#it will have. too much greek references.

[marmolao]

IM GOING TO DO A ZEUS TEAM ASK BLOG if i fail i will let everybody know by posting sad kittens

[prolibytherium]

There's a LOT of things people do wrong when constructing fantasy beliefs in pantheons of gods, but one of the more specific is having only one god related to fertility and it kind of being just a horny sex thing.

Like you'll have one in the entire bunch whose sphere is listed as fertility and it's basically like Yeah this is the sex one. She's always depicted naked (but not TOO naked because censorship and/or the writer's own skittishness). She's going to have the exact body type epitomized in contemporary western beauty standards and there's usually no chance in hell that she's gonna be fat (unless MAYBE they're referencing 'venus' figurines). Her thing is fertility, which means having sex and making babies. Might be a goddess of beauty or love or marriage too, because these are kinda sex things, but that's probably it. And yeah that sort of thing is virtually nonexistent in real life.

Like the concept of fertility is so fundamentally important to the function of most societies in human history in ways that it is just Not in industrialized imperial core countries. Most people are getting food from stores, and not having to worry about harvesting crops or breeding livestock or foraging for food or having enough animals to hunt, so fertility only really comes up as a concern if you're trying to have kids (and there is certainly societal pressure to have children, but your wellbeing and survival is rarely going to Depend on it). And I think writing only from that perspective and not even trying to learn about WHY fertility is so conceptually important is why you see this trend.

There's no absolute universal statement about how people believe in gods but it's broadly accurate that systems with many deities will Usually have more than one deity associated with fertility, and these associations will certainly include human reproduction but also the fertility of livestock/hunted animals, plants, the land itself.

Some fertility deities may also be heavily associated with seasonal changes or environmental factors that agriculture or foraging is dependent on (spring/summer/fall, seasonal rains, seasonal flooding, rain itself, sunlight, good soil, rivers, wetlands, etc). Some certainly might be related to love, marriage, sex, and beauty, but that's VERY RARELY going to be the sole way the concept of fertility is embodied. And they'll often will have other associations not directly about fertility, or related to fertility in culturally specific ways.

[gareleia]

THE KNITTING SAGA BUT HERMES IS A DUMMY

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1 part 2 part 3

next: part 5

m'kay, so, we've talked about Athena & Telemachus' issues. now let's touch on Hermes, because a Diva™ like him deserves his own post. and also because this had been sitting in my notes for so long i've genuinely forgotten about it (i'd say that it's what translating a musical does to you, but honestly my attention span is just shit)

now, as much as I love Soft Boi!Hermes, I even more so love prankster Hermes who doesn't really recognize personal boundaries or the meaning of 'too far'. he's the guy who'll commit to the bit so far, he'll commit mass murder with a Tee-Hee and genuinely wonder what has got everyone so upset.

kid!Telemachus, holding a cup of poison: grandpa, are you sure it's a good idea? I'm scared… Hermes, laughing his ass off in the corner: of course I'm sure, champ! it'll be hilarious! good ol' game of Ithacean Roulette! now dump it into the wine, let's see who we'll get this time!

at the same time, he's not selfish. he's very keen on doing things for the people he likes, and he cares enough to know when someone is distressed. he, as a god, is just so removed from traditional human morality that casual acts of cruelty are perfectly acceptable to him, while, for example, breaking an oath is a horrible sin.

think blue and orange morality stuff.

telemachus, outraged: …murdered his own family, can you imagine? hermes, equally outraged: I know, right? he gave a blood oath and broke it! disgusting! telemachus: why is that your only concern?!

but don't worry, helping to raise Telemachus and hanging around the same people consistently makes a real boy outta him gives him enough time and insight into humanity to start understand mortals better, and, as consequence, adopt some of their values.

especially the concept of spousal loyalty. Hermes is a patron god of thieves, and at the time taking someone's wife was viewed as an act of theft (because women were property, yeeesh). which is why to him Penelope's situation was less of a tragedy and more of a "well, my dumbass great-grandson Odysseus should've seen it coming. snooze you lose! ¯_(ツ)_/¯"

that is, until he gets to know her better. and suddenly she's not a prize to be won or a challenge to conquer. she's a smart, capable person that commands respect from anyone who's got a shred of self-awareness. she's got gentle hands, and a radiant smile, and a spine of steel. Penelope looked Hermes dead in the eyes and told him serenely to keep being a good influence on her son, she does not deserve to be reduced to a token and given away to the highest bidder.

hermes, initially: well, penelope's a rich, gorgeous, basically single queen. I'd steal her too, if she was my type. hermes, 10 years later: she's the smartest, ballsiest human woman I've ever met and if she only wants her Ugly Ass Groom then she'll fucking stay single until he comes back.

unfortunately for everyone else, Hermes cannot step in to protect her, because Zeus and Poseidon are both pissed off at Odysseus already, and if either of them notices Hermes (and/or Athena) interfering with mortals on Ithaca, they might take it as an invitation to follow suit, and then it'll be Troy Story 2: Electric Boogaloo.

so he stays his hand, and hangs around Telemachus discreetly, mostly posing as a human. for a god of liars, he's surprisingly bad at blending in for long periods of time. Hermes thinks he's an awesome conspirator. meanwhile little Telemachus didn't even realise it was a secret.

the only people who don't know that [insert alias] is a god in disguise are the suitors, who are notoriously either too stupid, too overconfident or too busy drinking to connect the dots. the exception is Antinous who pretends to be oblivious and makes sure the gods don't see him as a threat to their beloved little pup (otherwise he'd have killed the prince long ago).

the suitors, however, unanimously agree that they hate this weird annoying stranger, and try to get rid of him in increasingly elaborate ways, from poison to stabbing to wild animals to dropping pots on his head.

spoiler alert: it doesn't work.

hermes, next day: *comes back every morning like nothing had happened, whistling cheerily* suitors: WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!

eventually Antinous convinces them to give up so they don't piss off Hermes.

years pass, Telemachus grows. Athena teaches him strategy and arts of war. Aeolus gradually comes out of the hiding and becomes the resident lovable comic relief side character. and Hermes? he teaches the kid all the good stuff.

and it's not just lying, okay? (though it's a significant part of it) music, diplomacy, geography, street smarts, some history. he's a worldly god, had observed and been a part of countless cultures. above all else, he knows people. he may not really understand them, but he knows how to get what he wants from them, how to find common ground and how to spin things to get along with practically anyone.

and girls. Hermes helps Telemachus with girls.

because he's the cool uncle figure that Telemachus admires, the kid trusts him enough to ask the god for advice when he starts growing older and gets his first crush in his early teens.

and, on one hand, Hermes is ecstatic. on the other one…

telemachus, blushing and stuttering: there's a girl I met, she's so pretty, and cool, and, and, and how do I talk to her, do I just come up and say hi, but what if sh- hermes: … hermes: *blue screen of death* hermes: MY BABY-

it's the first time he truly starts to grasp how short the kid's life will be. because in the blink of an eye he turned from a newborn to an adolescent, and soon enough he'll have his own family, and Odysseus was already a king himself at this age, and Hermes is not ready this can't be it he can't just grow old and die

so anyway, he pushes the thought aside and pretends it never came up at all (because that always works, and bottling shit up never blows up in anyone's face, right, Athena?)

he gives lots of advice, from useless macho stuff to golden nuggets like "be yourself" and "show her respect". and, of course, he cheers from the sidelines, hiding 'inconspicuously'.

and it goes surprisingly well. the girl appears to find Telemachus' awkward attempts at flirting sweet and charming, and the boy is on the cloud nine.

but Hermes isn't. because, unlike the prince, his judgment isn't clouded by a puppy crush and he can see that the girl is actually a lying bitch, who's playing Telemachus like a fiddle, hoping to become the next queen of Ithaca. and he won't stand for it.

except Telemachus, for some reason, doesn't seen thrilled when Hermes tells him to dump the girl?? he flat out refuses to believe that, because love is blind and so are sheltered insecure teenage boys.

so Hermes, in his infinite wisdom, decides to prove to his naive little charge once and for all that the girl is just using him and doesn't actually love him. now, what's the first example of true selfless love from a woman that comes to mind to the god who had spent the last few years hanging out with the royal family of Ithaca? right, Penelope. and the one thing that characterises Penelope is her unconditional loyalty, even into the face of countless threats and temptations.

hermes, to himself: so, if I show the kid that the bitch will leave him as soon as she finds a better prospect, he will definitely admit I was right all along! and dump her! it's a perfect, easy, foolproof plan! I am so smart! what could possibly go wrong!

another spoiler alert: everything goes wrong.

the girl does happily jump into his arms as soon as he hints that he's a god/demi-god/just a cooler prince or something. she does it right in front of Telemachus, in fact, so there's no way he'd be able to deny the obvious.

on the bright side, Hermes immediately outs her as a lying bitch and publicly shames her, embarrassing her family and ruining her prospects of marriage and causing her to suffer for the rest of her life ('disproportionate revenge'? what's that?).

on the down side, for some unfathomable reason, Telemachus doesn't seem very grateful??? what???????

hermes: and so, AS ALWAYS, I was right. telemachus: hermes: but please, hold your applause! telemachus: hermes: I did it all for you, out of the goodness of my heart! telemachus: hermes: and please, don't apologize! you were wrong, I get it! no need to- telemachus: *bitch slaps his smug face and runs away, hurt and betrayed* hermes: *shocked pikachu face*

thing is, Hermes doesn't understand what he did wrong. in his mind he did a rather good deed: showed the liar's true colors, and spared the kid a lot of heartache down the line. he doesn't understand the feelings of betrayal from having someone he trusts explicitly outing him as a naive fool in front of everyone he ever dreamed of earning respect from. doesn't get the pain of having been cast aside by someone he liked in favor of a god, with whom he could never compete. can't imagine living in the shadow of someone he had never even known and being constantly reminded of all the ways he's lacking.

telemachus: I'm not a stupid child, hermes. I could've handled it. hermes: but you didn't listen to me, maybe you'd have never seen it on your own- telemachus: and maybe I would've. maybe I would've had the opportunity to find out myself, and maybe I would've learned from it, but you never gave me that choice, did you?! did you think i'm that dumb?! hermes: oh, come on, kid, you're not dumb- telemachus: THEN WHY DO YOU TREAT ME LIKE I AM?! WHY DON'T YOU EVER TRUST ME?!

aaaaand there's the core issue. Telemachus had spent his whole life being babied at best and looked down upon at worst. constantly compared to Odysseus and his more vicious peers, always shielded from making tough decisions and proving himself. he feels like he will never amount to anything, because no one ever lets him really try. as soon as it looks like he's going to make a mistake, someone (usually Athena, Aeolus or Hermes) swoops in and 'fixes' everything for him, just like they used to do when he was an accident-prone toddler. which he isn't anymore.

and Hermes doesn't understand that. to him, ten years is basically nothing. the kid can't have changed that much in ten years. because if he did, then he'll change a lot in the next ten years, and the next, and very soon he won't change anymore, because ten years are nothing and so are human livespans.

ten years are nothing, because to admit otherwise would force Hermes to face the fact that Telemachus, no matter how precious, is just as mortal as any other human. which amounts to basically losing him already. and Hermes can't.

he held that boy as an infant. he fed him, helped to teach him walk and talk and make silly faces. he can't lose this child to time, the one thing even gods can't really protect humans from.

Penelope finds Hermes sitting on her balcony with the most human expression on his face she'd ever seem him wear. he's lost, and confused, and full of regrets, and kind of terrified. in that aspect, he reminds her painfully of her husband.

hermes, mumble: he's growing older penelope, sighing: I know hermes: he's not a baby anymore penelope: believe me, I know hermes: but... what do I do now??? penelope: you let it happen. not much else you can do.

she talks him through it.

hermes, rambling: but I will lose him. I'll lose him if he grows old and dies. this is why I don't get attached to mortals, you die too soon. he can't die now. penelope: he's not going to die now. he'll become the king first, he will find a good wife and have children and grandchildren. he will become great, greater that I and his father could ever dream of. and he'll be happy. don't you want to see that? hermes: I do, but- I don't want him to grow up! penelope: then you finally know the biggest joy and the deepest pain of parenthood.

it doesn't fix his fear. doesn't fix his pain, either. but it does help fix his attitude.

because she's right. Telemachus is growing old, and he can't shelter and protect the boy forever. soon he'll become a man, then an elder. and there's nothing Hermes can do about it, short of dragging the prince to Olympus and begging Zeus to grant him immortality, which will never work.

Hermes and Telemachus make up, of course. the latter knows, deep down, that the former is just trying to take care of him. they make up and forget the fight - at least, the boy does.

Hermes will always remember.

and he will count every day, every wrinkle, every grey hair.

the joy and pain of parenthood indeed.

[ravencromwell]

The poem evokes human greatness and human vulnerability. People are “godlike” in their courage and skill, but even the greatest mortals fall and clutch the dust between their bloody fingers. The beautiful word minunthadios , “short-lived,” is used of both Achilles and Hector, and applies to all of us. We die too soon, and there is no adequate recompense for the terrible, inevitable loss of life. Yet through poetry, the words, actions, and feelings of some long-ago brief lives may be remembered even three thousand years later.

--Emily Wilson's introduction to the Iliad

[hauntingblue]

CAUSE THIS IS THRILLER (bark), THRILLER (bark) NIGHT

Usopp's outfit is so funny for reals

He got the whole squad laughing

Luffy enablers at it again.... (Robin.... I know.....)

The humor panels so far have been so good!!! God this arc is so funny

HE SAID IT��️‼️

They look like birds 😭😭

It's just too good... luffy taking cerberus and zombies what can't he do

It's just banger after banger what can I say

Franky feeling for other people because of his guilt complex and sanji lying through his teeth and pulling out the women excuse to seem unaffected... yeah

Look at them.... look how they ate

Omg joyboy reference?? (No)

Sanji is rubbing off on usopp.... also chopper noticing that is sogeking's weapon akdhaksjak

ANOTHER SLAY!!!!!

Their priorities: I'm not strong enough, there isn't enough food, and nami isn't here

Franky going from wanting to kill brook for his jokes to making a joke like his after he hears his backstory... exactly (Robin was already enabling him before the backstory even fdagjsfha)

Sanji is altering his body and actually being on fire to communicate to us how fucking mad he is..... I need more of him going insane I do I do

My god what is he doing ALDJALAJALA

AHSAHAHQHAH THEY ARE THE SAME!!! naaah sanji wouldn't force a woman to be his wife

You cant see me but I am nodding my head in agreement over and over

You don't understand he altered his body to communicate to us how mad he is. He inploded himself and then reconstituted again. Those germa 66 genes are insane

You tell em usopp!!!! The first of many girls you've scared into defeat!!! Akdjqknql

Zoro zombie regressed to not trusting robin akdjaks he's still in there

ROBI-CHO SUPLEX??? HELL YEAAAAAH

There is zosa- [GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT]

Super frapper gong.... he is doing combo shots with frobin... omg.... parents....

Everything is so fun I'm having such a good time reading.... and then zosan angst like damn I am being fed well here

[im-still-a-robot]

Sailor Merope!!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

interestingly the only mention i can find of a monastery loquarium is (rendered "loquorium") in "the california padres and their mission" by charles francis saunders and joseph smeaton chase, a book in the public domain:

The Mission relics at Santa Inés are many and interesting. Besides those used in the present-day church services, and the beautiful old vestments that are in the sacristy, there is a considerable collection arranged for interested visitors in an interior room of the convento — a room formerly used as the loquorium, where daily, after dinner and after supper, the friars were at liberty to come to rest for an hour from their laboring and praying, and relax in human chat.

the next paragraph also mentions this room now housing relics "patiently got together from all sorts of places," including "from the earth of the surrounding fields as the plough turns it up"

[langernameohnebedeutung]

*Then the Spirit led Jesus up into the wilderness so that the devil might tempt him. After Jesus had fasted for 40 days and forty nights, he was starving.

Matthew 4:1-2

aka: Blaine + 😈

[noxtivagus]

found this just now n i'm freaking out silently

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[iwanderthroughthesenights]

Something that stood out to me a lot from this album is the intentional de-personalization of extremely personal feelings and stories. She seems to have decided for this project that in order to be free to be completely honest in her art (which tbf she always has been but never as much as this album), she needs to visualize herself, and thus her stories, as a third party, an external entity on which she's conducting a post-mortem examination. Her 2016 self and the hate train she suffered after Snakegate is reimagined as Cassandra, a character from Greek mythology who had visions in her dreams but no one believed her and instead she was punished. Her anxiety of holding her lover's career back is instead described as The Albatross, this girl who everyone has been warned to stay away from bc she causes problems and is a liability. Her sweet, innocent childhood self is depicted as a robin, a feisty little bird full of life, dreams, and potential who has yet no clue of the cruelty of the world.

Consequently, the characters in her life are, too, bestowed upon fictional characters from stories that have been told before and/or are familiar in some way to the listener (aIMee the girl from this allegorical high school which is actually Kim Kardashian, Peter the boy who never grew up and stayed forever in Neverland who actually is her long-term ex partner, both her and her lover's separate romantic involvements imagined as Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus, her real life therapist referred to as The Professor etc). By using the representation of well-known characters from widely popular stories and myths with names and all, she creates an even deeper line of emotional connection with the listener. Then, the 4th wall is delightfully broken in Clara Bow, where she refers to Clara Bow and Stevie Nicks as the inherent precedents to Taylor Swift. But what's even more brilliant about this is that in this way, she is making Taylor Swift into a character in and of itself. She is actually attempting to externalize Taylor Swift from Taylor the real-life woman. By narrating her stories through tangible entities presented as completely external to herself, she is inhibited by the safety of this fictional/allegorical lense through which she's allowing her stories to be consumed, and as a result, she has unlimited freedom to be more personal than she has ever been in her art before.

[sincerely-sofie]

Many thanks for the tag @asimplearchivist! The post was getting a bit long, so I cleared the reblogs.

coffee or tea (hot chocolate for me!) | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold (brass) | pop or alternative (I just like what I like, haha!) | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs l typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony (I'm scared of heights lol) | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris (Homebody) | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

some tags of my own: @oblonger, @aria-the-derg, @battyaalllday, @onlyhereforghosttrick, @billycorn, and @stingraywipe along with all you shy guys who would love to join in!

Thanks for the tag @steven-grants-world (we won't go into how giddy I get when I'm tagged in something!)

This or that…

coffee or tea (neither!) | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs l typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

no pressure tags: @marieziffer, @jewelsrulz, @diplomaticprincess, @wrenwithapen, @witch-oftheflowers, @lunar-ghoulie, @coneygoil, and anyone else who wants to because I hate forgetting people! Do it!

[bvidzsoo]

Underwater

The first star of Cosmically divine...

☆ Author: bvidzsoo

☆ Pairing: Choi San x female reader

☆ Warning: nudity, smut, blood, mentions of war and threats to kill someone

☆ Word count: 6.9k

☆ Rating: nsfw

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, San is Ares, forbidden love

☆ Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ A/N: Hi, lovelies!^^ I totally didn't write this piece in one sitting, naaah, yes I did. I hope it's good and enjoyable as I have my doubts with it I was so hyped up but anyways. I appreciate all your feedback, it is very welcomed, so let me know what you thought of it! If you'd like to join the taglist of the series let me know! I'll point out a few things before you start reading the story:

★ This is inspired by Greek mythology, but I took creative liberty and adapted it to my likes, so keep that in mind while reading, thank you! ★ Ares is the God of war ★ Artemis is the Goddess of hunt ★ A Naiad Nymph is a female spirit that preside in fresh water ★ Aphrodite is the Goddess of love ★ Hermes is the messenger of Gods ★ Iris is the goddess of rainbow but was also considered messenger of Gods ★ Atë is the goddess of mischief ★ Dion is a village and municipal unit in the municipality of Dion-Olympos in the Pieria regional unit, Greece; it's known for its sanctuary of Zeus and its ancient city (it's so beautiful over there guys, if you get the chance, you should definitely visit the village, and Mount Olympus too!!) ocean divider; greek divider

☆ Taglist: @patchofblue @sthwaaberry @constipatedcorgi @holytidalwavechees3cake @cheolliehugs

@slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @hoeforsungie

༄ ҉ Series m.list ༄ ҉ 　

            On the outskirts of the ancient city called Dion, just by the foot of Mount Olympus an enchanted forest vivid with Nymphs of all kinds encompassed the land, offering a much-needed sanctuary and protection to those who were in need of tranquility and a piece of quiet, away from all mortals, and even Gods that had their watchful eyes on everyone and everything at all times. The small Lake of Naia, springing from the top of Mount Olympus, rushing down rapidly the rocky side of the mountain only until it became merely a gentle stream was the place I referred to as my home. It wasn’t just my home, it was the home of many Naiad nymphs that have been birthed and then raised on the shores of Lake Naia by their elderly sisters, naiads that have been here for centuries, having witnessed atrocities, but so many beautiful life-changing events as well. We were fond of this place, and we protect it ardently. No foul soul was allowed in the vicinity of our sacred Lake, Artemis herself having blessed our sanctuary.

Men who were desperate for enlightenment, or were feeling lonely, would often find solace in our presence, grateful for an eternity to us, making promises, which, due to their fragile lives would never be completely fulfilled. But that was alright, my sisters and I never expected too much from them as long as they honored and cherished our land, our Lake, our home. After all, mere mortals wouldn’t be able to offer us what the Olympian Gods could. Warm bodies and warm souls that we could often lay upon our hardships, our fears, and our future ambitions. I have never stepped too far away from my home, walking barely a few feet away from the Lake would make me feel restless and unnerved, unsafe and exposed to the not so kind men that liked to haunt and torment us when the Gods weren’t on the look out for their dear naiads.

Besides Artemis, not many came often to Lake Naia, its location too close to Olympus and yet too far from Dion for the Gods that were rather lazy, like Apollo. Zeus always had his eyes on his children and kin, however, if they travelled far away enough from Olympus, he’d certainly turn a blind eye to whatever shenanigans they deemed fit on their travels on Earth, disguised as something they were not. Even Artemis liked to change her features when she came down to bless our Lake and show gratefulness for guiding and protecting the maidens through their hardships, however, there was one God that never bothered to hide his true self. All bloody and gory and authentic, brute yet hands gentle as if they were afraid to bruise those innocent, eyes sharp and menacing upon first glance, yet warm and intense on a second glance. The mortals liked calling him Ares, but I preferred his birth name, the one Zeus had given him, San.

San had always been a gruff and intimidating man, as the God of war, he was strong and vigilant, quick on his feet and cutting with his words. Very few naiads had the courage to approach him, scared he’d hurt them if they displeased him in any way, and so, the task of looking out for him whenever he visited Lake Naia fell on my hands. And despite the stories that I have heard about the fearless man, I couldn’t bring myself to find him terrifying or mal-intentioned, not when his lips quivered when he whispered the names of those fallen in battle, not when tears would escape his beautiful eyes before he’d submerge in the crystal-clear water of Lake Naia, desperate to rid himself of all the blood, suffering, and screams of those that have perished underneath the sharp blade of his sword. San was a man with a delicate and soft soul, yearning for a connection that was simple, a connection in which he didn’t have to explain himself nor feel guilty, a connection where one simply listened to his burdens and coaxed him further inside the warm and tranquil waters of Lake Naia.

Being immortals, it’s been too long and I wouldn’t be exactly able to pinpoint the time and date of when San decided that he’d choose Lake Naia as his piece of heaven and peace after a long and exhausting battle, but ever since then, his visits became more and more frequent. Perhaps it was due to the rising tension between the settlements as the mortals were never quite thankful with what they’ve got, so, they challenged each other to a war that only lead to disaster and suffering, dividing families and scarring individuals for a lifetime. And despite the real reason as to why San was here should have saddened me, as a protector of maidens that have fallen victim in these wars, I only found my heart gleeful and quickly beating the more often he showed up. There was something majestic, captivating and divine about San, and my poor Naiad heart stood no chance against a man whose walls crumbled the second his armor was off his body.

            Times were dire, nature had a way of silently absorbing everything the mortals felt. And as part of nature myself, I found myself quite volatile lately. Even the quietest snap of a twig sent us back deeper inside the lake, ready to submerge and watch from underneath whatever fool decided to approach our sacred place. My sisters grew restless and they refused to step out of Lake Naia, whispers of the forest surrounding us carrying word that a war not too far from our home was brewing as the military forces of two settlements failed to see eye to eye. Artemis visited more often than before, blessing our humble abode and promising a new location that would be even safer if the events would turn grimmer, but my sisters and I refused to flee. This is our one and only home, the only place that we’ve known since eternity, since the cosmos has birthed us, and if it came to it, we’d rather perish with this place than abandon it and leave those who love it as much as us behind. Artemis did not like our refusal, but her word couldn’t go against our eldest sister’s, and once we’ve put our hearts to something, we rarely changed our minds.

Due to the sun hiding behind the clouds, the Lake failed to stay as warm as usual, but our songs kept it idle for a quick dip. My sisters have disappeared somewhere deep-down underneath, their absence coating the surroundings in a serene silence, perhaps a little bit even eerie. I knew what this meant as I lurked just above the surface, eyes set on the steadily approaching figure. Its outline was harsh and looked to be almost vibrating as his heavy footsteps echoed in the silent forest, the animals just as reluctant as my sisters to be in the vicinity of the God. Pushing my head above water, I took a deep breath and slowly swum towards the shore, the soft water clinging to my skin like a second skin. The sword that was gripped in the God’s hand glinted in the light, despite the sun being hidden, and it left a red path in its wake as he came closer to the Lake. Something salty and nauseating hit my nose as my feet touched the fine soil of the Lake, the water up to my neck as the sword slipped from the God’s hand, clanking loudly against the grey stones that littered the path that led towards Lake Naia. Heath flooded my body, and it wasn’t from the Lake as I walked further out, water below my chest, it was from the God’s body heath as red veins swirled underneath his pristine and tan skin as his arms were left exposed. The miniscule cut on his right bicep was the first thing that caught my eyes as the water of the Lake finally reached my ankles, white dress heavily clinging to my body and failing to hide anything as my black hair looked almost molded to my back as it wetly stuck to it. A soft exhale and the deep furrow of his dark eyebrows was the first sign that my God felt exhausted as we came to stand face to face, his body tense and vibrating with the remnants of adrenaline, meanwhile mine felt lax and tingly as I bowed my head, curtsying.

“San, my possessor.” I didn’t need to speak loudly, there were no sounds around us, just San’s breaths coming out in short puffs, chest rising and falling rapidly underneath his black steel armor. The stench of death would make anyone run away, but as I raised my head up and laid my eyes upon my possessor’s face again, I could only feel pity seeing the regret and exhaustion whirling together in his sharp eyes, clouding his mind and I could almost hear his thoughts.

“Y/N, my nymph.” And the God’s voice that roars and shatters in a battle was now shaky and soft, warm to the point that it made my heart beat faster, “I have missed you dearly.”

I didn’t dare smile as I extended my right hand, eyes stuck to the swipe of dark blood underneath his right eye, trailing down to leave the impression of a bloody tear. I swiped at it with my thumb, and San’s eyes closed as he gulped, sighing loudly.

“Let me take away your burdens.” I whispered as I stepped closer, the heath almost devouring me as the red veins seemed even more alight underneath his tan and soft skin, heart beating out of the God’s chest as his eyes slowly opened, black eyelashes fluttering as they settled on my face.

“Please.” A God never pleaded, never fell to their knees in front of anyone. A God was strong and fearless, ready to devour anyone who dared disobey their command. I offered San a small smile as I leaned forward, lips parting just slightly before they made contact with the cut on San’s bicep, a whimper leaving the man’s lips upon the contact. And his eyes were glazed over as I pulled back, the taste of salt tangible on my tongue as I caressed his now healed bicep. San knew what to do, and with a deep breath he fell to his knees, hanging his head low as my hands caressed his cheeks before his jaw, settling around his neck. His skin was hot, flaming almost, gushing with life underneath all that heavy muscle and flesh, desperate for a gentle and understanding touch. I allowed my hands to travel lower, onto his shoulders, nimble fingers unclasping the harsh steel from around his defined shoulders. A pause, another sigh, and San stood tall once again, a calloused hand settling on my hip as he oh so gently pulled my body closer, my fingers itching the more blood they touched, which was now rusted onto his armor, the same armor that Hephaestus had designed for him upon the request of Zeus so that it would make San, his bellowed son, invincible. San’s sharp, but softening, eyes remained on my face as my hands first went around his middle, leaning my fragile body against his. It was sturdy, unmovable like a mountain, but it was also warm and gentle, a quiet promise that it would keep you safe from any evil. San’s fingers twitched before they dug into my hip, his armor sharp and cold against my own body, but I welcomed its closeness as San seemed to melt into the embrace, his tense muscles finally easing up at last. He could finally be vulnerable, bloody or not, in my eyes he was perfect and benevolent.

“Your battle must have been strenuous.” I spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence, as I gently peeled myself back from the embrace, fingers latching onto the clasps at the God’s middle, undoing them and letting the bloody armor fall to the ground, looking like it’s been broken in two. But it wasn’t, it was unbreakable just like its possessor.

“I have not had the opportunity to close my eyes for six days as of today.” His deep voice lost all the malice it usually carried, and my eyes remained focused on the dents and marks the armor has left on the poor God’s sun-kissed skin. My warm fingertips gently traced against them, the muscles flexing underneath them as the God hummed in content, both hands holding firmly onto my hips. I smiled as he leaned forward and gently rested his chin on top of my head, allowing me to trace the scars left by his ruthless armor, knowing that they’d disappear if I touched them. I closed my eyes as my fingertips reached them hem of his trousers, which weren’t made of steel but were magically enhanced so that there wouldn’t be a repeat of Achilles, and I leaned just a little bit forward to press kisses tracing his collarbones. The sighs the God let out were of pleasure and he hummed in appreciation as I untangled the knots of his trouser and gently pushed them down his hips, caressing his loins firmly as San groaned, nails digging through the thin fabric of my white translucent dress.

“Then we shall get inside the Lake.” I proposed and San hummed in agreement, grip not faltering as I stepped back to steer us inside the water. When our eyes found each other again, his were ablaze with want and need, but he knew he had to wait until we got inside the water. And so, he reluctantly released me and eagerly took my extended hand as I interlaced our fingers, a small and charming smile appearing on his face for the first time today. I chuckled and lead us back to the water, walking backwards as the smile only seemed to stretch on San’s lips, red veins ablaze and whole being glimmering in the light of the small clearing the Lake resided in, the clouds slowly uncovering the blazing sun as the weather reached my thighs, San’s body convulsing as it was overheated from the battle and the Lake would cool it down. I walked further inside, my body welcoming the familiar feel of the soft water brushing against myself, like a cocoon forming a protecting layer over it, my own armor.

San’s body shook when it was finally submerged, underwater, and I released his hand as I giggled and took a deep breath, to tease him, and dipped my head underwater. I opened my eyes and grinned as his legs kicked out to stay above water, never having been keen of having his head under the clear water of the Lake. His naked body looked almost translucent underwater and I swum around it, playfully nipping at the skin of his back, thighs, abdomen, calves, and chest, my teasing cut short when a strong hand seized me around the neck and yanked me above water, dark brown eyes coated with lust and cheeks flushed as our bodies pressed together, legs wrapping around his middle subconsciously.

“Rest now, my San.” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut as his hot breath fanned my face, heart thundering underneath the hand pressed against his chest.

“I’ll bring you a star on our next rendezvous.” His words were rushed, almost desperate before hot lips pressed against mine, devouring them with fervor, with desperation and a neediness that I fear will never be satiated.

            The forest was loud for once, animals buzzing around, a deer timidly coming down to our Lake to hydrate itself, and Yeri, our youngest naiad, lay giggling on the shore as she teased the deer by leading it around in circles with a string of water, until our eldest sister chastised her for tormenting the innocent creature. As our youngest sibling, she was rather mischievous and loved to play around whether it was with animals or humans. Younger men especially loved her, but she only enjoyed their company as long as they remained on land and her in water. She was the least trusting of anyone other than her naiad friends, thus why she had refused even Artemis’ offer of finding her a lover that would dearly cherish her.

I was laid back on a larger rock by the Lake, resting back on my elbows, my white dress almost completely dry as I swirled my toes around in the water, humming in contentment as my sisters voices meddled with mine as they were gathered towards the middle of the Lake, playing a tagging game. I smiled as I listened to their giggles and cheers, which were mixing with the beautiful songs the birds were singing, echoing our voices almost perfectly. The strong, divine, presence first gained our attention as everyone perked up, sensing it come closer as my body grew jittery. I curiously stood up, not expecting a visit from Artemis so soon, or another deity for the matter. But when my eyes fell on the approaching form in the distance, I instantly knew who it was. My eyebrows furrowed and my heart jumped in joy, but I couldn’t help feel concerned at the same time. San never visited unless he went to war, to a battle, and he had told me truce was laid upon the two settlements after they lost many men. He had no reason to visit, yet he was here. And my sisters shared my unease as they all grew warry, stopping their game as the eldest one called Yeri over, deeper into the water. I scrambled onto my feet and offered them a calm smile, not wanting them to panic and do something rash when it came to San. Understanding my request, they swum further away from the shore, only their eyes and the top of their heads visible as my feet touched the soft grass, San’s face now visible as he came closer.

Expecting complications and even a summoning to Olympus, instead, a bright smile decorated his lips, eyes crinkled and a skip to his confident steps as he hurried down the path having spotted me. Feeling confused but glad to see him nonetheless, I returned his smile and gasped when I was swept off my feet, his arms firm around my waist and twirling me around. I clung to his neck, lips brushing against his ear as I giggled, a similar sound leaving San’s lips. My heart skipped a few beats before it started beating faster altogether, every vertebrate in my being jittery as I realized this was the first time I have seen San so happy and relaxed, his sword nowhere in sight, and his armor polished and clean, glinting and carrying the scent of pine and musk instead of the salty stench of blood.

When he was done twirling me around, he placed me down on my feet, but kept his arms around my waist and leaned down hastily, warm and red lips pushing against mine. My eyes fluttered closed and I allowed myself to melt into him, cupping his cheek as our lips moved together softly, making it feel like it was the first time I was kissed by him. I felt my head whirl around and fingertips grow warm as San smiled into the kiss, apparently refusing to pull back just yet as he kept pressing little pecks against my plush lips. There was something about his demeanor that brought tears to my eyes, a side of San that I was seeing for the first time despite us knowing each other for an eternity now. I had dreamed of what a happy and free San looked like, a San that wasn’t tormented by a battle where he had to slay mortals and swallow their screams, feed off of the pure madness, hatred, and rage. I have prayed to Artemis to see a San that was so happy his whole body glowed from it, and now that I had him in my arms, laughing and kissing me, I couldn’t contain my own emotions.

“Why are you crying, my little nymph?” His voice carried worry as he caressed my cheek and swiftly wiped a stray teardrop from underneath my eye, eyebrows furrowing, “Have I made you sad? Perhaps even mad by showing up so unexpectedly?”

“No!” My voice raised without me meaning to do so, and my arms tightened around him as I pushed up on my tiptoes, ours noses grazing together as I stared inside his dark and soft brown eyes, “No, my San, I am beyond delighted to see you in such light. I have only dared to dream of seeing you one day happy and carefree.”

“My little nymph,” San whispered, expression faltering for a second as pain clouded his eyes, but it was quickly gone as I traced his high cheekbone with my forefinger, eyes taking in his beautiful features only a God was gifted with, “I had not known you harbored such wishes; I should have known seeing me always all roughed up after a battle brings you pain.”

“No, San,” I shook my head, a small smile appearing on my lips, “It brings me peace of mind and solace that I am the one you seek out after such feat, that I am the one you come to, to chase away your pain and fears after a battle.”

“Sometimes I see the stars in your eyes, Y/N.” San’s voice was merely a whisper as his hand gently brushed a strand of hair off my face and behind my ear, “When you look at me so deeply like right now, they sparkle with life and I see the cosmos in them. You are majestic underwater, but it will never come close to how you look when your eyes land on me.”

I gulped, feeling speechless as my cheeks grew hotter and darker in color, fingers tangling into the small hair on San’s nape. It was the first time his black hair wasn’t pushed back to make his eyes look even more piercing, but was rather soft looking and fluffy, hanging into his eyes as a dimple formed in his cheek as a wide grin made it onto his face again, “If my heart stops beating one day, I wish you to be the last thing I see before I must go.”

San shook his head, eyebrows furrowing again as he held onto my face, leaning so close his lips brushed against mine when he spoke, “You shall never leave me first, I promise you’ll be here until my last worshipper perishes, and even then I do not wish to take you with myself into the Underworld.”

“We won’t go to the Underworld, San.” He gulped as our gazes bore into each other and then he nodded, wordlessly and looking a little defeated, releasing my face as he cleared his throat. Sensing that he had something important to say, I released him and stepped back a little bit, watching him curiously as he reached inside his armor, pursing his lips as if he couldn’t find what he was looking for. I took my time to pay close attention to him, to take in his all like this, so that I could replay it when I missed him most. The way the sunlight fell on him made his caramel skin glow even more, face relaxed and a smile almost always present on his red lips, eyebrows unfrowned for once and expression serene as his muscles remained lax, not even a bit tense. When he finally found what he was looking for, he made a sound of triumph and I smiled a little wider, looking at him with big eyes as he pulled a collar out of his armor. I couldn’t determine what it was for, or whether it was a necklace or a collar, but when he opened his palm and raised it up for me to see better, I gasped in shock. There, worked into the steel that looked a lot like the one his armor had, was a little glowing star shining almost blindingly up at me.

“I promised to bring you a star,” San said quietly and then turned me around gently, pulling my black hair from around my shoulders to one side only, “I wish you keep something of mine on yourself, for protection.���

My lips pulled into a small grin as the cold steel touched the base of my neck, “You wish for everyone to know who I belong to upon one glance, don’t you, my greedy little possessor?”

San chuckled behind me as I felt him secure the clasp, his voice just a little bit deeper when he spoke up again, “You know me too well, my little nymph.”

His lips brushed against my ear and I turned my head to look up in his eyes, heart beating out of my chest, “Thank you, San, like the star around my neck, I’ll continue gazing at you as if you were my own personal star.”

A beat of silence passed between us before I felt San’s body press up against mine from behind, hand coming up to cradle my jaw and hold it firm as he leaned down into a searing kiss as reward for my words, as reward for allowing him to claim me in front of all Gods and Goddesses.

            Not long after San’s visit, another deity seemed to be keen of visiting our humble Lake Naia. Albeit, this Goddess has never been too fond of our existence right at the feet of Mountain Olympus as she had claimed we’ve been charming her men away from her. She could have anyone, she had everyone, us mere Naiads could never live up to her beauty and charms, but she failed to see and understand that. My sisters and I had been gathered around the rocks, just by the shore, giggling about the latest gossip we have heard through Hermes’s secret lover, having been accomplice to the kidnapping that he had planned for Iris. We have sworn secrecy to her and Hermes, and swore to keep her safe and hidden from Zeus as long as she sometimes indulged to our gossipy nature and came down to the Lake for a bath where she’d share all her stories as she lived in the closest settlement, Dion. An outcast Goddess had been wreaking havoc lately there and Iris was trying to find ways to warn men without the other deity catching on, but Hermes is too scared Atë would tell Zeus of his once prized seer’s whereabouts and thus had forbidden Iris from meddling with the other Goddesses shenanigans.

The birds songs grew louder and the foxes ran out of the bushes as a light breeze entered the clearing the Lake resided in, and the strong scent of roses and pomegranate invaded our senses as my sisters and I became alert to the presence of a deity other than the two we would welcome here so often. The lower half of my dress was soaked as I had dangled it in the water prior, and due to Yeri, my long black hair was now tangled into intricate twists with flowers secured in it. The cold steel necklace sat snuggly against my neck, the star softly buzzing at all times and sometimes humming along to my songs. The giggles and laughter died down as the approaching presence took its time apparently, taking in everything our humble abode had to offer her. My eyes stayed on her, closely watching her every move, and I felt the strength leave my legs upon realizing who it was. I felt my cheeks heat up all of a sudden, the steel necklace too heavy around my neck as my lungs seized up, almost suffocating me. Yeri, always quick to catch the change in someone’s mood, intertwined her fingers with mine and squeezed them gently, offering comfort in the subtlest of ways.

“Ah, Lake Naia,” The Goddess’ voice was melodic and soft, yet it carried over the space between her and us, “I have heard so many stories about this place, but never truly had the itch to come and see it for myself. You have bewitched quite a few men, my little nymphs, both mortal and immortal, do you know?”

Her piercing eyes fell on me as she finally reaches us by the rocks, making me gulp as I averted my eyes, looking at our eldest naiad as she stood gracefully, a pleasant smile on her lips as she approached the Goddess.

“Aphrodite, my Goddess, what brings you to our humble home?” The naiad curtsied and Aphrodite chuckled, looking around. A dove flew overhead and I felt goosebumps erupt on my skin underneath the white dress as the star became a little bit too hot against my skin.

“I have come to bathe in the Lake that chases away all your fears and terrors.” The Goddess said, suddenly unlacing the top of her yellow tunic, leaving her bare to our eyes, “At least that is what everyone claims this place accomplishes.”

“My Goddess, we would love to have you bathe in our lake.” The eldest naiad smiled, stepping aside to let the Goddess walk towards the lake, “We’ll take away all your worries, just as you wish.”

“I want her to bathe me.” A perfect milky finger was pointed towards me and my lungs seized up again, a lump suddenly forming in my throat as I opened my mouth to speak up, but my vocal chords felt like they were being crushed. Yeri grew tense next to me, her grip on me tightening as she stood in front of me protectively, glaring at the Goddess. She was fearless, she looked the lions in the eyes and challenged them without any fear for the repercussions.

“Aphrodite, my Goddess, I am afraid she will not be able to bathe you.” The eldest naiad tried to save the situation, the air growing tense as my vocal chords started to burn and I gasped, grasping at my neck helplessly.  

“She has been claimed by Ares!” It was Yeri’s shrill voice that tore through the clearing, making our sisters gasp around us as finally the pressure from my vocal cords was gone and my lungs also eased up, forcing me to intake large gulps of air, “She cannot touch any other deity than San himself, my Goddess, but you knew that already, did you not?”

“A Naiad with a sharp tongue, how refreshing.” Aphrodite chuckled as I yanked on Yeri’s hand and gave her a harsh stare for being inconsiderate and rude to a Goddess that could turn her into foam within a blink of an eye.

“I apologize, my Goddess, for her rudeness, she is still young and has to learn much.” I bowed my head deeply as I went to stand next to our eldest naiad sister, “I promise to teach her some manners myself, do not punish her just yet, I beg of you—”

“Like you have begged my husband to bed you?” A malicious smile grazed her lips, “Well…bed you, figuratively speaking as you seem to lack of beds in this place, pity, he fucks hardest when he has a headboard to hold onto.”

My jaw clenched as her comment felt like a punch to my ego, tears threatening to prick my eyes as Yeri came to stand next to me, standing just slightly more forward, but when she opened her mouth to speak up, the Goddess beat her to it, “You thought you could fuck my husband and I wouldn’t know? I know everything that happens inside and outside of Olympus, you little minx.”

“Then why does it bother you just now?” I gulped down the fear that bubbled through my system, and looked the Goddess in the eyes as I continued with my question, “Why just now when you’ve known all along what your husband was up to?”

For a second, Aphrodite seemed to freeze, but then slowly, her eyes fell onto the necklace that sat securely around my neck. He’d claimed me, San he had claimed me, meanwhile Aphrodite never quite loved any of his secret lovers to the point that she’d claim them. It hurt her, because it showed San was devoted to me, that he had given me a piece of himself, that he promised of a little particle of his heart that didn’t belong to Aphrodite anymore. Her ego was bruised and she couldn’t deal with the thought of a nymph stealing something that was once hers. She didn’t need to answer the question, her silence spoke volumes like her answer could never.

“Stray clear of my path if you do not wish to turn into foam, little nymph, or perhaps pray to Artemis to keep you safe from Zeus.” My sisters gasped as my lips quivered, dread filling my body at the thought of getting touched by Zeus. Even if a God claims you, Zeus can still do whatever he wants to you. His word and power were grater than any other Gods. I did not wish to come across Zeus, ever, terrified that he’d break me.

And just as quickly as Aphrodite had appeared, the foxes ran through the bushes one more time, a white dove flying over Lake Naia, and then she was gone, her sweet scent carried away by the wind that seemed to bring rain clouds with itself.

            The days and nights passed by sluggishly, almost as if to taunt me, fear rooting deeply into my bones as I preferred to stay underwater most these days, not keen of coming across any deity. Artemis managed to coax me outside and blessed me, promised protection once again, having heard of Aphrodite’s visit, whispering that San has been at war for a month now. Nobody knew anything about him as he just disappeared one night, but they knew he was alive, he’d send scrolls to his father, Zeus, and updated him about the advancement of the war. When the evenings started feeling lonely, despite the presence of my sisters, I felt my little star humming just a little louder for me to hear and burning warmer, warming my chest from the inside out. I found it my only solace as I yearned for my God, but was scared of what would happen if I allowed him close again.

The stars had been long up on the night sky, high up and shining down brightly, almost as if calling out to its kin that now shimmered in the dark around my neck. I continued to gaze up at them, floating on the dark surface of the Lake, crickets creating a serene cacophony as my sisters’ hums have long subsided as they have gone to sleep. I have found myself grow more restless than usual tonight, the stars calling out and coaxing me to stay awake as if to look over our home, protect it from unwelcomed guests. And when the clearing grew eerily quiet and the stench of death invaded my senses, I gasped and submerged, watching as a dark figure approached the water with almost sluggish moves. My body yearned to feel his warm touch and my heart started racing in my chest, but I did not move. I watched, not too far from the shore, as he came to an abrupt stop just before the water could reach his feet, and he gently placed his sword onto the ground.

“My little nymph.” His voice was quiet, tired, and rough sounding. Tears pricked at my eyes but I forced myself to go just a little bit deeper underneath, the star around my neck pulsing ferociously. My body felt on fire from it, but I refused to act upon my desperate wishes, “Y/N, my little star, where are you?”

My lips quivered and I turned, clutching the star desperately as it started calling out faintly, whether for its kin or for the God that had gifted it to me, I couldn’t tell. The swift clinking of steel and its clasp being undone echoed loudly in the silent clearing and the water was suddenly disturbed as I whirled around, eyes growing wide as I watched my God rush inside the water. It colored the water red around himself, more so than usually, and my heart clenched upon noticing the countless bruises decorating his legs and the gash close to his groin. Who dared wound up my San like that?

I felt helpless as my body acted before I could consider my next actions, and I quickly swum closer, lips touching the large gash underwater, eager to heal his perfectly sculpted body. San’s gasp was loud above water, and before I could swim away, large and calloused hands gripped at my shoulders and yanked me above, making me gasp out loudly as water dripped from my hair onto my face. San’s eyes were wide and streaks of tears made his cheeks shine under the starlight, and I gulped, eyebrows furrowed as I helplessly traced his forehead, wiping the excess blood from there and from his temples.

“My little nymph, why would you hide from me?” San sounded breathless as his eyes desperately searched my face, grip growing stronger as it slipped to my arms, “Do you not love me anymore?”

My eyebrows furrowed and my heart squeezed as I pushed at his hard chest, fury licking at my insides all of a sudden, “How dare you doubt my love for you, San?!”

“You refused to show yourself to me,” His voice grew hard, but his dark eyes remained soft, “You weren’t waiting by the Lake for me, you didn’t undress me, you refused to bathe me. You must not love me anymore—”

“I allowed you to claim me!” I hissed, gripping his jaw tightly, his eyes finally hardening as I got closer to him, “I allowed you to claim me with something of yours, and you doubt my love for you after you disappeared without notice?!”

“I must hear your reasoning before I forgive you.” My eyebrows furrowed and I bit my lower lip, Aphrodite’s words echoing in my head. I’d be turned into foam, and then, all the love I harbor for my God will be lost, felt in vain, unfulfilled.

“She will turn me into foam, you have angered her, my possessor.” My voice was merely a whisper, but loud enough in the silent clearing, in the serene Lake. I didn’t have to name her; San knew who I was referring to.

“Once a God claims something as theirs, nobody is allowed to touch it, not even a Goddess out of spite, my little nymph,” San’s tone was strong and confident, carried no room for an argument, “And I, Y/N, I love you with my whole soul and promise to protect you until my last worshipper dies and I perish with them.”

“Then you shall never perish,” I cupped his cheeks, my legs securing around his hips as San’s hand slipped to my back, holding me flushed against himself, “Because I am immortal like yourself, I shall never die and you shall never perish with me.”

A strong emotion that could be only described as adoration crossed San’s features before his eyes closed and his lips pressed against mine, making me cling onto him as our lips moved in a dance that made my heart thunder in my chest, rhythm syncing up with his heartbeat, beating together and for one another. The stars shined perhaps brighter that night as San carried us out onto the rocks, laying me down gently and reassuring me that I would be alright, that as long as he was by my side nothing and no one would hurt me. And his lips sealed the promise as his warm body covered mine, sinking slowly inside me, our souls uniting as my back arched and the star around my neck hummed louder than ever before. San’s each and every single kiss carried a whispered promise as it traveled from my jaw to my neck, nibbling at my collarbones as his thrusts stayed sharp and deep, my fingernails digging deeply into his shoulders, marking him up for everyone to see, for Aphrodite to find tomorrow and rage in her pretty bedroom as she isn’t able to do anything about it.

San’s name left my lips almost in a mantra, almost as if I was praying to a God that answered all my prayers and fulfilled all of my wishes, head thrown back and tears trailing down by cheeks as I saw the stars behind my eyes. San feared no God and he had no fear of breaking me as his thrusts became ruthless, pelvis slamming against mine, making me cry out his name repeatedly, finding anchor in his black messy hair and on the rock I was laid onto, the sounds he made growing louder within seconds as he grew closer to his own release. His hands found purchase on my hips as he threw his head back, losing himself in the feeling of pure bliss and euphoria, glazing up at the stars that never shined brighter than my own eyes.

And with my name undyingly on his lips, I knew if I were cursed to become a star one day, I would do so gladly knowing that he saw stars in my eyes, loved me enough to bring down one for me, cherished me enough to promise a death where we’d flicker away at once.

❱❱ Next star

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[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[greenorangevioletgrass]

the albatross, here to destroy you (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. First, a chance meeting between two rising stars seeking an escape leaves a handprint on their hearts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smoking, language, greek mythology references, hella unresolved sexual tension(!!!), art is highkey a baby and lowkey a brat lol, did i mention unresolved sexual tension?, sooo much pining

Notes: this idea has consumed my waking days for weeks. I contemplated making it a really long fic, but after a long and careful consideration, I have decided to make it a trilogy! Two reasons; a) it’s gonna be really long, and b) I wanted to put Art’s look as a reference in each part lmao. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Part One: London, July 2011.

It was quite an impressive feat. 23-year-old American rising star Art Donaldson had miraculously beat the defending champion-slash-legend Rafael Nadal at the Wimbledon final.

Or so they said.

You don’t know, nor do you care much, to be quite honest. You were basically ordered to attend by your publicist, outfits picked out, hair and makeup team on full throttle only to have you sit pretty on the side of the Centre Court. And now, after milling around and halfheartedly mingling at the afterparty, you decide to give yourself some respite and slip away to the balcony.

“Oh, shit—” the man quickly turns back and stubs his cigarette on the railing, waving away any trace of smoke.

(You say man in a very broad term. He looks more like a teenage boy with that messy blond mop and skittish way about him.)

You raise your hands, showing no threat. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this balcony was taken.”

“Wait, no. Please.” He stops. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. The only thing more embarrassing than getting caught smoking was getting caught smoking by a pretty girl. And pretty is… a fucking gross understatement, based on what he was seeing. “Don’t leave on my account.”

“You sure?”

You flash him that soft, understanding smile and he very nearly asks you not to leave, like ever. But fortunately, he’s got enough game to hold his tongue and smile back at you, “There’s more than enough room for both of us here, right?”

Technically, the balcony is big enough for the two of you to stand on opposite corners without even addressing each other. But his fingers are resting on a pack of Marlboro Green, and you bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. “And more than enough cigarettes, I hope?”

He’s not sure what he was hoping for, but he sure is surprised to hear you accept his invitation to stay. Gosh, he must’ve looked like an idiot right now. “Sure, of course.”

He slides a cigarette out of the pack as he offers it to you, readily leaning in with his zippo. For a split second, the two of you share a breath in the space that he encloses with one hand as he lights your cigarette. You would be lying if it didn’t make your heart stutter.

“So…” you inhale, taking the nicotine hit to calm your thoughts, “I thought smoking was bad for athletes.”

“I thought smoking was bad for singers too, but I guess it’s less frowned upon, huh?” He murmurs, trying to balance a fresh cigarette off of the side of his lips, smirking at you over the flicker of flame he started.

“Touché.” You lean your back against the railing. It’s an interesting game of chess you’re playing. Each of your reputations precede you and don’t at the same time. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re out here smoking on your own, instead of in there…” Celebrating is left unsaid, although the implied word hangs in big and bold letters.

“Ah well, maybe this is my way of celebrating. We’re allowed one vice every now and again, right?”

You look at him like it’s a bullshit excuse—and it is.

“This is gonna sound insane, but…” he takes a drag, looking out at the landscape before him, “I don’t feel like I should be celebrating.”

You look at him like that bullshit excuse grew a new head.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I worked hard for it and I’m glad it paid off, but…” he flicks the ash on the end of his cigarette three times. “I could’ve been better. Quicker. Won more points earlier. Beat him faster. And until I can do that, I don’t think I deserve a celebration just yet.”

You hum softly. “Sounds like you’re making a Sisyphus out of yourself. That can’t be fun.”

His mouth tugs into a crooked smile, not expecting to be called out like this. “I mean, at least I’m not rolling a boulder up a hill. I’d take tennis over that any day.”

“Yeah, but it seems like tennis is your boulder up a hill.”

“Touché.” He smiles bashfully as he takes a long drag. And then, he offers his hand. “I’m Art Donaldson, by the way.”

It’s a formality at this point. He knows who you are, heard your songs on the radio and saw your face on billboards more times than he can count. Hell, he saw you on the stands in your little Dior sunglasses earlier—and you saw him looking, just for a moment, sweat dripping down his perfect nose and all. But out of courtesy, you tell him your name and accept his handshake.

You pull your hand away, and he almost groans in protest. But again, he holds his horses. “Alright, I’ll bite. If I’m Sisyphus, what does that make you?”

“Oh, definitely Dionysus. Living on wine and theater and good vibes.” You’ve got that shit locked and loaded. It’s obvious that you’ve thought of this before.

“Is that so?” He chuckles. “Well… as long as you don’t sacrifice me to the maenads, right?”

“Can’t promise you that,” you quip back, tapping the gray off of your remaining cigarette. Pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t make the obnoxious remark that Dionysus is also the god of sex, as boys would do. Even more so that he knows enough to know the difference between the sirens and the maenads.

There’s no fighting the raging flush in his cheeks anymore, but he just hopes you would spare him. “Will you at least promise to make it swift?”

It comes out faster than a trainwreck, but without even blinking, the one thing that comes out of your mouth is, “What if I wanna take my time with you?”

Fuck.

The party carries on inside, although Stevie Wonder’s ‘My Cherie Amour’ sounds a mile away. His cigarette smoke comes out in a stuttered huff, as he looks away, not knowing what to do with himself. Eventually, though, he recovers, taking another drag. “It wouldn’t be a terrible way to go, huh?”

“I suppose not.” You sigh into a smile, exuding a flume of smoke through your nose. Shit, he doesn’t know which one is hotter; that, or the lipstick mark on your filter. Or the pensive look as you watch the party through the window.

Oh, he’s down bad.

“So, Dionysus…” he leans out against the railing, flicking ash off his stub one, two, three. “What brings you out here? You a tennis fan?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I… don’t even really understand how it worked until today,” you admit bashfully. Somehow the truth doesn’t feel so embarrassing, even though you spent the day lying through your teeth. “Not until I saw you play. Which… congrats, by the way.”

“Wow. Thanks.” He’s not sure whether it’s the earnestness in your congratulations, or the fact that the game finally makes sense because of him, but his heart grows three sizes.

“But, yeah, no, my publicist dragged me here kicking and screaming.”

“So you were forced into a party, huh? That’s not very Dionysian of you…” He muses playfully, and those lines on each side of his lips aching to break out into a full smile. And they do. And it warms your heart that those smile lines only emphasizes the way his face lights up. “Nah, I get what you mean. My agent had to drag me out of the locker room to make an ‘appearance.’”

“Yeah, she said something about… shifting into a classier, more grownup image?”

“By watching a couple of dudes hit a ball with a racket?”

“By sitting there and looking pretty. It’s the only reason I’m all decked out in this ridiculous fucking thing,” you look down at your outfit with a grumble. Of all the days you could’ve run into someone cute, you’re in a fucking pantsuit like some middle-aged politician.

“But you do look pretty,” he replies without even blinking.

“Thanks, it’s Ralph Lauren.” You smile faux sweetly. “I believe I’m contractually obligated to say that.”

“Still pretty,” and he means it, lackadaisical smile and all. The ivory cape-like blazer is an interesting cut that goes down to your knees, and it makes you look regal. The cut of the pants makes your legs go for miles. It certainly doesn’t hurt that your off-white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing a generous amount of cleavage.

(And hey, he’s still a guy. Can you blame him?)

He has this way of looking at you. Like he’s studying you. It would’ve been unsettling, if he weren’t so fucking beautiful to look at and you don’t mind an excuse to stare back and admire the angular lines on his face. Like Apollo in the moonlight. “What?”

Art taps his cigarette much more deliberately and inhales, exhales out of the side of his mouth, much more deliberately this time. “I think you’re more Aphrodite than Dionysus.”

You take another drag. “How so?”

“First of all, for a god of parties, you don’t like to party all that much,” he grins knowingly, smugly, like he’s proud to have figured you out. But his smile softens, and there’s intensity behind his eyes. “And because you’re beautiful. And dangerous.”

Your mouth twists, pausing for a long moment. To calm yourself. To gather yourself. “But it’s so cliched, though…”

“Well, who would you rather be? Medusa, maybe?” He turns his body, leaning on his side against the railing so he’s fully facing you, and you can’t help but mirror his position.

You raise a forefinger pointedly, French manicured nails on display. “Hey. I think Medusa gets a bad rep. Neptune fucked her over, but she was the one cursed.”

“And what, you think you’re as cursed as Medusa, too?”

You shrug, maybe.

Despite the weight of your answer, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “There’s no way you’re cursed. A curse wouldn’t be so beautiful.”

“But a curse could be deceiving, no?”

“Or maybe it’s a matter of perspective. Maybe you think you’re cursed, even when you might not necessarily be.”

“Oh, just like you’re so inclined to keep pushing your boulder up a hill?”

Art blinks, and sucks his teeth bashfully. Just when he thought he’s got you figured out… Check and mate. “You know, if I didn’t know you any better, I would’ve thought you were some kind of an oracle. Like Cassandra.”

Your eyebrows raise in interest.

“You have this strange, unnerving ability to see right through me. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a few drinks, or you’re just very observant, but…” he trails off thoughtfully and then nods like he’s made up his mind. “Cassandra.”

“Cassandra,” you echo quietly. “I like that.”

“Mm-hm. I’d say it’s a very fitting title for you.”

That fond little glint in his eyes is becoming a staple in the way he looks at you. And you don’t ever wanna see it dim. So you speak up again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“What?”

“My parents almost named me Cassandra.”

His jaw drops, dumbstruck. “Shut the fuck up.” His grandmother would have smacked him on the back of his head, knowing the profanity he uses (to a girl he likes, no less). But out of all the things he tried to figure out about her, he never expected to get this one right.

“I shit you not.” You watch him double down laughing, grinning to yourself. “Freaky coincidence, right?”

“Or the Fates working overtime. I’m sure they’d be laughing at us right now.” He looks up at the deep blue sky with a shake of the head.

You wave at the stars, taking a mock bow to your invisible audience. “Thank you. Glad you’re enjoying the show, guys.” The laughter lingers on your lips, and you wonder if it tastes the same on his. “We really are just the court jesters, huh?”

He nods. “Although I wouldn’t mind playing the fool for you.” Maybe it’s the drinks or the cigarettes or the unlikeliest conversation with the most stunning creature he has ever laid eyes on, but at one point, his inhibitions are starting to leave him.

It’s now or never.

The dubious smile that comes out of you is involuntary. He can’t be serious, right? “You are so full of shit, aren’t you?”

“You don’t believe me?”

You look at him like, obviously.

“What are you gonna do, punish me for lying?” There’s that glint again, the bite against the inside of your cheek, and Art steps in.

Your heart catches. He doesn’t feel much like a boy now, inches away from you with a disarming look, his intentions crystal clear. And your head drops for a moment with a wry smile. “You can’t say that to me...”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because? His grin widens, because for the first time this whole evening, he’s got the upper hand. And he likes it.

“I…” You blink at him, finding yourself cornered. Thankfully, though, your phone comes to the rescue, buzzing in your pocket and popping the tension between you and Art like a balloon. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I—”

“Yeah, sure.” he backs away a step, flashing an understanding smile. He watches you pick up the phone, looking out at the London sky. He would swear up and down that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just loves to watch you gnaw at your lower lip in thought, study your moonbathed profile.

Listen to the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

“Hi… no, I’m still at the— yeah. I’m not sure… are you still with…? Oh, good. Good, just checking. Say hi to everyone for me... Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back?” You catch Art’s gaze, and your stomach drops as you hear the dreaded words on the line. But again, you’re backed away into a corner. So you look away and say it back, “I love you, too. Bye.”

There it is.

Art really should’ve known this. He should’ve seen it coming. You were way too good to be true, but that doesn’t stop him from getting disappointed. No, his heart breaks on the spot, and he’s pretty sure you can hear it.

(You can’t. But you can see it in his face.)

The silence is awkward. It’s ugly. The steady sounds of cars passing by on the ground feels like it’s right in front of you. For the longest time, the two of you can only look out onto the horizon. Anxiously tracing the outlines of skyscrapers in sight.

He is reeling, like he’s been shaken awake from a dream. “So, I take it you’re taken, huh?”

The look you give him is apologetic, and it kills you as much as it destroys him. “Yeah.”

Art rubs at his jaw like he’s willing himself to say something, anything. “I see you’ve cursed me, then.”

“What?”

It takes him a moment to gather his words. Put together his thoughts in a way that you would understand. He didn’t mean it to sound so damning, but it’s the first thing that comes out. It feels like taking a boulder out of his throat. “By making me like you.”

Oh.

Your face falls. Of course. How cruel of you to play his game, knowing you’re setting him up to lose. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…”

“No, no. I’m not blaming you, I swear,” he quickly interjects. “It’s… not your fault one of us is a fool.” He smiles ruefully at nothing.

“It’s a shame,” you quietly admit.

And even then he can’t be mad at you. Not from the way he looks at you oh so tenderly. “It’s a real shame, love.”

There are no words, no more witty remarks. They’ve all been exhausted out of you. There’s nothing left to exchange but that soft look of resignation. Of defeat.

Of wishful thinking.

The cigarettes have long died out and forgotten, only the filters left between your fingers. Your ashes fall in a big chunk on the railing, while Art’s… have free-dived and dispersed in the muggy night air.

“I should go.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Let you go back to your party.”

Art can only nod. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself enough to not beg you to stay.

You reach out, almost pulling back, but you can’t help it. Even if it’s just a nothing hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

He covers your hand in his, just for a second. His thumb caressing the back of your hand. His heart is in pieces, but at least he will have this. If nothing else, he will still know how your hand feels in his.

And just as quickly as it happens, it ends. Art doesn’t dare watch you leave. He misses your touch instantly, and the sound of your footsteps, and the door opening and closing follows. As Al Green’s ‘What Am I Gonna Do With Myself’ plays on in the party, Art looks out towards the London sky and lights another cigarette.

[jayahult]

Not to get too intense about it, but I really do love a good retelling, but my criteria for good retellings are... not high, but perhaps more specific than they are for most people. If I had to make a list

A good retelling must understand the original text and its context. If one is retelling a Greek myth, you must understand not only the plot of the myth, but the author should also at least understand the intent behind the myth, both in charitable and uncharitable interpretations.

A good retelling must add something new by telling this story again. You can't just say that this is the same story... but in space! You have to know that the creation of a different context for a story fundamentally creates different themes and understandings, and take advantage of that. To go back to Greek myth, Hadestown is fundamentally a retelling of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. However, instead of solely focusing on Hades as a figure representing Death, Hadestown focuses on Hades as a patron of the wealthy, the lord of all wealth hidden beneath the earth as much as the bones that also lay there. The story is then reframed as not just the story of Orpheus and Eurydice but also of the story of an early 1900s company town wherein Hades is the exploitative boss. Orpheus is voice of the downtrodden, traveling to this place of the downtrodden and trying, in his own way, to affect some tiny bit of change. In what I'd consider one of the seminal songs in the musical, "If It's True," where his simple action of singing this question about whether this is the only way things have to be awakes the deadened workers and their collective force makes Hades respond.

A good retelling must stand on its own even if the audience is unfamiliar with other tellings. Knowing the original should enhance the experience, but it should not be necessary. Sorry to keep using musical examples, but The Tain by The Decemberists is still a great song with solid lyrics, even if they're abstracted from the original story of The Cattle Raid of Cooley. They change the lyrics to more modern ideas, with references to Charlemagne, cars, and so on, but the through-line of the story is very clearly there. The story even ends with a direct question to Medb - was all that really worth it?

I dunno where I was going with the rest of this, but those are my thoughts on the matter.