#make me his helicon

[ilredeiladri]

So, I was reading Caligula (by Camus) lately and I'm completely fascinated by the recurring theme of the moon and Caligula's longing for it.

Just, this!!:

"If I’d had the moon, if love were enough, all might have been different."

I can't 😭

Today, I came upon this picture of Christian Friedel:

I know, that it's from his (fantastic) production of Hamlet that I will probably love forever because it destroyed and healed my whole being, but you can't tell me that he doesn't look like the perfect Caligula in it.

[the--highlanders]

tbh the phantom piper is like. the epitome of how much some audios could benefit from directly acknowledging 6b rather than siphoning the plot off into 'two and jamie are travelling alone but we're not going to address it/we're going to throw in a mention to victoria being at graphology lessons so it's feasibly s5'

but if you think about it. the actual implanting of the shard into jamie's brain is quietly treated as quite horrifying?? the story makes a point of the fact that they needed 'two security guards and a sedative' to subdue him for the operation. he clearly didn't want this. and yet two's able to talk his way out of getting one himself. which begs the question of why two let jamie go through the process, and only spared himself. either you assume that two has deliberately enabled jamie to be implanted with the shard so he can study it (which is horrifying in and of itself, and if the author genuinely wanted to set the story in series 5, really begs for a callback to evil of the daleks and their newly rebuilt trust - but the story doesn't explore this avenue at all), or. two just let jamie have the operation for fun I guess. there's no explanation.

whereas if this was directly acknowledged as a 6b story. there's so much more scope there. jamie's already had his memory wiped once, so automatically the implications around the shard deleting memories feel way more personal. surely that's something that would strike home for him (rather than being quite chill and unconcerned about the whole thing for a lot of the narrative, as he is in the story, without a huge amount of attention paid to that being quite ooc). but then in terms of two's motivations, if he'd been sent by the cia to investigate the implants, and he actually had been forced to allow jamie to undergo the operation - that's potentially super interesting!! possibly for the first time they're each finding out first-hand just how risky working for the time lords could be for jamie!! the audio's themes of memory and consent just work /so well/ for 6b - and it can't play with that at all, because it doesn't fully acknowledge 6b itself.

[marley-manson]

Xena:WP for the ask meme!

Thank you 💖

my favorite female character

Xena man. Untoppable. There will never be another female character as satsfying and gratifying to watch as her - not just because I'm cynical but also because the kind of power fantasy she is is tied to the tone and genre of the show, which is functionally dead now.

I love that she's not just the best most competent warrior and person in the room almost every time, but that everyone acknowledges it, and by season 6 it's just taken as a fact of the worldbuilding that Xena is the best mortal fighter in the world and cannot be defeated. I love that she has an evil past and still slips into it at times, sometimes with actual fucked up results (fuck yeah the rift). Love that she does have the capacity to be a danger to Gabrielle and it's part of their relationship that they have to deal with. Love that she's toppy in her het encounters (but it's also implied sometimes Gabrielle doms and that's hot), and watsonianly at least it's for her own gratification rather than for the men, who are generally less into that dynamic.

Love her stoicism but also love that she loosens up eventually and can be goofy. Love that she loves fishing, loves fighting, loves fucking, all unabashedly. She has shame but it's for her past evil actions as a warlord, not for her intrinsic personality traits, even the ones that contributed to the warlording. Love her body language, how she fights as a power house sword and sourcery style warrior rather than as a lithe acrobat (though she can pull out the acrobatics too of course), how Lucy Lawless makes her feel larger than life. Love that she's bi and has multiple female love interests pre Gabrielle.

etc lol. I could go on forever.

my favorite male character

So few to choose from lol, so I think it's gotta be Ares. Some of his episodes make me cringe (Ties that Bind eg lol) and he often sucks, but he's consistently an entertaining villain, I love the frenemy vibe he eventually falls into with Xena, I don't dislike most of his shit in season 5, love his mortal episodes, love that he never gets together with Xena but don't mind shipping them a little on the side.

Caesar has also kinda grown on me this rewatch after not giving a fuck at all about him the first time I watched. His dynamic with Xena is interesting.

my favorite book/season/etc

I think season 2 is probably the best season, but despite some lows I think my favourite is actually season 4. It has a few of my favourite episodes (Paradise Found, Crusader, Ides of March) and I love the overarching theme of exploring Xena's darkness and saying it's great, actually.

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

God now this is impossible to choose. I've never fully thought about it lol. Have a list of some faves: A Day In the Life, The Price, The Debt, When in Rome, Crusader, Paradise Found, Ides of March, You Are There, To Helicon and Back

my favorite cast member

no opinion

my favorite ship

Xena/Gabrielle of course. They're one of those ships that's incredibly fun to watch to see how far they'll push the gay subtext, but also has extremely solid chemistry, a lot of drama and episodes revolving around their relationship and love for each other, and enough darkness and angst to be interesting. And the old fandom often actually leaned into the drama and darkness rather than ignoring it! Modern f/f fandom needs to learn from their elders tbh.

a character I’d die defending

I was gonna say Xena, but honestly I'm a lawyer for the prosecution there lol, I like to emphasize everything that makes her darker or evil, rather than exonerating her. My defense is 'she did all those things and it was awesome.'

Oh, Najara! I'll defend her to the death for sure, anyone who hates her is wrong, including whoever wrote her second episode lol.

a character I just can’t sympathize with

There are characters you're not supposed to sympathize with, like Alti who's just evil for the sake of evil lol, but that feels like cheating as an answer. Also Michael lol, love that he's a villain in season 6 and totally sucks. Can I say the God of Love in general lol? Fuck all that shit.

a character I grew to love

Joxer 😑 It took 4 whole seasons but I did eventually warm up to him enough that Livia (episode) made me sad lol. Love is a strong word but on rewatch I was fond of him and found him more funny than annoying.

my anti otp

Hmmm... Gabrielle/Joxer maybe?

ask meme

[girl4music]

This scene tears me apart. There’s so much rage in her that she wanted to extinguish with vengeance but the need for it only fuels her fury…

Of course Xena knows the signs all too well. And beating Gurkhan to an inch of his life was something she felt was necessary since she made the difficult decision of not slicing his throat initially.

What’s remarkable is how Xena hands her the dagger, fully trusting her to make the right decision…. Just as Gabrielle has always done for her. And once again, we see that role-reversal transition and transference in them. You could make the case that Xena never became like Gabrielle as much as Gabrielle became like Xena. But Xena became something of which Gabrielle always was for her once upon a time…

Her moral compass.

It is particularly startlingly evident at the end of ‘Helicon’ when Xena’s yell of her name forces Gabrielle to stop what she was doing when she had that young warrior at his knees - defenseless and terrified - and standing over him like he was her prey.

Yes, that is the true indication of their swap.. But this episode was tugging at the edges, leading up to that page of Gabrielle’s character development.

She did become Xena. And maybe not in the way she originally wished to be. But in the way Xena always knew was inevitable once she crossed the Rubicon.

[dragons-bones]

I'm looking at my current to-do list for Fallen London and feeling a bit like Charlie Day in the Pepito conspiracy scene with just how absolutely unhinged it looks:

hunt three Seven-Throated Warblers to steal three Hillmovers from their nests

pop out of Parabola and into the University Laboratory, do the experiment to raise Kataleptic Toxicology Studies to 2

stay at the lab to do analyze the False-Snake I picked up back during the railway extension to Jericho Locks, then extend that study in order to acquire a copy of A Complete Account of Toads, Frogs, and Other Croaking Beasts

stumble out of the lab, take the train to Ealing Gardens, and throw self into Helicon House to get Shapeling Studies to 2, then grind up Shapeling Arts so it's at unmodified 7

take the train back to London, fall into the Bone Market, badger best buddy the Bohemian Sculptress to make me some ivory femurs in exchange for all these Parabolan Orange-Apples I have

add some more joints to my current skeleton frame, stick the femurs on it, declare the abomination An Amphibian, and go sell it to Mrs Plenty for a disgusting amount of Hinterland Scrip which will hopefully cover most of my railway building needs for the next few station builds

think for half a minute about switching Ali's profession to Licentiate for free headless skeletons and just stick Bright Brass Skulls on them to sell to the Constable instead, but the Midnighter's bribery ability is currently too useful for me during Railway Board meetings to keep the Bishop of Saint Fiacre in line

is any of this efficient? probably not. do I care? also no.

also in the meantime as I wait for my reactions to refresh, I'm writing about how when the Clay Highwayman asked Ali if she would like to take a ride around his hideout on The Best Girl (AKA The Beast), she looked him dead in the instead and said, "I'd rather ride you," and this is how the highwaymen all discovered their seven-foot tall boss could, in fact, blush.

[twojamie-o-clock]

Okay so I know “The Jigsaw War” doesn’t actually take place during season 6B but IMAGINE IF IT DID it’s actually the perfect story hello

Rambling & spoilers below the cut

1. The Set Up

As a companion chronicles story, this is obviously very Jamie centric. The opening reminded me a lot of “death of the Daleks” where Jamie is being interrogated, alone, by a newcomer who presumed he knows everything about - that he’s an accomplice to - the Doctor. In both of these scenarios the Doctor represented the threat to these strangers, and Jamie the key to defeating that. Which is already very much Jamie being a tool for manipulating the Doctor, as emphasized at the end of “world game” where the doctor agreed to carry on working for the CIA if he was allowed Jamie’s company.

2. Jamie Working

The main plot of Jamie having to work things out on his own, for his own freedom and for the Doctor, feels a lot like it could be a trend in the CIA throwing him in the deep end with 2. It shows how independent and adaptive he’s grown since he started traveling with the Doctor, how he has picked up bit of his personality. This is also mentioned later when Jamie is though to have (in the future) attacked Moran and the Doctor insists that this is out of character for him because of who Jamie is and how he has changed.

The fact that the tasks Jamie has to fulfill/perform are time & puzzle based obviously adds to this, since he is jumping through time with disjointed memories and understanding. The Doctor is also for the most part off screen (?) because he is working on another aspect of the “threat” while Jamie is put to the test. So !! Hm !!

3. Jamie’s Faith

Jamie’s faith in the Doctor is of course put to the test but he still believes in him despite the risks. Obviously a big part of the recovery aspect of season 6B is jamie learning who the doctor is again and why he trusts him so much. In this audio he also risks many lives by putting this resolute faith in the Doctor. Also, because it’s told from Jamie’s perspective like, and because that’s just how the plot is moving, the whole story hinges on the Doctor’s judgment: who needs his help, who is the threat, and his way of understanding humans to a core—something the Time Lords despise but still very clearly need.

Another major part of the dialogue is the Doctor speaking through Jamie’s body because the “emotional connection” is “strong enough” where it would otherwise not have worked. So….I’ll leave that there.

4. CIA interventions & measures

His interrogators ask who the doctor is working for, automatically assuming that he is an agent. The conversation goes like:

Which of course is a very obvious nod to when the Doctor will eventually take orders - unless he is already taking them. The only disagreeing thing in the audio is that a) the tardis crash landed as per usual on the Unheld system and b) Zoe is allegedly traveling with them. However the “accidental” landing on the Unheld could very easily be another lie. And if this were to take place around helicon prime etc Jamie wouldn’t actually remember Zoe (btw I have not yet listened to beyond war games/James Robert mccrimmon so I might edit this later). But that the main idea is stitched events and memories being experience out of chronology….etc. Also Zoe doesn’t actually make an appearance in the audio - the Doctor mentions her helping him while he’s in Jamie’s mind, but because Jamie can hear him it’s very possible that could have been for his sake alone.

Anyway there’s my. False hope. (I originally started this because I was struggling where to order the jigsaw war on my spreadsheet. I did end up opting for this:

Simply because the s6b thing is more of a guess and I want this to be only slightly more accurate than that. What was stopping me from putting anything between twg/space pirates was that Jamie is wearing the same exact shirt so it seemed like they would connect but the idea of him going continuously into the final serial felt wrong so I just changed it now)

Okay thanks for reading!

[saving-word-crawls]

Nine Muses Crawl

By: MelusineDreams

Nine Muses Crawl

This has ten sprints or writing sections. You will pick a unit of time or words (or pages or lines) for each writing step. If you pick 1000 words, this crawl is good for a 10K day!

You pay a visit to the Valley of the Muses, an ancient Greek site on the eastern slopes of Mount Helicon, to draw inspiration for your story. Every five years, a festival was held here to honor the nine muses.

Step 1. You have journeyed long and are hot, tired, and thirsty, though you have traveled through the night and it is just now sunrise. You gaze back over the distance you have come, the rolling hills, grass arid and dry in the summer heat, clusters of green trees. At your feet, there is a small spring with sparkling, fresh water. You cup your hands and drink, then fill the vessel and refresh the large bundle of flowers you have carried with you. You enter the temple, leaving your pack and shoes outside the door, and find an altar where you place the flowers and pour the water in a hollow carved into the stone surface. “Make my offering worthy,” you ask. “Guide me in my creation.”

Where has your story meandered until now? What main themes have you carried forward? Which ideas or characters or subplots need to be dropped to advance your plot better? Which ones need to be intensified and expanded? Analyzing the changes to make and direction to take, brainstorm for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 2. You move from the cool interior of the temple outside to a platform holding a statue of the first muse, Kalliope [Calliope] - Epic Poetry. From time immemorial, since Homer wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, the long form of poetry, the epic, the novel has captivated us. Rosy-fingered dawn touches the statue of Kallipoe, illuminating her writing tablet and stylus, spreading her wisdom to your story. Write without stopping some of those scenes you analyzed and planned in step one, building your epic—sprint for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 3. Next you move to the statue of Kleio [Clio] – History. Her face is grave beneath her laurel wreath as she gazes down upon you. Every story has a setting in time as well as place, whether real or imagined. In what period does yours take place? Have you fully mined the richness of your story’s time? If in the past, did you bring in everything you intended from the story’s history that would advance its themes? If in the present, are there current events that have a bearing on your characters’ state of mind, the choices they make? If in the future, have you thoroughly imagined the aspects of civilization’s development—or downfall—that give your story its direction? If an imagined world of fantasy or fiction, have you created a rich enough past to anchor your story and make it feel real? Brainstorm and write scenes using the inspiration of Kleio for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 4, Melpomene – Tragedy. Replenishing your water at the spring once more, for the sun is rising higher in the sky, you hike through the valley until you reach the theater. Ancient marble seats form the first rows, while the slope of the mountain rises behind to accommodate more spectators for drama that might go on all day. The sun has moved overhead, and Phoebus now begins his descent.

You gaze down at the circle of the theater, imagining the works of Euripides, Sophocles, and Aeschylus, the catharsis for spectators weeping for Iphigenia, for Antigone. To capture the hearts of your readers, your story must draw on the power of Melpone, with riveting dialogue, tight plotting, and rousing action. She wears a mask of tragedy but also boots, and she carries a sword or a club! Take a moment to read or watch a scene of a favorite play or movie that is inspirational in some way to your story. Make the next scenes you write as strong as a tragedy, and sprint for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 5, Euterpe – Music, song, and lyric poetry. Sitting on the cool marble stone, you seem to hear distant pipes and timbrels. The spirit of Euterpe, blowing on her aulos, brushes softly against you. So much of writing is conscious, analytical, subject to planning, outlining, and editing—but stories also need the pure, unconscious inspiration of music. For your next scenes, pick a CD or playlist you love, or go to the Take a Song, Leave a Song or Song Chain Threads, and find a musical backdrop to sprint to for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 6, Erato – Love poetry. The sun is sinking now and rosy hues of sunset start to tinge the sky. Most of our stories have love of some kind—romantic, erotic, familial, friendship—or ecstasies and deliriums that share in love’s transport. Pick some favorite erotic or romantic poetry—Keats, e.e. cummings, Sappho, Sylvia Plath, Walt Whitman? Read a few poems. Without analyzing too much, turn to scenes between lovers or other scenes of love or ecstasy in your story, and write freely for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 7, Terpsikhore [Terpsichore] – Dance. You gaze down at the level circular center of the stage, the “orchestra” or “dancing place.” You can see Terpsikhore playing her lyre as she dances, leading a throng of happy celebrants in a wild, Dionysian dance! Writing is so sedentary and so solitary—don’t forget your body! Take a break, put on some favorite music, and dance as long as you like, till your breathing climbs, your heart pounds, your blood flows to your brain, and your energy is recharged.

Step 8, Ourania [Urania] – Astronomy. While you were dancing the evening away, the sun went to bed, and the moon and stars rose in the sky. In this wild setting far from any urban lights, you see vividly overhead the constellations, one of our early attempts to find patterns and make stories from the observed phenomena of nature. Cassopeia, Orion, Gemini wheel overhead.

Ourania holds a globe and a compass, showing our early attempts to make sense of celestial bodies, while later observers created increasingly sophisticated tools to discover the nature of the cosmos. Take a moment to think about scientific or mythological components of your story, perhaps some that treat our place in the universe or on this planet. Here’s a link to Greek myths and constellations:

Now write for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 9, Thaleia – Comedy. Gazing down into the theater, you see Thaleia cavorting with all kinds of shady and silly characters, drunks and satyrs and fauns and a man with a donkey’s head (hmm!) until a shepherd’s crook appears to pull them offstage. Stories need more than one mood or tone.

If your story is a comedy, you have already drawn on the inspiration of Thaleia and followed in the footsteps of Aristophanes. Think about which works, which artists, authors or comedians, made you want to pick this format for your story. What did you admire about their comedy? Is it just for the cathartic escape of laughter, which is certainly a worthy enough goal in itself? Or do you like comedy with a message, which uses humor to say things that might be too preachy or didactic or hostile in another format? Is your story meeting its full potential in this regard?

If your story is not a comedy, remember that we need all kinds of flavors and tones in our stories to maintain audience interest. An unrelieved tragedy or long, serious essay can be hard to tolerate, and the most devastating scenes have more impact if they are surrounded by moments of relief. Think about places your story could use humorous moments, even in conjunction with moments of great sorrow, anger, or fear. Write scenes employing humor, comic relief, satire, etc. for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 10, Polymnia/ Polyhymnia – Hymns. Under the starry skies and the full moon shining down to guide you, you make your way back over the rocky hillside to the temple of the muses. An oil lamp and candles now burn on the altar. Someone has arranged the flowers you brought into two lovely urns, and in a little room off to the side, you see rushes and blankets laid down on the floor, and another welcoming candle burning for you, the traveler, the visitor.

Polyhymnia’s statue is near the altar, decorated with a real veil and a bunch of grapes laid at her feet. Hymns express the voice of humans reaching and yearning towards something greater than ourselves—god or gods, spirit, community—and revering and celebrating this mystery. Your story is or someday may be your offering to the community. Is there a higher purpose your story serves or that characters in your story serve? Are there forces beyond the characters that direct their lives? Does your story celebrate in some way the beauty of creation, the mystery of human existence, the miracle and majesty of god or nature? If your story was a hymn to the things that matter most to you, what would it say? Write for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 11. You enter the little room that has been prepared for you by unseen hands. As we strive to give in our creation and to our fellow writers, so do we also receive gifts of encouragement, support, and inspiration. Think about all the other people and books whose gifts brought you to this place, who inspired you when you were younger or today, who supported your creativity, gave you time and space and encouragement, who gave you—gave all of us—incredible books and plays and films, shows, even little clips online. Take a moment to enjoy some of your inspirations and then write freely on your own project, in any way you desire, for your chosen unit of words or time.

Conclusion: Your writing is done—it is time to sleep now. Lay down your pen, take off your dusty clothes, and rest for a while. The bed of fresh rushes, the clean blankets, and sweet, restorative dreams await you. Tomorrow is another day.

[libidomechanica]

This way

And this and come to sympathize     with his eyebrows, once too higher into the General Markow,     Brigadier, and dawn with me!—Look at our worthiest;     and say: I mean to approach

their foes, I sketch your berries     in for eyes, in mine, and when brought! Had done. As closed, who, thus     could not. Or to burnish, and none: the shepheard my day, that     let me like life destroying

honey-combs bloom, and lay me     once the hues all, until, impatient dove of honour once     did not mute, I do, yet still it prospers; and to triumphal     arch, in her hand should

insanity of care the barren     rhymes. And wide more ground above me a new trickling her,     ere I court me, and the boy I fear! The big kids make a     shade, and round mind stellas

starch, perhaps was quite worn out of     bloodshot eyes brightness, nectarous cream embracements warm     in her faces through rarely, when the marble Muse expounds     of any rose sudden,

far better has more cruel are. So     while thou wast bignes burn’d, since my heart. Glares ruin, under     past that Paradise; and tell her, Swallow, good to me     remorselesse ware; thou hast

decrees I, forc’d fingers. Till the     lasting froze to see my phrases and daub his Visage without     thee to the silvery hear, I heard Heaven, and mishap     hath weary, sir; but

for us, but she lent mysterious,     now filling to cure is no trace of thy darte, while     courteous springs o’er a woundest within his feet of     human Hydra, issuing

Shah to whom those same world with     a smile, or want to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,     no, no. And never came: he took upon the storm, hope and     so that I am not,

nor lies that loss to assuage, i,     that made it keeps your old frieze, and since they thing but—Wine. And     victory, and make, with hindward fever one all day from forth     his lips breath? Does there rose,

in babble and purging fire, into     my sad hear a noise of her mouths! A brooks, not vassals     to sing, on that never be some wise star, I paced are. Yet     am I richer faces

of Love and felt the love is     on the milk, in the daughter tickle. And sharpest painings     and the strange, least break so great Hunter and oh blood, and the     great Homer’s Helicon!

[quicksulphur-quill]

Narrative Psychology

Bruno Bettelheim has become a notorious figure. He was the worst combination of misguided and authoritative at the time (1967) that he was publishing his writings about autism. Different sources that I have looked up cannot seem to decide if Bettelheim had truly suffered in and survived a concentration camp as he claimed. Finally, his writings about the psychological value of fairy tales are allegedly plagiarized by him from Julius E. Heuscher's "A Psychiatric Study of Fairy Tales" (1963 publication, revised in 1974).

It remains the following case, whether it was originally Heuscher's or Bettelheim's, that my mind keeps going back to whenever I endeavor to analyze fiction media—because it still rings so true to me:

In Rapunzel we learn that the enchantress locked Rapunzel into the tower when she reached the age of twelve. Thus, hers is likewise the story of a pubertal girl, and of a jealous mother who tries to prevent her from gaining independence—a typical adolescent problem which finds a happy solution when Rapunzel becomes reunited with her prince. But one five-year-old boy gained quite a different reassurance from this story. When he learned from his grandmother, who took care of him most of the day, would have to go to the hospital because of serious illness—his mother was working all day, and there was no father in the home—he asked to be read the story of Rapunzel.

At this critical time in his life, two elements of the tale were important to him. First, there was the security from all dangers in which the substitute mother kept the child, an idea which greatly appealed to him at that moment. So what normally as a representation of negative, selfish behavior was capable of having a most reassuring meaning under specific circumstances. And even more important to the boy was another central motif of the story: that Rapunzel found the means of escaping her predicament in her own body—the tresses upon which the prince climbed up to her room in the tower. That one's body can provide a lifeline reassured him that, if necessary, he would similarly find in his own body the source of his security. This shows that a fairy tale—because it addresses itself in the most imaginative form to essential human problems, and does so in an indirect way—can have much to offer to a little boy even if the story's heroine is an adolescent girl. These examples may help to counteract any impression made by my concentration here on a story's main motifs, and demonstrate that fairy tales have great psychological meaning for children of all ages (...) irrespective of the age [and gender] of the story's hero.

As a layperson only qualified by liking to read and write fiction, I like analyzing fiction. I like to pinpoint and map its forms, the techniques made use of within the medium, the intention of the author or collaborators, and observe how that meaning changes in the context of different audiences.

What I find does get lost in all that analysis, though, is each person's relationship to the work having a more complicated and interesting reason for it—that cannot reliably be judged on sight by what someone has a fiction-media interaction with. It's not even automatically my business, and of course I'm going to judge harmful patterns of behavior harshly—but I find a collective forgetting of a crucial idea: to approach with curiosity a difference in interpretation of a fictional work is sometimes worth a try.

Now let's make a drinking game of future posts getting hashtagged with "this is not one of those worthwhile times, holy helicon what a bad take" and "i am telling on you to my therapist".

[astoryinred]

Remind them to drink water + NOT A LES MIS SHIP, AND GOOOO!

A/N: Well since we all watched the same thing this weekend...

A Long Way Home

"Would you want a drink of water before we go?"

Morpheus stops in his tracks, halfway down the stairs of Madoc's house. He turns to look at Calliope with an expression that is both bemused and just the slightest bit of mirthful. "That will not be necessary," he says seriously.

"It is a long way back to your realm, Oneiros," Calliope replies. Really, it is the least she could do for him, after his having come all this way to rescue her, punish her captor, and rescind that punishment as per her request. 'But it's the way things have always been too,' she tells herself as she also descends the stairs.

Nevertheless the Lord of Dreams seems to swallow hard when she passes by him, with her hand only a finger's breadth away from his. "Did that...man ever let you into his kitchen?" he asks.

"Only on his command," the Muse explains. Dealing with Madoc's peculiar, almost obsessive eating habits during his writing binges was definitely the least of her problems throughout her time in this house. But now she's come to realize that the writer's penchant for consuming everything less than healthful was already an early symptom of what drove him to keep her captive. 'Always, always looking for something to fill,' she thinks as she and Morpheus make their way to the refrigerator in the kitchen corner. It seems to be the way of nearly all the men she's encountered, not just Erasmus Fry and Richard Madoc. Not even her own son Orpheus, or his father, are that much different.

Calliope wordlessly fills a glass of water first for Morpheus, then herself. For the first time in so many years, the water at her lips tastes almost as sweet as the streams of Mount Helicon, and once again she can almost see that place in her mind. All the more she is sure now that the bonds on her have fallen away, and she is indeed free to just be. She waits for Morpheus to finish drinking before speaking again. "Will you go to Naxos soon?" she asks.

Morpheus almost slams down his glass. "Do not ask of that of me."

"I am not asking you, I am only asking if you will," Calliope says.

"I do not see a reason to," Morpheus replies, his voice more slow than curt. He puts his glass, and hers, in the dusty kitchen sink before looking at her more steadily. "Will you go there too?"

"Yes, in short order," Calliope says more wryly. "But I won't go there straight away."

"Mount Helicon then?"

"Yes. I want to see my sisters first."

The mention of sisters makes Morpheus blanch slightly -- if such a thing is even possible given his perpetual pallor. "I wish you well on your journey then," he mutters. He nods to the kitchen door. "I will make sure your passage out of here is unhindered."

"Thank you Oneiros, but I will see my way out," Calliope says gently but firmly. Yet she allows herself a smile for him before stepping out of the house that has been her prison all these years. It is the least she can do, knowing already that this will be their last meeting in this time.

[the--highlanders]

I hope you don't mind me asking but what are your favourite Jamie EU stories?

oh my god not at all, I never mind being asked about my favourite little guy <33

I'm gonna break this down by media type, but there's some parts of the eu like comics that I'm not super familiar with, so if anyone wants to add some of those on (or any other eu stories) then go ahead!!

putting this under a cut because it got LONG rip

big finish

the jigsaw war

jamie is trapped inside a puzzle, experiencing events out of order, and has to figure out how to escape. this is THE audio for me in terms of like. recognising that jamie isn't stupid just because he comes from the eighteenth century. he really gets to shine on his own rather than being relegated to 'dumb exposition prompter' (which I feel like some audios can be kinda guilty of.....) also the fact that two and jamie canonically have a strong enough connection to form a psychic link over long distances makes me chew through glass. this audio GETS it in a way some others just don't.

the glorious revolution

two, jamie, and zoe travel back to the time of the glorious revolution, the event that set the jacobite cause in motion, and jamie grapples with not being able to change the past. if you saw that audio snippet going around a couple days ago you'll have an idea of why I'm reccing this one. it has been a while since I've listened to it & I do really want to relisten and check it out for historical accuracy. but regardless it's another one that gives jamie some of the depth he deserves, this time in terms of emotional depth and his feelings about his backstory.

the selachian gambit

two, jamie, ben, and polly get caught in the middle of an alien bank heist. this one is pretty focused on ben, polly, and jamie as a trio - they're largely taking on the action while two keeps the detective work of the plot chugging along. jamie doesn't hugely stand out here in terms of the audio really adding something to his character, but it does show his dynamic with ben and polly pretty well. in particular there's some great scenes with him and ben working together, and I love their friendship a lot so that's always a good time.

honourable mentions: helicon prime (I do feel this one underutilises jamie a bit and undersells him in some weird ways, but if you're looking for two/jamie content you can't get much gayer than this. plus it's the origin of the whole 'jamie and kirsty get married' thing which I hate on principle & am obsessed with in practice), the phantom piper (it's got so much more potential than it gives imo but the tidbits that we get are so good. jamie's relationship with his grandparents.... his best friend taking a bullet for him and dying in his arms...... I just wish I could explain to the author that there's no such thing as a bedroom door in a blackhouse)

novels

the roundheads

two, jamie, ben, and polly travel back to the 1600s, and get largely split up by events unfolding around them. this is a pure historical and it delights in that. if you're after ben and polly content, the roundheads delivers on that too - but it really is some great early twojamie content. (whatever way you choose to read them - it's definitely a shippable book if you're into that). they spend the majority of the book together, both for plot reasons and just hanging out (they go to a frost fair!! two buys jamie treats and then makes himself a flower crown!!) and you get a great sense of jamie figuring two out early into his travels, and how he's far more interested in the doctor as a person than some other companions - he's the only one to show interest in susan when the doctor namedrops her, for instance. this is the best two-era book to me.

the wheel of ice

two, jamie, and zoe visit a space station built a little before zoe's time, and find that not everything is as it seems. again, this is a great one for zoe content as well as anything else, and for some very sweet moments with zoe and two. I don't necessarily feel this one always nails two and jamie's dynamic, but they don't spend a massive amount of time together here, so it's not too jarring. really I'm reccing this because of the scenes where jamie falls in with a bunch of teenagers from the space station, and finds himself kind of responsible for them. it's just nicely done and gives a good sense of jamie as a caretaker character and someone who feels a drive to be responsible for other people.

honourable mention: the episode novelisations (these are a lot of fun, especially if you have particular episodes you enjoy. they often add in extra details, background for side characters, or just little things from the episodes that were cut from the script. I really like them for adding a bit more depth and life to existing stories, and just little things that make you go 'yeah I'll add that to my belief system').

short stories

the time eater/across silent seas

two and jamie give a massive time-eating creature a funeral, and save a space whale from being turned into a weapon. both from the compilation destination prague. literally nobody gets me like the destination prague stories get me I'm not even kidding. these are THE eu two stories to me. both of these are arguably 6b, and they really work in that position - both in showing two and jamie with a very settled, devoted dynamic and in their themes and subject matter. the time eater is a story with no villain, and even the incidental threat of the dying creature causing havoc in time is secondary to the emotional keystone of jamie helping two accept death rather than running away. across silent seas has jamie nearly being aged to death and two absolutely losing it. they're both really about age and death and loss, which hits hard for 6b, with jamie's determination to stay with two forever and two's growing realisation that even if jamie doesn't choose to leave or survives their adventures, his lifespan is still going to be far shorter.

the age of ambition

two, jamie, and victoria land at the house of one of victoria's father's friends, only to find he has been trying to reanimate the dead. from the compilation life sciences. this is really a victoria story, probably the defining victoria story for me. it's got backstory, it's got gothic horror/victorian scientific ambition vibes in a similar way to evil of the daleks, it's got victoria character moments. but it's also a really crucial story for jamie, to me. as a character, I don't think jamie never quite forms into the brawny action man stereotype he was originally drafted as - and that's one of the things I love most about him. again he's too much of a caretaker, he's a piper rather than a soldier. he's rarely truly angry, even when he fights he never seems out to cause much actual harm, and you get the sense his protectiveness over his friends wars with this almost inability to do harm. the age of ambition GETS that and pushes it to the extreme, with jamie being unable to fire a killing shot to save his friends, to the point where victoria has to do it herself. it's such a compelling character moment for both of them and their dynamic.

on a pedestal

two, jamie, and victoria travel back to meet william wallace, who jamie idolises. from the compilation the quality of leadership. this is another one that really gets and hones in on a particular nuance of jamie's character - in this case, the strength and rigidity of his morals and sense of responsibility, and his dislike of people who fall short of that. he's faced with the fact that someone he admires was once careless, lax about taking responsibility for their actions even when other people are at risk, and just a bit childish. it shakes him, and he spends much of the story grappling with that. it's such a good look into the qualities that jamie admires versus the ones that he can't stand. but that's balanced out with some very sweet moments (the whole scene with two, jamie, and william wallace going fishing is very fun and again gives a nice little snapshot of two and jamie having this very settled, secure dynamic). AND jamie gets recognised as a basically supernaturally gifted piper which. love to see jamie actually getting to be a musician, love to see him piping without it being the butt of a 'bagpipes suck and everyone hates them' joke.

honourable mentions: that which went away (this is the 'jamie turns into a bear' story I'm always talking about. I do think it has some major issues in terms of weird primitivism, both in terms of the side characters and how it treats jamie, but also. jamie turns into a bear. and two begging him to come back to him is just *chefs kiss*), undercurrents (two vanishes from the tardis and another man mysteriously appears. jamie believes this newcomer has done something to harm two, and very nearly kills him for it. this is one of the few moments where jamie gets really, properly angry and is willing to actually cause harm and I LOVE to see him pushed past the breaking point of his usual moral code), the slave war (two, jamie, ben, and polly in the roman empire. also really good for ben and polly content, but there's some interesting stuff with jamie grappling with the idea of becoming involved in another rebellion, but ending up getting involved anyway)

[zmaragdos]

Pridie Nonae Aprilis | April 4th

Three times the sky turns on its eternal axis. Titan, the sun, three times harnesses and three times releases his horses.

Let’s keep going: a foreign flute made of curving horn will be played, and the Festival of the Trojan Mother will start. The Castrated Priests process and they beat hollow drums, their clashing copper cymbals make the air ring: the Mistress herself will be carried, sitting, on the weak necks of her attendants. They howl and scream as they march through the city streets.

The stage resounds, the games are calling you, go watch, Romans! Let the garrulous Forum be deserted by Mars Himself. It pleases the crowd to seek these pastimes, but the noise of the high-pitched air, that terrible sound from the curved reed flutes, terrifies me.

“Give to me, Goddess, those who I might consult.”

Venus considers her learnèd granddaughters, and commands them to address my questions: “Explain, you who are entrusted with remembering, Pupils of the Helicon, why the Great Goddess delights to hear such incessant noise.” And so, Erato and I return to that Venusian month, which has the name of Tender Love: “This fortune was given to Saturn: ‘Best of Tyrants, you will be driven from your Kingdom by your son.’ The fearful one devoured his own children, plunging them into his guts and holding them hostage. Rhea is always in mourning, so often pregnant yet never a mother. She curses her own fertility. Then Jupiter was born (antiquity is believed instead of a great eyewitness; stop changing the accepted truth.) The hidden rock in swaddling clothes settled in the gut of the Celestial: and so the father was ensnared in his fate.

“Immediately steep Mt. Ida echoed with ringing and noise, so that the baby might remain hidden, even when crying with his infant mouth. Part of his caretakers struck bronze shields with sticks, and the other part hit empty helmets: these caretakers and the Priests of Cybele do the same work. The baby escaped notice, and the imitations of the prior deed remain to this day: the attendants of the Goddess clash castanets and beat loud, leather drums, striking cymbals instead of helmets, drums instead of shields. The flute plays Trojan tunes, as they had been played long ago.” She finishes.

I begin: “Why do they depict her with the fierce species of lion, whose manes are unaccustomed to be yoked together?” I stop.

She starts: “It is believed that wildness is tamed through her; it seems true given the visual testimony of her own chariot.”

“But why is her head overloaded with a crown made of towers? Did she give towers to the first cities?”

Erato nods: “They come from her.”

I ask: “Where does the impulse to cut off their own cocks come from?”

When I am silent, the Muse begins to speak: “Long ago, there was a Trojan boy among the trees of the forest, remarkably beautiful. Attis was bound by a holy love to the Goddess Crowned with Towers. She wanted to keep him for Herself, so that he would protect Her temple, and so She said: ‘You must always want to remain a boy-virgin.’ He gives a guarantee in response to her command: ‘If I should lie, let Venus, who I failed, be my last lover.’

“He failed her, and lost himself in the nymph Sagaritis. It was what it was: for this reason the anger of the Goddess demanded punishment. The Mistress mowed down that Naiad in her tree-form and from those inflicted wounds, she died: the tree-form of the Naiad was doomed. Attis went crazy, and believing the ceiling of his rooms to be falling down, he fled, seeking the summit of Mt. Dindymon by running. Occasionally he would shout: ‘Raise the torches!’ and sometimes: ‘Stop the flogging!’ Frequently he swore that the local Goddess was present.

“He mangled his own body with sharp rocks, and he dragged his long hair in the filthy dirt, crying: ‘I deserve this! I surrender to my deserved punishment with my blood! Ah! Let these parts die, which so harmed me! Oh, let them die.’ He spoke to this point, then sliced off the burden of his dick, and suddenly, there was no sign left of a man.

“Their madness comes as an imitation, and so the emasculated attendants cut off their worthless cocks while tossing their hair.” With such a tale, and with the eloquent speech of a Heliconian Muse, she gave the reason for the madness I investigate.

“Might you instruct me, my Literary Guide, I beg you, on this, too: from where does the object of my questions come? Surely She has not always been in our City?”

“Mother always loved Mt. Dindymon, both Mt. Cybele and Mt. Ida, with Her source waters. She always loved Trojan strength: after Troy, Aeneas would have carried Her into Italian lands. The Goddess nearly followed on the boat carrying his Holy Things. But She had not yet felt the need to demand her Divine Will by Oracles to the Romans, and so She remained in Her original place.

“Then, when Rome was full of power and wealth, by now She had seen five centuries and lifted Her head over Her conquered world, the Priest inspected the fateful words of foreign Prophesy; such Oracles brought this news:

“‘Mother is away: I order you to seek Mother, Roman. When She arrives, She must be received by Holy Hands.’

“The Senators quibbled over the enigma of the obscure Prophesy; what Parent could be away? In what place must their seek Her? Apollo was consulted, and the God told them: ‘Go fetch Mother, She must be found on the summit of Mt. Ida.’

“Aristocrat-diplomats were sent. At that time, King Attalus held the scepter of Troy. He rejected the quest of the Italian men, but, let me rhapsodize about a miracle: the Earth shook with long rumbles and immediately after the Goddess spoke from Her sanctuary: ‘I myself want to be sought. Let there be no delay, send what I desire. Rome is a worthy place, to which the God of All might go.’

“The King quaked in fear at the noise.

“‘You all can proceed,’ he said. 'You will be part of us: Rome is brought back into Trojan ancestry.’

“Right away countless axes felled the pines, which Religious Aeneas had also used to flee. One thousand hands worked in tandem, and the hollow ship was painted with encaustic colors, holding the Mother of the Heavens. She was carried safely through the same waterways as Her son; She sailed near the vast swamp of Her foreign sister, and crossed both Troy’s greedy promontory and its stuck-out coast, both the little island and the one that held the former Kingdom of Eetion. They welcome the Cyclades, leaving Lesbos behind their back. What waves shatter in the Isle of Marble’s shallows! And She crosses the sea where Icarus drowned when he destroyed his gliding wings, and gave his name to the desolate water. Then, at the left is Crete, to the right the homelands of Pelops lift out of the waves, and She seeks Cythera, sacred to Venus. From here they reach the Sicilian Sea, where Brontes, Steropes, and Acmonides (Cyclopes) usually dip their iron, white hot from the forge. She traverses the African Sea, looking at the Sardinian Kingdom to her left; and finally they head for Italy, using the oars.

“She had reached Ostia, where the Tiber dissolves itself into the Sea and flows into the Open Ocean. Every Knight and influential Senator, alongside a dense crowd, came, looking at the mouth of the Tuscan River. As one, mothers, daughters, and brides processed, each cherished the Holy Hearth by keeping their chastity. The men tired their busy arms with tight rigging and ropes: with difficulty the foreign ship entered upstream waters. For a long time the ground had been parched, drought burning the grasses and herbs: the ship sat sinking into the muddy shallows.

“Everyone was present for the ordeal, working extra hard for their part, helping with strong hands and celebratory voices, just as the ferryboat stuck fast, sitting on an island in the middle of the river. The shocked men just stood there, afraid of the portent.

“Claudia Quinta, her family descended from the noble Claudian line (her beauty was not unequal to her nobility!), was indeed chaste, but was not believed. Unfair Rumor had hurt her, she was a defendant in a public trial of false accusation. She walked against the crowd to push forward, beautifully dressed and with diversely embellished hair, a speech ready at hand against the strict Senators. The knowledge of her innocence laughed at the well-known lie of Rumor; but we, the credulous crowd, are at fault.

“When she emerged from the procession of Chaste Mothers, she drank the pure water of the river with her hands, spilling it three times on her head, each time raising her palms to the sky (everyone that saw this thought she had lost her mind). On humble knees she fastened her gaze on the image of the Goddess and she spoke these words: ‘Kindly, Fertile Mother of the Gods, of Your suppliant, accept these prayers on a certain term: I am denied innocence. If You condemn me, I will admit to deserving it. May I, having been defeated, undergo punishment by death, by judge, by Goddess. But if there is no guilt, You will give confirmation, by Your actions, of my innocence. The Chaste Goddess will follow my Clean Hands!’ She said this, and with little effort dragged the rigging (a Miracle! But I vouch for it publicly.) The Goddess was moved, and followed Her leader, and showed Her approval by following. The Witness of Joy was hauled up and a shout was sent to the stars!

“They came to a bend in the river. Our forefathers say it was the Forecourt of the Tiber, where the river turns away to the left. Night was present: so they tied up the rigging to an oak stump and they gave food and easy sleep to their overworked bodies. Daylight was present: they loosened the rigging from the oak stump, however, before they did so, they set out an altar and burned incense. In front of this, they garlanded the stern of the ship and sacrificed a heifer without blemish, ignorant of work or sex.

“There is a place, where the slippery Almo flows into the Tiber, and the little stream destroys His name in the big river. There, a white-haired priest with a purple-red outfit bathed the Mistress and her Holy Items in the waters of the Almo. His attendants howled and screamed, and the frantic flute was blown, and emasculated hands struck bull-leather drums. Claudia, the most honored and famous, led the crowd, her face beaming. After such difficulty, at long last, her innocence was believed by the witnesses, by the Goddess; who Herself was seated on a wagon, as She was brought in through the Northern gate. Fresh flowers were strewn over the yoked cows that pulled Her. Nasica (a line of the Scipio clan) brought Her in, though the actual name of the founder of the temple did not stand the test of time. Now it is Augustus, before it was Metellus.”

Here Erato stopped, and a pause arose, so I asked the rest of my questions:

“Tell me,” I said. “Why might She seek wealth by small donations?”

“The people gathered their pennies, thanks to which Metellus was able to build Her Temples,” she replied. “The custom of devoting donations has continued ever since.”

“Why might everyone attend banquets, having exchanged letters and invitations,” I ask. “At this time more than others? Why might they frequent publicized feasts?”

“Because luckily the Priests changed Her home,” she said. “Guests chase the same luck by changing houses.”

I press on: “Why might the First Games start with the Megalesia in Our City?”

Since the Goddess in fact felt my question coming, she answered: “She gave birth to the Gods, they yield to Her, and Mother has been given the honor of the Beginning.”

“Why then do we call those who raze themselves Galli, when Gallic ground is so distant from Troy?”

“Between,” she said. “Verdant Mt. Cybele and the high Celaenan peaks flows a river from a frantic spring, by the name ‘Gallus’. Those who drink from there go insane. Stay far from here, you who are anxious about your sane mind: those who drink from there go insane.”

“He is not ashamed to devote,” I said. “A herbaceous salad for the Mistress of the month. Perhaps Her own reasons underlie this?”

“It is said the Ancients enjoyed undiluted milk and herbs voluntarily and on their own if the land was producing something,” she replied. “White cheese is combined with crushed herbs, so that the Ancient Goddess might recognize ancient foods.”

—

Ter sine perpetuo caelum versetur in axe,

ter iungat Titan terque resolvat equos,

protinus inflexo Berecyntia tibia cornu

flabit, et Idaeae festa parentis erunt.

ibunt semimares et inania tympana tundent,

aeraque tinnitus aere repulsa dabunt:

ipsa sedens molli comitum cervice feretur

urbis per medias exululata vias.

scaena sonat, ludi que vocant, spectate, Quirites,

et fora Marte suo litigiosa vacent,

quaerere multa libet, sed me sonus aeris acuti

terret et horrendo lotos adunca sono.

‘da, dea, quem sciter.’ doctas Cybeleia neptes

vidit et has curae iussit adesse meae.

‘pandite, mandati memores, Heliconis alumnae,

gaudeat assiduo cur dea Magna sono.’

sic ego, sic Erato (mensis Cythereius illi

cessit, quod teneri nomen amoris habet):

‘reddita Saturno sors haec erat, ‘optime regum,

a nato sceptris excutiere tuis.’

ille suam metuens, ut quaeque erat edita, prolem

devorat, immersam visceribusque tenet.

saepe Rhea questa est, totiens fecunda nec umquam

mater, et indoluit fertilitate sua.

Iuppiter ortus erat (pro magno teste vetustas

creditur; acceptam parce movere fidem):

veste latens saxum caelesti gutture sedit:

sic genitor fatis decipiendus erat.

ardua iamdudum resonat tinnitibus Ide,

tutus ut infanti vagiat ore puer.

pars clipeos rudibus, galeas pars tundit inanes:

hoc Curetes habent, hoc Corybantes opus.

res latuit, priscique manent imitamina facti;

aera deae comites raucaque terga movent,

cymbala pro galeis, pro scutis tympana pulsant;

tibia dat Phrygios, ut dedit ante, modos.’

desierat. coepi: ‘cur huic genus acre leonum

praebent insolitas ad iuga curva iubas?’

desieram. coepit: ‘feritas mollita per illam

creditur; id curru testificata suo est.’

‘at cur turrifera caput est onerata corona?

an primis turres urbibus illa dedit?’

annuit. ‘unde venit’ dixi ‘sua membra secandi

impetus?’ ut tacui, Pieris orsa loqui:

‘Phryx puer in silvis, facie spectabilis, Attis

turrigeram casto vinxit amore deam.

hunc sibi servari voluit, sua templa tueri,

et dixit ‘semper fac puer esse velis.’

ille fidem iussis dedit et ‘si mentiar,’ inquit

‘ultima, qua fallam, sit Venus illa mihi.’

fallit et in nympha Sagaritide desinit esse

quod fuit: hinc poenas exigit ira deae.

Naida volneribus succidit in arbore factis,

illa perit: fatum Naidos arbor erat.

hic furit et credens thalami procumbere tectum

effugit et cursu Dindyma summa petit

et modo ‘tolle faces!’‘remove’ modo ‘verbera!’ clamat;

saepe Palaestinas iurat adesse deas.

ille etiam saxo corpus laniavit acuto,

longaque in immundo pulvere tracta coma est,

voxque fuit ‘merui! meritas do sanguine poenas.

a! pereant partes, quae nocuere mihi!

a! pereant’ dicebat adhuc, onus inguinis aufert,

nullaque sunt subito signa relicta viri.

venit in exemplum furor hic, mollesque ministri

caedunt iactatis vilia membra comis.’

talibus Aoniae facunda voce Camenae

reddita quaesiti causa furoris erat.

‘hoc quoque, dux operis, moneas, precor, unde petita

venerit, an nostra semper in urbe fuit?’

‘Dindymon et Cybelen et amoenam fontibus Iden

semper et Iliacas Mater amavit opes:

cum Troiam Aeneas Italos portaret in agros,

est dea sacriferas paene secuta rates,

sed nondum fatis Latio sua numina posci

senserat, adsuetis substiteratque locis.

post, ut Roma potens opibus iam saecula quinque

vidit et edomito sustulit orbe caput,

carminis Euboici fatalia verba sacerdos

inspicit; inspectum tale fuisse ferunt:

‘mater abest: matrem iubeo, Romane, requiras.

cum veniet, casta est accipienda manu.

‘obscurae sortis patres ambagibus errant,

quaeve parens absit, quove petenda loco.

consulitur Paean,’ divum ‘que arcessite Matrem,’

inquit ‘in Idaeo est invenienda iugo.’

mittuntur proceres. Phrygiae tunc sceptra tenebat

Attalus: Ausoniis rem negat ille viris,

mira canam, longo tremuit cum murmure tellus,

et sic est adytis diva locuta suis:

ipsa peti volui, nec sit mora, mitte volentem.

dignus Roma locus, quo deus omnis eat.’

ille soni terrore pavens ‘proficiscere,’ dixit

‘nostra eris: in Phrygios Roma refertur avos.’

protinus innumerae caedunt pineta secures

illa, quibus fugiens Phryx pius usus erat:

mille manus coeunt, et picta coloribus ustis

caelestum Matrem concava puppis habet,

illa sui per aquas fertur tutissima nati

longaque Phrixeae stagna sororis adit

Rhoeteumque rapax Sigeaque litora transit

et Tenedum et veteres Eetionis opes.

Cyclades excipiunt, Lesbo post terga relicta,

quaeque Carysteis frangitur unda vadis.

transit et Icarium, lapsas ubi perdidit alas

Icarus et vastae nomina fecit aquae.

tum laeva Creten, dextra Pelopeidas undas

deserit et Veneris sacra Cythera petit,

hinc mare Trinacrium, candens ubi tinguere ferrum

Brontes et Steropes Acmonidesque solent,

aequoraque Afra legit Sardoaque regna sinistris

respicit a remis Ausoniamque tenet.

Ostia contigerat, qua se Tiberinus in altum

dividit et campo liberiore natat:

omnis eques mixtaque gravis cum plebe senatus

obvius ad Tusci fluminis ora venit.

procedunt pariter matres nataeque nurusque

quaeque colunt sanctos virginitate focos,

sedula fune viri contento brachia lassant:

vix subit adversas hospita navis aquas,

sicca diu fuerat tellus, sitis usserat herbas:

sedit limoso pressa carina vado.

quisquis adest operi, plus quam pro parte laborat,

adiuvat et fortis voce sonante manus,

illa velut medio stabilis sedet insula ponto:

attoniti monstro stantque paventque viri.

Claudia Quinta genus Clauso referebat ab alto,

nec facies impar nobilitate fuit:

casta quidem, sed non et credita: rumor iniquus

laeserat, et falsi criminis acta rea est;

cultus et ornatis varie prodisse capillis

obfuit, ad rigidos promptaque lingua senes,

conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit,

sed nos in vitium credula turba sumus,

haec ubi castarum processit ab agmine matrum

et manibus puram fluminis hausit aquam,

ter caput inrorat, ter tollit in aethera palmas (

quicumque aspiciunt, mente carere putant)

summissoque genu voltus in imagine divae

figit et hos edit crine iacente sonos:

‘supplicis, alma, tuae, genetrix fecunda deorum,

accipe sub certa condicione preces.

casta negor. si tu damnas, meruisse fatebor;

morte luam poenas iudice victa dea.

sed si crimen abest, tu nostrae pignora vitae

re dabis et castas casta sequere manus.’

dixit et exiguo funem conamine traxit (

mira, sed et scaena testificata loquar):

mota dea est sequiturque ducem laudatque sequendo:

index laetitiae fertur ad astra sonus,

fluminis ad flexum veniunt (Tiberina priores

atria dixerunt), unde sinister abit.

nox aderat: querno religant in stipite funem

dantque levi somno corpora functa cibo.

lux aderat: querno solvunt a stipite funem;

ante tamen posito tura dedere foco,

ante coronarunt puppem et sine labe iuvencam

mactarunt operum coniugiique rudem,

est locus, in Tiberim qua lubricus influit Almo

et nomen magno perdit in amne minor:

illic purpurea canus cum veste sacerdos

Almonis dominam sacraque lavit aquis,

exululant comites, furiosaque tibia flatur,

et feriunt molles taurea terga manus.

Claudia praecedit laeto celeberrima voltu,

credita vix tandem teste pudica dea;

ipsa sedens plaustro porta est invecta Capena:

sparguntur iunctae flore recente boves.

Nasica accepit, templi non perstitit auctor:

Augustus nunc est, ante Metellus erat.’

substitit hic Erato, mora fit; sic cetera quaero:

‘dic,’ inquam ‘parva cur stipe quaerat opes.’

‘contulit aes populus, de quo delubra Metellus

fecit,’ ait ‘dandae mos stipis inde manet.’

cur vicibus factis ineant convivia, quaero,

tunc magis, indictas concelebrentque dapes

‘quod bene mutant sedem Berecyntia,’ dixit

‘captant mutatis sedibus omen idem.’

institeram, quare primi Megalesia ludi

urbe forent nostra, cum dea (sensit enim)

‘illa deos’ inquit ‘peperit, cessere parenti,

principiumque dati Mater honoris habet.’

‘cur igitur Gallos, qui se excidere, vocamus,

cum tanto a Phrygia Gallica distet humus?’

‘inter’ ait ‘viridem Cybelen altasque Celaenas

amnis it insana, nomine Gallus, aqua.

qui bibit inde furit: procul hinc discedite, quis est

cura bonae mentis: qui bibit inde, furit.’,

‘non pudet herbosum’ dixi ‘posuisse moretum

in dominae mensis, an sua causa subest?’

‘lacte mero veteres usi narrantur et herbis,

sponte sua si quas terra ferebat’ ait.

‘candidus elisae miscetur caseus herbae,

cognoscat priscos ut dea prisca cibos.’

—

P. Ovidius Naso, “Fastorum Libri Sex,” Lib. IV 179-373

translated by @zmaragdos

[derangedrhythms]

Any quotes about flying? Whether it's normal flying or mythological creatures like dragons and humans with wings aka harpies. Thank you 💜 I adore your blog. Your aesthetics are to die for.

That’s incredibly kind of you, thank you 🖤

"We ate the birds. We ate them. We wanted their songs to flow up through our throats and burst out of our mouths, and so we ate them. We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh. We wanted their wings, we wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so we ate them."

— Margaret Atwood, The Tent, from 'Eating the Birds'

"I described the immense iridescent wings of Pegasus, his golden hooves and his wild fire-colored eyes, his mane and tail of stars. I described his origins in the wise blood of the moon goddess, his sacred mating with the white mare Aganippe, “the mare who destroys mercifully,” and his digging with his crescent-shaped hoof the famous Hippocrene—the well of poetic inspiration. On Mount Helicon, the home of the muses, was the sacred spring from which all poetic inspiration was fed, and Pegasus had opened it up for all the singers of the world. It was said that whoever could ride Pegasus through the skies would possess forever the key to poetic power."

— Erica Jong, from 'Sappho's Leap'

"Icarus he stands; his silken clouds of glory / Trailing behind him —a bird's broken wing— / Still trembling from his fallen angel's flight / Down the sky weeping death."

— Dylan Thomas, The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: The New Centenary Edition; from ‘Parachutist'

"This Angel is flying / Through skin, bones, bricks and dusty mortar. / A hag with bat's wings / That are silky soft as caul tissue."

— Ted Hughes, Rain-Charm for the Duchy; from 'A Birthday Masque'

"My armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!"

— J. R. R. Tolkien, from 'The Hobbit'

"Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun; / Thyself from thine affection / Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye / All lesser birds will take their jollity. / Up, up, fair bride, and call / Thy stars from out their several boxes, take / Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make / Thyself a constellation of them all; / And by their blazing signify / That a great princess falls, but doth not die. / Be thou a new star, that to us portends / Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends."

— John Donne, Complete Poetical Works; from 'Epithalamion on the Lady Elizabeth and Count Palatine Being Married On St. Valentine's Day'

"The thing was a great bird the size of a vulture, with the face and breasts of a woman. Will had seen pictures of creatures like her, and the word harpy came to mind as soon as he saw her clearly. Her face was smooth and unwrinkled, but aged beyond even the age of the witches: she had seen thousands of years pass, and the cruelty and misery of all of them had formed the hateful expression on her features. But as the travellers saw her more clearly, she became even more repulsive. Her eye-sockets were clotted with filthy slime, and the redness of her lips was caked and crusted as if she had vomited ancient blood again and again. Her matted, filthy black hair hung down to her shoulders; her jagged claws gripped the stone fiercely; her powerful dark wings were folded along her back, and a drift of putrescent stink wafted from her every time she moved."

— Philip Pullman, from 'The Amber Spyglass'

"Where has she been, / With her lion-red body, her wings of glass? / Now she is flying / More terrible than she ever was, red / Scar in the sky, red comet"

— Sylvia Plath, Ariel; from 'Stings'

"When through the old oak forest I am gone, / Let me not wander in a barren dream, / But when I am consumed in the fire, / Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire."

— John Keats, from 'On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again'

"Your lungs fill and spread themselves, / wings of pink blood, and your bones / empty themselves and become hollow. / When you breathe in you'll lift like a balloon / and your heart is light too & huge, / beating with pure joy, pure helium. / The sun's white winds blow through you, / there's nothing above you, / you see the earth now as an oval jewel, / radiant & seablue with love."

— Margaret Atwood, True Stories; from 'Flying Inside Your Own Body'

[girl4music]

This scene tears me apart. There's so much rage in her that she wanted to extinguish with vengeance but the need for it only fuels her fury...

Of course Xena knows the signs all too well. And beating Gurkhan to an inch of his life was something she felt was necessary since she made the difficult decision of not slicing his throat initially.

What's remarkable is how Xena hands her the dagger, fully trusting her to make the right decision.... Just as Gabrielle has always done for her. And once again, we see that role-reversal transition and transference in them. You could make the case that Xena never became like Gabrielle as much as Gabrielle became like Xena. But Xena became something of which Gabrielle always was for her once upon a time...

Her moral compass.

It is particularly startlingly evident at the end of 'Helicon' when Xena's yell of her name forces Gabrielle to stop what she was doing when she had that young warrior at his knees - defenseless and terrified - and standing over him like he was her prey.

Yes, that is the true indication of their swap.. But this episode was tugging at the edges, leading up to that page of Gabrielle's character development.

She did become Xena. And maybe not in the way she originally wished to be.

When you run the show backwards, it becomes a Gabrielle origin story of how much being with Xena changed her emotionally. In the end, she really did become just like her, and inherit all her “many skills”.

“Everyone would understand if Gabrielle was unable to kill him, but making a decision to not to kill him was a much stronger statement and a sign of her growth. She’s been in so many wars now, that to say she couldn’t kill someone wouldn’t be true. How could she not have the courage and dignity as a hero to stand up for her family? I’ve always tried to protect her truth in her journey as much as I can. The key to Gabrielle’s character is that she won’t kill in cold blood. To me, it’s the perfect debate of how Gabrielle has been affected by her environment of being with Xena to become the woman she is. Because she would not be in a situation like that if she were still living in Poteidaia.” - Renee O’Connor

[orpheusaoide]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐊, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖/ @nyxerebvs​​

The Helicon Deck was a dangerous place for the likes of Orpheus; they, who could discover the cure to any ailment at the bottom of a glass. Any ailment, anxiety included. They had resolved to be better, half of Heteraidia lost to one too many empty glasses, one too many hits of the pipe. The Kalavria Summit would not be the same.

But, just one drink couldn’t hurt. Not now.

Now, corralled in unfamiliar territory with far too many familiar faces. Ten years without Tartarus, ten years longing for the family, the places, the people lost to them. Ten years of idolizing reunion, all come crumbling and crashing to a halt behest the historic Heteraidia. At least at Heteraidia there had been distraction amidst the heartbreak, shows to perform, fans to please. Now? Distraction had to be found, lest anxiety wreck its havok. 

But Orpheus was equal parts apprehension, and determination. The very idea terrified them, but they had to right the wrongs of Heteraidia. It was fate’s hand that threw Orpheus to their family’s mercy once more, so soon. 

They would not waste this opportunity.

More-so than the rest, the heartbreak of their mother provided ample devastation. Nyx’s tears stung still, as though they were Orpheus’ own. They would never forgive themself, for being the cause of her anguish, her disappointment. But they had meant what they had said, every word, every syllable, genuine.

Next time, we’ll try again.

Though, they hadn’t expected next time to be so soon . . . Nor had they expected Nyx’s avoidance. Orpheus thought it a coincidence, at first. They would find her, ready for a second conversation, a second try . . . and then she would find an occupation: a conversation, a passtime, anything to keep her away from Orpheus. And then, the pattern continued, and along with it came the stabbing realization.

Even your own mother is avoiding you. 

Ouch.

And still, perseverance. Nyx would have been wise, to expect Orpheus’s stubbornness. From the moment they came to the House of Hades, obstination was in their very nature. 

They find her, finally alone, at the bar on Helicon. One drink couldn’t hurt, not now. So, they order their regular, and wait, lingering just within earshot, offering her a chance to speak, to say anything. They receive their drink gratefully, downing a steadying gulp before considering words. 

“Hi.” The word comes out small, unsure. Even they aren’t certain the noise comes from their mouth. Followed immediately by, “Enjoying yourself, so far?” Their gaze dares not find hers, instead trained intently on the bartop, the glass they hold in shaking clutch. They were acutely aware of the way they spoke, discomfort setting into their bones. They spoke like a stranger, making small talk in the hopes of gaining some temporary friend. This is mother, not stranger. Or, perhaps, after all this time —

They wouldn’t dare entertain the thought. “You’ve been pretty busy today, huh?” You’ve been avoiding me. It comes out choppy, forced, as though they had decided not to say it just as they began speaking. 

[evanoracronwell]

Kaus Australis

Michael Guerin doesn't know how to deal with the absence of Alex Manes in his life.

Also on ao3

2009

Michael was ... content.

It had been a long time since a real smile appeared on his lips. But finally, today he had a sincere smile and a feeling of happiness.

Finally, he managed to buy his long-awaited Airstream and after all the necessary renovations, it was official. Michael Guerin had a home!

With a sigh of contentment, he took a sip of beer and then played with the bottle between his fingers, right in front of the Airstream he had placed some old chairs he bought in the old Junkyard, and with a barrel cut in half, he had a bonfire to help keep him warm on the cold desert nights.

Alex used to do this ... keep him warm ...

Don't.

Michael shouted in his head. Don't go there, Guerin.

Just don't. Because if he does, if he allows himself to think about Alex, then that suffocating pain will come to the surface and Michael doesn’t know how to deal with it, he doesn’t know how to deal with the emptiness he feels inside his own chest, he doesn't know how to deal with the shortness of breath that sometimes makes him dizzy, he doesn't know how to deal with the urge to scream and cry every time he passes in front of the museum.

Michael Guerin doesn't know how to deal with the absence of Alex Manes in his life.

It hurts, physically and emotionally.

A pain like no other he had ever felt in his life, and that coming from a boy who had gone through sessions of exorcisms and a hand smashed by a hammer.

So no, he wouldn't think about Alex Manes, not tonight. He would just sit there in his chair, enjoying a good beer, snuggling up in the plushy jacket he had gotten at Goodwill, and warming up by the fire. Yes, that was exactly what he would do.

Michael looked up at the sky for a few seconds and smiled as soon as his eyes found his constellation.

"Sagittarius is the fifteenth largest constellation in the sky, and it is quite easy to find because it is in the Milky Way and its brightest stars form an asterism known as the Teapot."

Michael looked up a little scared and stared at Alex who was lying on his chest, it was past midnight and they should have left hours ago, but instead, they were here, lying naked in each other's arms on the makeshift bed in the back of the truck, wrapped in blankets to protect them from the cold desert. In silence, just enjoying each other's presence when Alex murmured those facts about stars and constellations.

"Since when do you understand about this?"

"What ?! You are always so fascinated by everything related to space and I love to hear you talk about it. So I thought about giving it a try."

"And you choose to learn about the constellation of my zodiac sign?" he asked and smiled when Alex just shrugged his shoulders against his body.

"Okay, then, tell me more about the Sagittarius constellation."

"Fuck"

He growls as he takes another sip of beer, avoiding thinking about Alex is useless and he doesn't know why he still insists on deceiving himself that he is capable of it. That damn man had filled Michael's life with hope and a feeling so good and warm that for the first time he had dared to think that he could really be happy, even build a family for himself someday.

Then all hell broke loose.

First Jesse, then Rosa.

The guilt was consuming him every day, every time he saw the Crashdown, every time he heard someone talking about the drugged and troubled Mexican girl who killed two poor innocent girls, every time he saw the pain of losing a great friend in Alex's eyes.

Then he pushed Alex away, pushed him away when all he wanted to do was pull him close. Wrap Alex in his arms with all the strength he possessed and never let go.

Michael knows that it is only his fault, that Alex's leaving is his responsibility. But fuck, if he could, if Michael could just go back in time. He would never have let Alex go, he would have kissed him with all the love in the world, he would have touched him on every piece of skin on his body and he would have said that he loved him, a thousand times, a million times. He would have left Roswell with Alex, far away, where no one could find them. They would build a life, a family.

And screw Jesse Manes. Isobel. Max.

And all the rest of this fucked up world.

"... in Greek mythology, Sagittarius represents a centaur ..."

Alex, who helped him without expecting anything in return.

Alex, who showed him that there could be kindness in the world.

Alex, who carried his heart on his sleeve and had the most beautiful smile Michael had ever seen in his life.

Alex, who taught Michael what true love is.

"... the centaur is depicted holding a bow and arrow ..."

Alex murmured smiling sensuously as he wrapped his leg around Michael's waist, getting an impulse to sit on his lap, his ass dangerously close to Michael's cock that immediately went hard.

"The centaur appears to be aiming an arrow towards the heart of the neighboring constellation of Scorpio"

He continued, the same smile on his lips knowing exactly the effect he was having on Michael. Supporting one hand on Michael's chest, exactly where his heart rested, Alex slid the other behind his back until he reached Michael's cock, touching it slowly making Michael moan and hold Alex's waist.

"... in Sumerian mythology, he is associated with Crotus, the satyr who was the nurse of the nine muses, daughters of Zeus, on Mount Helicon."

Alex lifted his body high enough to place the head of Michael's cock against his hole and went down just an inch on it, still wet and stretched from all the previous activity. They moaned without worrying about anyone hearing them in the middle of the desert and Michael sank his fingers against Alex's hips so hard that he didn't doubt that it would bruise. Alex rested his other hand against Michael's chest as well and stared at him as he lowered his body so slowly that it felt like torture - delicious torture - for both of them. When he reached the base, feeling the fullness of having Michael completely inside him, he rolled his hips gently, just enough to cause a loud groan in Michael that held him even tighter and pulled him closer against his dick. As if he was never deep enough.

And fuck, Alex agreed with him. It never seemed to be deep enough.

"The constellation has thirty-two stars ..." he murmured again as he started to move, slowly, smoothly.

"Alex ... fuck ..."

Lifting his own hips, trying to speed up the movements, Michael moaned as he tried to keep his eyes open so that he could look at Alex, refusing to lose the dazzling sight that boy was. Completely naked, with a line of sweat running down his neck until reach his navel even in the cold desert wind, his messy hair, his eyeliner a little smudged, his lips red and swollen from the kisses, and the way he was biting them right now. The movement in his waist as he rolled, using Michael's body, Michael's cock for his own pleasure.

Damn, if that wasn't the most beautiful sight in the entire universe, Michael didn't know what it was.

"Babe, please ..." he pleaded.

"The brightest star in Sagittarius is Kaus Australis ..."

He kept muttering with his voice cracking, and Michael couldn't understand how that could be so fucking sexy, but damn if it wasn't. Feeling Alex sunk in his cock taking him so deeply as he murmured about stars and constellations was by far the most sensual thing Michael had ever had in his life. And when he started to move faster and faster until he reached the rhythm where it was possible to hear the sound of his ass hitting Michael's thighs, they moaned wildly and Michael lifted his back until he sat down, his chest pressed against Alex's chest, his hands hugging his boyfriend's waist while Alex grabbed him by the shoulder, his other hand curling up in Michael's curls, pulling the hair on the back of his neck.

"... which is also the thirty-sixth brightest star in the sky ..."

He whispered against Michael's lips and it was the breaking point for both of them, their bodies convulsed and found the release they were looking for ...

"Stop ... just ... stop!"

Michael pleaded to himself tossing the bear far away angrily, then he propped his elbows against his knees, sinking his head between his hands. Those memories were the most precious things Michael had in his life, but they were also the most painful. Memories of a life he no longer had. Memories of a happiness which he was no longer allowed.

Of a body that he could no longer touch.

Of a mouth that he couldn't kiss anymore.

"Come back ... Lex ... please ..."

Sobbing, he pleaded, please, to any God who might exist, for Alex to return, to forgive him, to love him.

"... you are my brightest star, Michael."