, his father was alone, all he had was them. And then all he had was her. And then he wasn’t alive and he watched a decade take its toll. He watched his mother love a memory. A memory of a very average man, who went to school and then to work, who had average aspirations and average secrets.

And then, almost all at once, he was dressed in wolves’ silk, and the wolves--wanted him. He had a father who would never raise a fist against him, a grandmother who kicked her legs over the side of a dock and sincerely listened to him struggle to put words together about his life, and a grandfather who was King of fucking Hell. 

He spent days--or what felt like days, he couldn’t tell--isolated in the bedroom that had been prepared for him the day he was born. He would lie awake, thinking about it all. He didn’t feel like himself, suddenly waited on, hand and foot, without ever doing anything to deserve it. He had only known a life where the world had to be bloody for him to earn his peace; his hands needed to tremble before he could rest. But, occasionally, he would catch himself standing a little taller when shades slipped into his chambers to deliver meals he did not want; a lick of warmth from one of the many candles dotted around his room would fill him with a sensation that can only be described as power. His body knew this is where it was always meant to be, seated to the right of his father, his bloodright, but his mind was still mortal and suspicious, still addicted to making himself small, to pouring every bit of his anguish into a punching bag. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, just laid in his bed going slowly insane as he grappled with the reality of his situation. So he hid in his room. And sometimes, when it became too much, he closed his eyes and called for—

But finally, driven by hunger and exhaustion, he left his room, still wearing the clothes he had died in. The first time. A white t-shirt he had worn to spar with his students, stained with scarlet falling from the shoulders to the navel, a pair of plain gray sweatpants with elastic at the ankles and a hole in one knee. 

The kitchen, at least, was a short walk away from his room. 

It was there he slowly met other inhabitants. First, Arachne, who sat neatly on a stool at a kitchen island by the chef and his stoves, embroidering something. She barely looked up from her needlework and said, “I figured you would get hungry eventually.” The chef huffed and passed her a gold coin. She slipped it into her plain creme peplos. “We wondered if you were the type of demigod who still gets hungry.” She immediately pulled him to his room to dress him. “Properly,” she’d called it. It was the last time he ever saw his blood-stained t-shirt and gray sweatpants. 

He had been too embarrassed to leave for food again once she’d dressed him. 

When the pain of hunger was great enough to overcome the embarrassment of his wardrobe, he left for the kitchen again, doing his best to ignore the shades who averted their eyes. There, he met Hypnos, who was at first asleep by his sandwich. Roman tried to be quiet and remain unnoticed as he reached for an unattended apple, but the chef clanged his spatula against the cast-iron and jolted the poor godling awake. “Oh, young prince!” Hypnos almost sang. He spoke for ages and ages, most of which Roman did not understand. 

Although he was—a little funny, Hypnos reminded Roman most of the world above. He reminded him of the students in his class when they finally broke open and dared to show the world they were kids. 

Other shades tried to convince Roman that they could bring his food to his room, but he very gently and apologetically refused. Roman grew comfortable taking his short journeys. The kitchen was different from the rest of the House, as if the food gave permission for everyone to act normally around each other; he took pleasure in the small victory of leaving his room for something he felt mattered. Most would hurry out at the sight of him, but a few would stay and share their meal with him. 

Once he had gotten used to the normalcy of the kitchen, Roman became a little more brave, venturing out to see more and more of the House, bit by bit. Venturing out to find--

He hadn’t seen him once since he’d gone down there. The part of him addicted to making himself feel small wasn’t surprised. The part of him that knew he was home wondered why his best friend was not in it. 

That evening--or morning, or--fuck he couldn’t tell--he took the short walk to the kitchen, a bit emboldened by his little talk with Arachne. He was tired. A lot. Apparently, he was the type of demigod who needed food and sleep. But his too-big room also had a too-big bed and as addicted as he was to making himself feel small, the loneliness made it hard to rest. Still, the chef made an incredible soup--giouvarlakia, he tried to teach Roman to say--which usually helped his mind settle down a bit. Roman walked a bit taller when he could smell the savory chicken and lemon down the hall. He clenched his jaw, though his body felt warm and light. He gave himself permission to feel a little excited for a warm meal and to maybe listen to more of Hypnos’s stories. 

But he froze when he turned the corner.

The kitchen was empty and silent, no chef moving gracefully along his preparations, no other shades or godlings conversing. Only a frighteningly huge, muscled figure standing over a scroll, an untouched plate of baklava sitting on the kitchen island beside him. He seemed coiled over the scroll, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. His scars shimmered, just like the luxurious violet in his regalia, and his eyes glowed a terrifying, bloody scarlet as he looked through his brow to identify who had just interrupted him.

His eyes met Roman’s and, instantly, everything about him changed. His shoulders fell and his eyes softened. He stood straight to look at Roman fully. He was bigger like this, but so much gentler. This, somehow, made him even scarier. 

“Romulus,” Hades breathed, like he was wounded.

“Sorry,” was all Roman could think to say before he took a step back, “I’ll come back.”

“Are you hungry?” Hades asked, rounding the island with a step forward, matching Roman’s. 

“No, I’m okay,” he lied, his heart quickening in his chest.

Hades drew his hand away from the onyx marble island. Instead, his hands met in front of his navel, his fingers clenching around each other like he’d captured a secret and wouldn’t dare let it out. The heavy, golden adornments around his wrists flickered under the candlelight. The softness had flown from his eyes and he guarded himself, a line creasing between his brows as he frowned and glanced to the wall next to Roman and then back to Roman.

“I haven’t seen you since--” he tried. Roman could see him struggling, as if every word was a desperate gasp from a drowning man. 

“That’s my fault,” Roman admitted, trying to end this conversation and mask his desperate need to fucking escape with a shallow laugh. 

Hades, as if he could read Roman as simply as one of his scrolls, took the opportunity to look him over. He had Roman in a checkmate; Roman was not the type to walk away from authority without a dismissal and Hades knew it. Hades nodded, his stony gaze appraising and satisfied, as if pleased that Roman had been dressed correctly. His eyes hesitated over Roman’s pauldron: a single hound’s skull, a smaller, humbler version of his father’s. 

“I had ordered the shades to bring you your meals,” Hades said as he turned to the ovens behind him, wordlessly sealing Roman to this interaction. Hades, King of the Underworld, a master of fucking torture. 

Before Roman could apologize--again--Hades continued, pulling a bowl out from a warmer, “They informed me you prefer to retrieve them yourself.” He stood behind his scroll and placed the bowl across the kitchen island before plucking a spoon from a drawer and placing it neatly to the right. With a final clench of his jaw, he cast his eyes down to his scroll and waited for Roman to take his seat. 

Roman did, quietly, though he did not pick up the spoon. There was that sick feeling again, the parts of him battling, a puzzle piece that had jumped out of his place and feared he would never find his way back to it. 

“I did not mean to ambush you,” Hades said, when Roman didn’t eat.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Roman lied. He was.

“You were,” Hades said simply, his mouth quirking up just a bit when he glanced over at Roman. He returned to his scroll, though it did not seem like he was reading. 

“Did you ambush me?” Roman asked, his cheeks hot and his stomach churning. A lamb sitting with a wolf. 

Hades sighed, “No.” He finally rolled the scroll up and leaned back against one of the counters behind him where the chef would slice olives and coat phyllo in butter. “I think better in here sometimes. The chef thought you would be in soon for dinner. I was--going to bring my food to my chambers, so I was not-- But. I got caught up.”

Silence fell on them again. Roman stared at the soup and Hades stared somewhere far away, the muscles in his jaw jumping every once in a while. Roman did not think he was lying, but it was hard to accept the truth. 

“Would you… Would you feel better if I--” Hades started before growing frustrated, huffing sharply, and grabbing his plate. He took the baklava and bit down and Roman knew what was being asked of him. He picked up his spoon, took a bit of broth into it, and brought it to his mouth. It was mild and perfectly thickened, silky on his tongue. When he swallowed, it warmed every corner of his body. 

They stayed like that for a little while, every shared bite easing the tension in each of their shoulders, like prisoners at mealtime forced to co-exist and trusting, little by little, the other wouldn’t try to attack while they were vulnerable. By the time Roman was ready to cut into one of the meatballs, he realized his fist had relaxed in his lap, his knuckles were no longer white.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he finally offered, a tiny truth. 

“It is alright if you were,” Hades said quickly.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, specifically,” Roman amended.

Hades made a sound, encouraging Roman as he chewed on his pastry.

“I was avoiding-- all of it,” Roman tried, cutting into the meatball with the sharp edge of his spoon.

“It is a-fucking-lot, huh?” Hades said, with a cheekful of baklava. 

Immediately, the puzzle piece found its place again. The muscles in Roman’s back uncoiled and the breath broke out of him as he dropped his spoon, which clattered on the table. “Oh my GOD it is a-FUCKING. LOT!” Like a thorn removed after days of bothering, the relief of blood freely flowing felt like a miracle. 

When Hades laughed, it was a deep and almost sad sound. Like he was never allowed to do so. When he looked at Roman, he really, really looked at him. “‘Atta boy,” he chuckled.

“Thank you,” Roman breathed, like he’d just sprinted to the first sanctuary he’d seen in weeks, “Thank you for fucking saying that. I feel like I’m out of my fucking mind, I don’t know how any of this happened and why any of it is happening to me, I just--” He brought a hand up to rub deep into his eyes and groan. He needed to see a fucking therapist. 

“What do you mean you do not know why it is happening to you?” Hades asked, not angry, though it sounded a bit like it. 

Roman’s shoulder jumped as he clenched his fist in his lap, “No, I mean, I know why me,” he paused, not exactly knowing what to call the woman at the lake, Her Highness, The Queen, fucking--Grandma. He settled with, “She explained. Y'know.”

As if he could hear the words unspoken, Hades shifted, placed his emptied plate down behind him, and crossed his huge arms in front of his chest, “Do you know how easy it is to make Olympian demigods?”

Roman’s fist slowly unfurled and he listened, watching carefully. 

“I am sure you can imagine. And unless the offspring is cursed by the Fates with a destiny fit for an Epic Poem-- Many of them appear and die as simple mortals. They come here as shades, wasted, just like all the others. A select few earn their immortality, their place on Olympus, but the others are ignored, if not scorned as nuisances.

“I--was not meant to sire any offspring. Death does not give life. Death takes. Zagreus is--” Hades stopped to clear his throat. “An anomaly. A--” he drowned again, every word a gasp, “We would not have Zagreus without my queen and every blessing she brings to this godforsaken place.

“We had never imagined Zagreus could--He is Death just as much as I. He takes. 

“And yet, you.” 

Roman felt sick again. He looked anywhere else he could, a stack of plates, an empty sink, as he chewed on the inside of his cheek and tried desperately not to reach down and find comfort in being small.

He tried to listen. The King was speaking and his voice was cracking and home was calling out to him.

“From the moment you were born, we held our breaths until you were ours. We watched you defy your body, over and over again. Your body, which craved its place here, refused to heal, constantly sick. We watched you float down the river countless times, defying still, surviving, until you made a choice.”

Roman felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, the heaviness of being tired, of keeping himself awake so he could make himself small. Memories flashed in his mind, the trills of the monitors hooked up to his useless fucking body, the constant scent of alcohol on every table and cabinet, the saline in his mouth. Calling Atropos to him, after sitting with his mother for hours before she finally allowed herself to go home. Staring down at his chest. Wondering if what Persephone said could possibly be true.

“I’m tired,” he said.

“I know.” Atropos whispered.

“Give me your scissors.” 

Mortified, Roman quickly slid his hand across his eye before the tear could fall.

“You might not feel like it, Romulus--” Hades put a hand on his head and it was only then that Roman realized Hades had closed the distance between them. He ran his thumb over the pale white scar on Roman’s forehead, creeping into his hairline, “But in doing what you did, you made the choice to survive. You fought for this. You chose to come home.

“And we are-- I am-- I feel--” Hades drowned. 

Roman leaned his forehead into Hades’s broad chest and Hades didn’t need to drown anymore. 

--

iii.

Roman wished he had gone to bed after that. He was fucking exhausted enough. Hades had closed his arms around his head and it felt like it all might be quiet enough for just a moment, but just as quickly, he stepped back, quickly grabbed another baklava from the refrigerator, and gathered up his scroll. “Finish your dinner,” he had said, sounding so much like a father as he walked out, “And when you’re ready, come find me again.”

But he was tired. And he was making a choice. 

At that moment, he didn’t feel so much like he needed to be small. 

He didn’t care that the shades wouldn’t look at him. He was focused, and he barely noticed as Hypnos called out to him when he passed by, “Roman, hey, Roman! Hey, Roman! Roman! Hey! Roman!”

He waved as he walked on, finally, and Hypnos grinned before settling back into his chair, satisfied. 

He walked for what felt like hours, in circles for some time. He wished he had taken more time to figure out the layout of the House instead of fucking wallowing. Instead, he was left peeking into rooms upon rooms, gazing upon luxurious pieces of art he’d seen three times in his quest and cursed already. He had thought his searching was over when he found a room that smelled so unbelievably familiar, like tobacco and black pepper, but it was empty and dark and seemed like it hadn’t been lived in in quite some time. 

Finally, after walking through the garden--his grandmother’s garden--he found a gate that led to Tartarus. Past beautifully gnarled pomegranate trees and hedges dotted with the same purple leaves that adorned his temples, Tartarus burned in brilliant, haunting evergreen flames. He hesitated at the threshold for just a moment. Knowing it was fucking dumb to go out there without having the slightest clue how to navigate the broiling emerald green fire or the labyrinth within. After a moment’s consideration, a quickflash of rage burned through his chest and he took a step outside the gate to the gravel road.

In an instant, his elbow was caught up in a strong and violent hand. 

“Thaaaat’s not a very smart--Rome?!”

Roman whipped around to find bright blue eyes wild with disbelief staring down at him, golden hair streaked with reflections of the flickering green flames just outside the gate.  

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” Richard growled through gritted teeth. His grip changed instantly, no longer snatching up a would-be escaped House Shade, but rather, tucking Roman’s arm almost into his waist, drawing him close and away from Tartarus. 

Roman yanked his arm back, “I was looking for you,” he jabbed, suddenly pretty fucking sure he didn’t want what he wanted before. 

“In fucking Tartarus?! Do you have any idea--” Richard dug his palms into his eyes, having only the absolute audacity to be short with Roman.

“Fuck this,” Roman mumbled as he brushed past Richard, knowing for absolute certain he was not about to suffer a lecture from Richard of all people.

“Rome--” Richard sighed, trying to grab at his hand. 

Roman turned, wrenching himself out of Richard’s grasp. “Why haven’t you come to see me?!” he yelled. It broke out of him, sharp and painful in his throat. He hadn’t realized how close that was to the surface. 

Richard stared, stunned, like he’d just been slapped. 

“I’ve been here for god knows how long and you are fucking--AWOL.” As usual, he wanted to add, but he was able to control himself at least that much, even as the sickness returned and his nose started to burn.

Richard reached a hand behind him, his nails digging into his hair, “I’ve been working, Rome,” he tried, glancing away. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

The piece of him addicted to making him feel small lit up again. Soothing and comforting, like a blanket from his childhood. Richard would never care about him like Roman wanted him to. It was never going to be like that for them. He has better things to do, more important, more everything.

“Okay,” Roman surrendered, flat and cold, and he took a few more steps to the House. 

Then--something howled inside him. A wolf who would not be disrespected in his own home.

“No, you know what--” Rome spun around and was a little shocked to see Richard still standing there, watching him, not gone to the wind and shadows to whatever fucking work he had to do. “I have been in that House, alone, not knowing what to do, where to go, being dressed up like Malibu fucking Barbie, and the one person I needed was nowhere to be found. I called for you! Several times! I put my little fucking hands together and hoped and wished on a fucking star with all my little fucking might and nothing! And you should feel fucking bad about that!”

“Of course I feel bad--” Richard started, but the quickflash of rage in Roman’s chest had turned into a wildfire and he wasn’t ready to stop.

“Then why didn’t you come?!”

“Because you didn’t even fucking tell me you were leaving!” Richard snapped, something cracking in his chest. Roman flinched, the wildfire in his chest burning out with one quick cut. 

They stood there, breathing for a moment. Then—

“After the lake, you fucking ghosted me. You would barely speak to me, you snapped at me constantly, I tried to get you to rest and you fucking refused because you didn’t want to be anywhere fucking near me--didn’t want me touching you in the Styx--and I get it! Seph gave you the whole picture, you finally got how badly I fucked up, you didn’t want anything to do with me!” 

Roman blinked, stunned. Richard ran a hand over his mouth and threw the other up in defeat. “You know, honestly? I thought after we sat on the dock and talked and—all of that—I thought we were okay and on the same page, but—then you’re fucking gone for days and when I do find you fucking off somewhere in the city, you can’t even look at me!” 

Roman opened his mouth to stop him, but Richard cut through, “Which I get, Romulus, I fucking understand. I really do. I know how badly I fucked you over and it was about fucking time you saw it, too. But then I couldn’t--” and his voice broke. Something shattered. “I couldn’t feel you. Anymore. Anywhere. I had to go to your room, and your bed was empty, and your mother was crying, and you left and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t—“ Richard took in a breath and it shook.

“Richard,” Roman whispered, unsure and apologetic. Richard sucked on his teeth and shook his head before turning for the gate. Roman tried to reach, but he was already too far. 

“Richard, don’t, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t want you to be sorry,” Richard called out over his shoulder, unsettlingly unphased, like nothing happened. He was terrifyingly good at that, shaking off the wounds and walking on.

“What do you want, then?” Roman yelled after him, the guilt shifting back into familiar anger, filling his throat with stones.

Richard stopped and tilted his head to the sky, drawing in a breath that seemed to take years. He turned, not enough to face Roman, but enough for Roman to see the green flickers of Tartarus burning dance off the straight slope of his nose. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it matters.” He stared at the obsidian stones crunching under his boots. “But I don’t want you to say it just because you don’t want me to leave.”

Roman flinched. Richard could be cruel, but never like this. That was low. Even for him. Roman could tell Richard knew it, too, by the way his nose wrinkled and the lines by his mouth deepened. 

“That didn’t come out right,” he offered, a shallow gesture, nearly a slap to the face.

Roman scoffed, his mouth hanging open in utter fucking disbelief. Only Richard could make him feel horribly guilty and unbelievably angry in three fucking seconds. It was a neat little party trick. “You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he hissed, though his mouth still curled with the hurt. He had wounded Richard when he left. He knew that now, though he hadn’t thought Richard even noticed he was gone. And with each silent moment, it became easier to imagine what Richard had to go through to get to this point, what shattered pieces he had to pick up when Roman made his choice, regardless of how he never intended to make Richard bear the burden of all of that alone. 

But Richard just shrugged, his eyes looking nowhere again. 

“Because I have no one, right? Because I’m so fucking weak and stupid that I’d choose you instead of being alone,” Roman spat, taking a step towards Richard, his fists trembling with the exertion, aching for blood. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Richard huffed, his eyes screwed shut with frustration.

“You think so little of yourself that now I’m the idiot if I do anything other than hate you.” He took another step, this time, less angry. It was heavier, darker, a wound that had never been acknowledged between either of them. 

When Richard stayed another second longer, Roman saw it for what it was: Richard’s own addiction to feeling small. The anger turned to something sadder. “It’s this fucking—feedback loop of self-hatred and distrust,” Roman breathed, though it sounded like a sob. 

“And I’m fucking tired of it,” he sighed. “I don’t think—“ Roman paused, steeling himself to cut himself open, “I used to think it was. But it isn’t. It isn’t a weakness to need someone to care about you.”

Roman bled and Richard worried his lip with his teeth. 

“You don’t believe I’d ever actually forgive you,” Roman said.  Richard turned his neck, slowly, as if he could alleviate whatever he felt if he stretched the muscles far enough. 

Roman stepped forward again, nearly close enough, “And I didn’t think you’d care where I went.” Richard turned finally to look at Roman, his lips parted and his brows knit tight in betrayal. 

Roman persisted, glancing away so he didn’t have to see the hurt in Richard’s eyes, “So I don’t trust you and you don’t trust me, but our lives are so deeply intertwined. In ways we didn’t choose, like—threads and fucking royal orders. 

“But we’re connected in ways we did choose, too.”

Flashes ricocheted between them. Slim Jim’s held up to a gnarled fangs or cut-open lips. A little stuffed dog clipped to a backpack. Sleeping curled around an arm while an engine idled beneath them. A brick wall and a textbook in arm. Golden hair held back while he retched. Fingers gentle on an open wound. Whispered gossip and loud laughter over bottles. A gunshot. A needle. 

Roman reached out for Richard’s hand. It was warm and rough and large and felt somehow different than it had back on earth. “So I am trying to apologize because I mean it. Because—Because if you take away all the mistakes you think you made, if you forget, just for a fucking second, all of the things you crucify yourself daily for—and if you try to trust that I want you around because of you, not because I have no one else; then you could believe that you didn’t deserve what I put you through. So let me. Okay?”

Roman waited for a moment, watching Richard, even as Richard tried to stare at nothing, hesitating to see if the shards might have cut too deep.  

But Richard breathed and it caught in his throat and the sounds of shards dropping to the stones below rang out in Roman’s ear. 

Roman reached up, slid his hand through Richard’s hair, and brought his head down into his neck, his other arm reaching around him to squeeze him close. He pressed his forehead to Richard’s temple, the same way he used to back before they’d fucked up so badly, before they’d grown apart countless times, when they thought maybe they could just keep driving to a better life. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered, just for Richard, the words crawling out, frightened, from under his heart, “I’m sorry I did that to you.” Richard took another shaky breath into Roman’s shoulder before he finally relented and wrapped his arms around Roman’s waist. “It’s not because I blamed you or thought you fucked me over. I didn’t want--I didn’t want you to have to keep pulling me out of the river. I was moody because I was fucking exhausted and I know that’s lame, but. I thought I was helping--I didn’t want to be a chore.”

Richard didn’t say anything, but squeezed Roman. A warning, a scream in opposition. 

“I know,” Roman said, drawing in a sharp breath to abate the burning at his lashes, “And then I just wanted to go home. That’s all. I just--” he breathed again, “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Richard squeezed him again, this time like he needed it. “Me, too.”

Roman knew that was Richard’s best. And that’s all Roman ever wanted from him. They stood like that for a long while, until their breaths matched and it felt safe enough to lay down their weapons and accept it all for what it was. Fucked up. Messy. But theirs. 

Richard’s voice was muffled as he burrowed a little deeper into his shoulder, sniffling to clear his nose. “And y’know my life up there is so fucked up right now--”

“Oh, I know it is--”

“Literally so fucked up so, like, I really was kinda busy--”

“Oh, no, yeah, it is definitely really fucked up--”

They both started laughing, and Roman squeezed a little tighter, his hand beginning to tremble in Richard’s hair. Richard stood finally and tilted his head down at Roman.

“What is it, Romulus? Did you really try to walk through Tartarus just to yell at me?” he asked with that hound’s smile, his eyes a little shiny, his arms warm where they rested on his hips. Richard reached up to move a piece of Roman’s hair, which had come out of its place from behind his laurels, before lacing his fingers at the small of Roman’s back. 

“Yes,” Roman lied at first, smiling softly, crooked and happy, then, “No.”

“What is it?” Richard asked again, this time a little more serious.

“I need--” Rome glanced away, trying to find the puzzle piece that fit, “I wanted-- Will you just. Please. My room is so fucking big and quiet and I can’t sleep. I thought. You could--”

Richard’s slow, malicious fucking grin would have made Hades so proud. An evil the likes of which this world has never known. The Hound knew exactly how to bite to make it hurt. 

“No, never mind, can’t do this,” Roman tried to wriggle away, but Richard kept him in the cage of his arms. 

“The Prince? Asking me?? To his bed??” Richard crooned.

“This was a fucking mistake--” Roman couldn’t stop the bubbling laughter, even as he pushed against Richard’s chest to be let go. 

“Think of the scandal!” Richard tilted his chin to the sky of Cthionic stars, a never-ending night, and groaned a devilish and dramatic noise of indignation.

“If you’re going to be like this--” he teased, slipping out from under Richard’s arms and starting towards the house. But with such grace and ease it stole Roman’s breath away, Richard scooped him up from the garden path to carry him towards the House. He held Roman with unflinching surety, cradling him to his chest and tucking him under his chin.

Roman knew Richard had never held him like this before, but something about it felt like a memory, like it had been this way since the beginning.

They shared a quiet and unsure little laugh before Richard grinned, toothy and final on the matter. 

And when Richard looked down at him—really looked at him—with that sly, knowing grin, Roman felt, for the first time, like he really was home. 

[twokinkybeans]

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDD!!!!!!!!! 😱♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️😭😭😭♥️♥️♥️♥️😍

I can’t breathe. I want to cry, I want to scream, I AM SO HAPPY AND HONORED AND HUMBLED 🥺🥺♥️♥️♥️♥️

Thanks to @fruityhappiness (THANK YOU!!!!!!😭🥰♥️🫶) I was made aware of this wonderful piece of art made by @aes-pbp and I’m honestly overjoyed and speechless. This is so fucking beautiful and exactly how I always imagined Peter as Cupido in my mind. The softness, the godlike calmness, the gentle dominance that radiates off him with so much ease. The cute laurel crown resting on top of his hair... And the scenery as well. It’s just PERFECT 🥺🥺🥺♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

And it’s not just me, Kim, who had this reaction... Here, look at Lien’s response: 

I hope you know you absolutely made our day, my heart feels so warm and full 😭♥️🫶🫶🫶🫶 Thank you for feeling inspired by our fic & series, and thank you putting this out there in the world.

Love love love it.

[dreadfutures]

“Person A placing small flowers into person B’s hair as they rest under the shade of a tree” For Ixchel and whoever you’d like???

Thank you!

For @dadrunkwriting super late right as I'm falling asleep 😅

Solavellan

-:-:-

It was not the first time she noticed his younger self reflected in the Fade, but she did not know what about this night had brought it out. She had guesses, of course: having just passed through Val Royeux, symbolic of nearly every excess of the Orlesian Empire, perhaps Solas had been reminded of the height of his own empire; perhaps it was the fruit they had shared a few days prior, granting some reconnection to his youthful explorations of exotic lands or even a memory of his elusive home. She did not know if it was wise to ask, but she could not let it go entirely unaddressed.

His hair was too beautiful to go without appreciation.

It spilled all over her lap, gilded red where sunbeams fell across it. Metal laurels curled around his ears in a delicate crown that hooked beneath the mass of his hair, but besides that he was entirely unadorned. His clothing was plain and light, appropriate for summer, and it seemed somehow incongruous with the smooth, taut skin at the corner of his eyes and mouth where age and grief has been washed away.

Ixchel could not stop touching his hair, it's silken mass so warm and heavy across her legs, and Solas did not seem to want her to stop if the noises he made were any indication as she ran her fingers from room to tip. He was practically purring.

But she did stop, eventually, just for a moment. She needed to focus.

Ixchel shapes the Fade around them to meet her needs, and she felt Solas'curiosity briefly probe at what she was doing before retreating, pleased but bemused.

She plucked up the first of the vibrant orange blossoms she had sprouted from memory alone. They grew somewhere in Tevinter, and she had seen them only once--but it had been a stunning memory. An unseasonable rain had crossed the countryside and within a week, the barren, dry valley they had been traversing became a sea of the most *orange* orange she had ever experienced. It nearly hurt the eyes to gaze upon the wildflowers, and they rippled and dance like flames in the wind. And, strangely, the whole host of them together smelled of curdled milk.

She did not bring that touch into her memory now, however. There were more pleasant things on her mind.

"They are no Ardent Blossom," she teased, "but I couldn't resist putting something in your hair, and the color matches mine so well..."

Solas' eyes flirted up to her face, shining bright like an active eluvian, beckoning her in. "I did not realize I had shifted," he mused. "Thank you. They are a beautiful memory, Ixchel.*

"Of course," she replied warmly. "I love seeing you like this. Lighter. It needed celebrating, I think."

Solas chuckled, and Ixchel immediately heard the rueful note in his voice now. "This is a much fonder memory to have than what brought me back to my youth," he said. "I think it was our recent intrigue and flight that has made me recall some of my more...daring escapades."

He raised one hand to brush his knuckles along the side of her cheek, even as she focused on weaving more flowers into his hair. "Thank you for making this a good dream, vhenan," he sais softly. "Respites such as this... I did not think I would have them in my old age."

Her heart stuttered, but her fingers did not.

"I wouldn't be unhappy if this was all that awaited us, I think," she said quietly. "But I've learned I am very bad at predicting the future, and being imaginative with my hopes."

"Is anyone?"