#oddly I blame Hermes

[captainbetonit]

Any man can be a wife, it takes a real man to be a whore

[senjuushi]

The server is a horrible place where people are bullying me with milk. I was forced to do this. It's HILARIOUS, but @kerojorts is to blame. All of you can thank them for the cursed content below.

Gunboy Milk Reviews — By Gras

F — A: “It tastes lovely on its own, but the experience is highly entertaining. He’s quite loud, you know?”

Belga — D: “I have no words. It’s just terrible.”

Mikhael — A: “Mellow flavor and pleasant consistency. The overall product is every bit as refined as Mikhael himself.”

Ninety — D: “Underfed as he is, hardly anything comes out. What’s there is thin and fairly tasteless.”

Ghost — B: “Forgettable. Sweet enough, but it’s really nothing special.”

89 — D: “His diet is terrible, and it shows. The flavor is awful and the consistency is much too thin.”

Eins — A: “That impressive chest gives equally impressive results. Not particularly sweet, but rich, full-flavored, and creamy.”

Fal — B: “You can taste the stress, however that’s possible. The consistency is quite enjoyable, though.”

Kirsch — B: “Sweet to the point of simply too much. Good in small amounts, nauseating in large quantities.”

Hokusai — C: “I’m honestly surprised it’s not blue. Points deducted because of the worrying chemical aftertaste.”

Love1 — C: “Every part of him is a disaster, and this is no different. It’s edible, but oddly bitter.”

Like2 — A: “Fussy princess that he is, it’s no surprise the results are superb. All of that spoiling brings results.”

Mauser — B: “Overall sweet and pleasant, but easy to get tired of over time and somewhat plain.”

Parume — B: “Acceptable, yet the consistency is oddly thick. It’s a unique experience as a whole.”

Muku — C: “Bland and unremarkable. Slightly unpleasant aftertaste.”

Marks — C: “Mediocre. I wouldn’t want our dear Master to even taste it— not while there are so many better options around...”

Like Two — B: “Sweeter than his sour exterior would imply, but still lacking. All that exercise keeps him too trim to produce the proper texture.”

Herme — A: “As expected of our perfectionist, every aspect is exquisite. Herme takes such good care of his body, after all.”

Arisaka — ?: “Unable to gather concrete data due to the threat of dismantling via Murata.”

Springfield — A: “The flavor is delicate and nuanced, but the quantity is disappointing. Perhaps if he was in better health...”

Siegblut — S: “By far, the most excellent of the samples. The perfect consistency with an addictive flavor— absolutely sublime.”

Murata — C: “Better than you’d expect, but debatably not worth the scuffle that follows— only if I feel up for a fight.”

Hachikyu — D: “More or less the same as 89. Neither of them would know a non-microwaved meal even if it was left on their gaming desks.”

[darthsuki]

fandom: ffxiv

Original ask meme post here!

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

Honestly I have too many general favorites to name in FFXIV, at least in terms of NPCs. If my OCs count, then technically I'm thinking about Samilen the most, he's the character I started FFXIV with and therefor am constantly seeing the story and characters from his perspective.

You can find info about him and my other oc at @heroesofhydaelyn

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

Me, pointing to Hermes: That one has depression and I will give him So Much Serotonin to compensate

There's just something about Soft and Vulnerable characters that latch onto me, and when that combination of traits is Just Right I inevitably go FERAL and do a wonderful impression of a barnacle sticking on the hull of a ship... which is to say I cannot be separated from my newfound favorite.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

Fandaniel! I say this especially in the post-Endwalker experience, where hindsight reveals a whole lot of depth and foreshadowing with his character that I didn't quite *get* until he was long-since defeated in the first trial ;w; I have to admit that I really warmed up to him after a while--his unhinged nature became oddly endearing, if not also heartwrenching, when I understood a lot of the context.

Catch me immediately playing through Endwalker newgame+ when it comes out because I have to re-experience all that chaos.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

X'rhun Tia, whom we literally did see in Endwalker for 0.2 seconds and I did not in fact shut up about it. He's such a good job mentor and general NPC (he is a DILF and I'll fight naysayers), I'm so sad that we haven't had a chance to see him again since Shadowbringers introduced role quests...

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

Zenos, hands down with absolute certainty.

I'm not even gonna try to defend my love for this feral chihuahua (and too old to care at this point) but I will say I love his obsessive passion most in AUs where he's Domesticated and is able to hang out with the wol and Scions in some capacity without throats getting cut.

I can't remember who once said the wise words 'Zenos would have turned out better if someone had just exposed him to healthy BDSM relationships' but I think they're definitely onto something because I sure as hell agree with that.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

Do my own OCs count? I torment them constantly... >w>;;

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

Whomever is responsible for me constantly getting World of Darkness in my duty roulette. For now, I'll blame Lahabrea.

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640994942684151808/therainbowwillow

Part 13.

Premise/last time: On Olympus, tensions are high. The pantheon is forced to choose sides: an innocent poet or the man who stabbed him. Hermes only grows increasingly anxious about his approaching trial. If he’s not ready to sing, he’s afraid Orpheus will take the fall.

—————————————

Thanatos stands, exhausted at the gates of Olympus. The walk out of Hadestown had been longer than he’d expected. Hypnos hadn’t woken after the third night. He’d been in and out of consciousness since.

Thanatos calls out to the gods, pleading for aid. Their lack of ambrosia had taken its toll on himself and his brother. Despite his near-constant unconsciousness, Hypnos looks as if he hasn’t slept for weeks. The blinding lights of Olympus do him no favors. The bags under his eyes look even more pronounced here.

Pasithea steps up to the doors and slams her fists against them. “Please!” She cries. Still, they’re met with no reply. She sinks to the ground and buries her head in her hands. Thanatos forces himself not to collapse under his and his brother’s weight. 

It feels like an eternity before a man arrives at the door: golden hair, blue eyes. He looks just like his father. “Asclepius.” Thanatos bows his head to his old enemy. A doctor so incredible he’d resurrected the dead. Zeus’s punishment hadn’t held him down long. Now he’d become a god himself.

“It took me a moment to convince Zeus to let me take my leave. Come in. Speak to no one. Keep your heads down,” he directs. He helps Pasithea to her feet. “You must be out of your mind to come here, Thanatos. If Hades learns of your presence-”

“Hades is here?” Thanatos inquires, forcing back his panic.

“Yes,” Asclepius answers. “He arrived, worse off than you, a few days ago. It seems his years of pushing around his workers finally caught up to him.”

He opens the gates and guides them through the city’s oddly silent streets. Quieter than Hadestown, Thanatos observes. Down below, a pickaxe always swings. A foreman’s shouts are always audible. Here, there is nothing but stillness. “I mean you no offense, my lord, but I believe my storage cellar may be the best place for you to take shelter,” Asclepius says.

“None taken. We’ll take what we can get.”

“If I might ask, what happened to your brother? I will treat him, as he clearly has taken a hit to the head. How long has he been unconscious?” Asclepius asks.

“Hades’s doing,” Thanatos replies, curtly. “He’s been in and out of consciousness for six days.”

Asclepius opens the door to his residence and ushers them inside. “I suspected as much. I assume you fled without carrying ambrosia with you?”

Thanatos nods. “We had no time.”

“I don’t blame you.” Asclepius takes a few pillows from his bed and tears off the sheets. He guides them down a short staircase into a dimly lit cellar. It smells of herbs. The sweet scent of nectar reminds Thanatos of his hunger. Asclepius tosses the pillows against a shelf and rests Hypnos against them.

“Make yourselves comfortable. You may have as much ambrosia as you wish. I will not tell the counsel you’ve arrived. If they come looking for you, hold the door shut and stay quiet. I shouldn’t be long,” Asclepius tells them. He turns to leave.

“Asclepius, I’m sorry for the circumstances of our last meetings,” Thanatos apologizes.

He smiles. “I’m lucky I got off so light. You helped the boy escape, didn’t you? That is why you are so afraid.”

“I’m the god of death. I have nothing to fear,” Thanatos attempts to convince himself.

“Angering Hades gives anyone something to fear, mortal or divine. But I believe Hermes and Orpheus are in far danger than yourself. Regardless, take care. I won’t be long.” He shuts the door behind him.

Thanatos immediately turns search the shelves for nectar. He finds a bottle, flicks out the cork and drinks half of it. The rest, he hands to Pasithea.

Hypnos rubs his eyes. “Ugh...” he groans. “Where are we?”

His wife briefs him of their journey. “So... we’re locked in Asclepius’s basement? On Olympus?” He smiles slightly. “These pillows are almost as good as mine. Comfy. I could almost forget that the furies cracked my skull open.”

“Do you ever stop?” Thanatos mutters.

“Like I said! Vacation, Than. Sure, it’s not a beach, but to be fair, there’s no difference. I’d sleep either way. Give me some of that nectar.” He tips the bottle and swallows. “Mm. Not bad. The underworld ages it better.”

“Hades is here,” Thanatos blurts. “So would you shut up and let me think?”

“He is? Didn’t Hermes steal the train... oh my gods! He walked? Ha! I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Would you listen?” He snaps. “Hades wants us punished. You’ve seen what happens to mortal traitors. We can’t let him find us, Hypnos.”

“And that’s why I’m not going anywhere. Not that I could. Pretty sure I can’t walk. Or at least I wouldn’t want to deal with the headache,” he replies. “Now. What’s the plan, Thanatos?”

“I... don’t know.”

“So we are in trouble then! I... have an idea, but I’m not sure we should rely on it.”

Thanatos exhales. “I’ll hear you out. Maybe a bad plan’s better than no plan.”

“Hades will summon Orpheus and Hermes to trial, right? If that song was as good as it sounded and if I didn’t hallucinate the change in weather, I’d say other gods will side with Orpheus simply because his song has power. Maybe we ought to take their side. Show ourselves and proclaim our support?” Hypnos says.

“Hades will call it a second betrayal.”

“What do we have to lose, Thanatos?”

He sighs. “If they win the trial, it’ll give us a chance. Even that’s better than nothing. I agree.”

—————————————-

“Hermes.” He jumps at the sound, startled awake.

“Apollo.” He crumpled the letters and stuffs them into his pockets.

“You’re anxious. Panicked. What are you afraid of?”

Hermes rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that? I know how I feel without you telling me.”

“Sorry, but you’ve hardly spoken to anyone for days. You’re hiding something. You secret would be safe with me.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t believe that for a second,” Hermes retorts. “You’ll blab to your boyfriend the second you walk out the door.”

Apollo leans slightly more of his weight against the crutch he’s using to walk. “I won’t,” he says, softly. “Hyacinthus is a good man, but this is clearly more than he needs to worry about.”

His tone is honest. Still, Hermes doesn’t back down. “It’s more than you need to worry about. Go write a poem or something, o god of music,” He replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hermes, look. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but... I do care about you. I guided you through your childhood; I taught you how to function on Olympus. I tried to protect you. From what I understand, you broke your contract with Hades and you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you. Why won’t you speak to us? We know, Hermes,” Apollo tells him.

“No, you don’t know!” He snaps. “I’m not afraid of what he’ll do to me. You called me Prometheus yourself. I’ll suffer, but I can manage. But it’s not me they want. I know Orpheus will take Hades’s punishment in my place. He’s young. Afraid. He won’t survive,” Hermes draws in a shaky breath. “We have no defense.” He hands Apollo the letters. “Read.”

His eyes pass over the words on the pages. “Hermes, we’ve been summoned immediately.”

“I know. We can’t go. Not yet. Orpheus needs to rest. And...” he exhales. “I haven’t told him.”

“He deserves to know. Why do you keep this from him?”

“Because he needs to recover. If he knows, all he’ll do is sing and sing. He’ll forget all else if he thinks he can protect me and Eurydice. That boy, my son, he feels with the whole of his being. He loves with such kindness, such passion, that his love alone brought flowers to the realm of death. He’d give his life if it meant protecting us and I can’t let him do that.” His voice rises. “If Zeus wants my blood, fine! Let him torture me. He won’t touch Orpheus.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll win the trial. You have nothing to worry about! We’ve got Athena on our side and even I’ve argued a few cases. With Orpheus’s song, we’ll be undefeatable.” His words are encouraging.

“I have to tell him,” Hermes mutters. 

“He needs urgency. I hate this as much as you do, but we do what we must.”

Someone pounds on the door. Hermes bristles at the sound. “Who’s there?” He calls.

“Hermes...” Three voices in harmony.

He strides across the room. “Don’t open the damn door!” Apollo snaps.

“Orpheus is next on their list,” he replies. He turns the handle. “What do you want?”

“You cannot defeat fate. You will see. What is coming.”

Hermes slums against the door frame and sinks to the ground. Orpheus is singing. His voice falters. He cries out, “No! No!”. Eurydice screams. The metallic stench of blood hits him. Hermes tries to stand. His wrists are bound in chains. It’s dark. He can’t tell if his eyes are open. 

He gasps and the room returns. Apollo kneels at his side. “Orpheus,” he chokes out. 

“He’s fine. Hermes, what did you see?”

He takes a deep breath. “Orpheus screamed. I couldn’t reach him. Apollo, this is fate. It’s unchangeable.”

“Don’t talk like that. I know how prophecies work. They’re misleading by nature.”

“There wasn’t nuance. We’re going to fail. And when we do-”

“No. Hermes, we’re going to win.” He puts his hands on Hermes’s shoulders. “I swear we’re going to win.”

“We have to tell Orpheus.”

“I can do it if-” 

Hermes cuts him off. “No. He’s my son. I need to tell him myself.”

Apollo doesn’t argue. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Orpheus strums his lyre. His voice sounds a little better today, he notices. Still, he struggles to reach high notes. His voice breaks or he coughs in between lines. He’s begun to realize that it isn’t going back to the way it was. Eurydice doesn’t mention it. He hates to think about the possibility, but he knows he’ll have to eventually. 

He reads over his sheet music. He starts another paper. He tries humming his melody, replacing his higher notes with low ones. Eurydice perks up at the new song. “That was beautiful.”

He cracks a smile. “You think?”

“Sing it again.” 

He repeats it, louder this time. 

“Orpheus!” A carnation blooms in his hands. “My gods, that’s incredible.”

Again, he sings, this time plucking the lyre to the tune of his old song. The harmony hums in the air. Flowers spring up in his hair. 

“How’d you do that?” She’s grinning. 

“I don’t know! I thought maybe it’d be easier on my voice.”

“Is it?”

He nods. “I think so. I don’t feel like hacking my lungs out at least.”

“I love you, Orpheus. So, so much.”

He blushes. “I know.”

“I know you know. I just needed to tell you again.” She marches to his bedside and kisses him before he gets in another word. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

He turns as red as the carnations dotting his hair. “I- mmmph!” She kisses him again. 

“Shush.” She places a finger on his lips. “Just kiss me.”

“O-okay!” He awkwardly presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms around him. 

“Gods, I love you,” she whispers in his ear.

He remains in her embrace for a while until she pulls away. “You wanna sing that song again, lover?”

He’s smiling like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Well, sing it then.” 

“La, la la la... ha ha!” He laughs. It sounds ridiculous through his ear-to-ear grin. 

There’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” Orpheus proclaims habitually. “Oh, wait.” Eurydice stands to open it. “No, I said I’ve got it! Come in!” Orpheus calls. “See?” he says, winking. She laughs. 

The door opens. Hermes stands in its frame, looking exhausted. “We need to talk. Both of you.”

Orpheus frowns. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No... I don’t know, kid.” He considers just handing Orpheus the letters. Instead, he continues. “I’ve been receiving summons to Olympus since we arrived. I didn’t want to worry you, but I can’t keep you in the dark any longer. Hades has convinced Zeus to put us on trial before the counsel. The charges against you are baseless. But... I did break my contract and I’ll face the consequences.”

“No, Hermes, we’ll win! You said yourself I could convince Hades of anything.”

“Orpheus, broken contracts don’t go unpunished. I just don’t want you to feel the consequences of my actions.”

“Hermes, I don’t want them to hurt you!” Orpheus begs.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry over my fate, kiddo. I’ll do what I can. I just didn’t want to leave you in the dark about all this.”

“My song has to work. It will work,” he repeats.

“It will,” Eurydice agrees. “It can do all this.” She gestures around the room. Flowers have pushed through the floor boards. They line the fireplace and decorate Orpheus’s nightstand. “It can save us.”

“How long do we have?” Orpheus asks.

“Maybe two weeks,” Hermes answers, “at best.”

“I’ve almost got it, Hermes. I’ll be ready to sing by then.”

“Thank you.”

“It will work. I promise.”

[intelligentdumbass]

No I Cannot Get a Break(Part2)

(The first part’s over here)

“Athena? Have you seen Apollo?”

The grey-eyed goddess raised an eyebrow.

“Wasn’t he with you?”                                                                              

“Yes, but that was an hour ago.” Calliope frowned. “Hermes ran off to look for him but he hasn’t come back yet-”

Just then, two immortals came running out of the trees; it was the two gods that the muse was looking for. She immediately rushed towards them and inquired as to what had happened; Athena was about to do the same when her father’s voice thundered across the garden.

“AH-�� “What’s this??” On his hand, he held out a fruit made out of pure gold. It had stuck him right on the face while he was chatting with his siblings, just like the messenger before him.

“Father.” Apollo suddenly spoke up and stared; one of his eyes twitching. “Father please, for the love of Troy, throw that into Tartarus!”

Before Zeus could respond, the apple was already gone; snatched out of his hands by the god of love. His wings instantly threw him up into air as he curiously stared at the fruit of gold.

“Pft, what’s wrong sunshine? Why so stressed?” Eros grinned mockingly at the sun deity. “Tis’ just a yellow apple with a few words craved onto it.” He cleared his throat in preparation to read the inscription. “To the fairest goddess of them all!”

Athena could’ve sworn Apollo’s fingers were twitching like he wanted to break Eros’ neck. Calliope and Hermes seemed to be holding him back; trying to calm him down. She gazed back at her father, who was just a tiny bit drunk, and he looked both confused and slightly concerned. This surprising turn of events had gotten a lot of the other immortals’ attention; even Artemis had took notice and quickly sped towards her twin.

Meanwhile Eros had flown over to his mother and exclaimed, “Well, well, well… I guess we all know who this trophy belongs to then now, don’t we?”

Aphrodite smiled, flattered by her son’s compliment. Just before she was handed the prize, however, a spear came hurling out of nowhere; piercing the fruit and pinning it against one of the trees.

“Wait.” Athena’s voice was commanding; briefly glancing back at her distraught younger brother. “This all feels a little off. Where did that apple even come from?”

Eros rolled his eyes. “Don’t know; don’t care Misses killjoy.” He flew over to retrieve the fruit; tossing the spear aside.

“I can assure you that I sense nothing of the like, no malicious auras or weird obscure magic, at least, not on the apple itself. If anything, this is probably just some secret admirer trying to praise their idol.” He smiled, but it was the kind of smile that proves he had a suspicion that wasn’t the case at all. “Besides, why do you care? Don’t tell me that this trophy was meant for you instead?”

“What-” “No!” The goddess seemed appalled that he would even consider that to be a possibility.

Then there was a loud sigh. It was from Hera.

“If that truly is why the apple exists,” She said. “Then for all you know it might’ve been intended for me instead. It landed very close to me after all; specifically onto my husband’s face. Maybe they just had bad aim?” It was hard to tell whether or not she was joking (‘She’s most likely joking’ Athena thought), but even Poseidon muttered against his breath that she did have a point.

Aphrodite just smiled. “Then why don’t we let the king of the gods decide?” She nodded at her son, who gave the fruit back to the lightning-bearer. “Tell us my lord, who do you think deserves to be awarded with the title of the fairest goddess of them all?”

Zeus blinked. “I…” “You want me to choose between you, Athena and Hera? With all of my possible biases I think I would be the least fitting judge for that matter.” He was still uneasy about his eldest son’s reaction; even quickly glancing back to make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack amidst all of this.

‘If only he hadn’t blocked my voice from his head.’ He thought. ‘Then I would know what’s bothering him so much.’

On the other hand, now that he was holding it again, Eros seemed to be right. It looked and felt like a normal and harmless shiny apple; a very pretty one at that.

“Let a mortal who is not part of any of your cults decide, and swear not to endanger their life over some trivial matter such as this.”

Aphrodite peered off the edge; her gaze landing on a young prince of Troy. “I think I already know who.”

Eros took the golden apple and flew down onto the earth. She motioned to the two goddesses to follow as well before morphing into a dove; flying just behind her son.

---------------------------------

Paris stared at the three deities standing before him. At this rate, it looked like he was too shocked to be able to choose anyone at all. Athena internally sighed, wondering how she got herself involved into this mess.

“Okay well, how about this.” Aphrodite pondered for a moment. “If you choose me, I’ll give you the most beautiful mortal princess the world has ever laid their eyes on.”

Eros gave his mom a look, but she whispered to assure him that she was in fact not finding a way to get rid of Psyche.

Athena raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s just cheating-”

“Zeus never said anything against bribery~”

“In that case,” Hera said. “Choose me and you’ll get to rule the whole of Asia Minor.”

The war goddess thought that was an extremely irresponsible opportunity to give to someone as young as Paris, but then again maybe that was the point. She suddenly felt a little bad for the young prince.

“If you choose me, I can give you unlimited wisdom and glory in war.”

She could’ve sworn she heard Aphrodite curse. However, defying most of their expectations, Paris uttered the words, “I choose Aphrodite” and awarded the golden apple to the goddess of love.

‘Oh. Well, I tried to give him the least risky option.’

When she got back to the main event, it was almost like nothing had ever happened. Despite the incident that had killed the mood a few minutes ago, the party seemed to be back in full swing. She noticed one key difference though. Athena walked over to some of the muses; giving Clio a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“Where’s Phoebus?"

---------------------------------

Apparently Apollo disappeared when they weren’t looking, so Hermes, Artemis and Dionysus had gone off to go look for him in the depths of the garden.

“I tried to approach him, but he wouldn’t even look at me.” Zeus sighed. “And I am still not able to hear his thoughts.”

“Don’t worry, if I see him I’ll try to talk to him.”

��…please do.”

---------------------------------

There were already three gods searching for him among the trees, so she figured she might as well try looking inside the palace itself. Besides, if he really wanted to be left alone, he might’ve tried hiding somewhere else, far from where Hermes last found him. Plus, she had a few spots in mind that she could try checking out.

The silence was eerie, but also oddly comforting. There was nothing but the soft hollow thumps of her steps as she walked through the empty halls. As luck would have it, it didn’t take long for her to finally spot the god sitting on the railing of a certain balcony, the one that even their father himself often stood on.  

The blonde was tense, but when he turned around and saw Athena, he started to relax.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your steps scared kind of scared me. I thought I was having another vision for a second there… I mean, you are the real Athena right?” He laughed, but his breath was more than a little shaky.

“Of course I am the real Pallas Athena. Who else would I be?”

She allowed a full minute to pass by to let him fully process her statement to be true before moving to stand right next to him.

“What’re you doing here?” Apollo asked.

“I wanted a break from the party.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” He paused. “You sure it’s not because you’re salty about the golden apple?”

Athena scoffed. “Don’t even think about trying to tease me. Why on earth would I care that much about some accursed fruit?”

“Aw, don't worry Athe. If I were him, I would've definitely chosen your deal instead."

"Well, of course, no surprise there. You choose what you don’t have after all."

“Wha-” “I was trying to cheer you up and this is what you do to me?!"

"So, you admit that what I just said is true?"

He had his hand over his chest as if he were offended; that forced smile on his face feeling just a little bit more genuine, until it slowly dropped entirely.

“Paris fucked up, Athena. Paris really fucked up.” He sighs. “Do you still remember their oaths?”

“Helen’s suitors?” She thought for a moment. “Apollo, I doubt Paris would still want to keep her after seeing the army that comes after-”

“But he will.” His voice suddenly hardened. “And he’ll keep her for over 10 fucking years and will become the torch that burns his city down to a crisp.”

Her tone softened. “How much did you see?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that Thetis is about to give birth to one of the greatest warriors in recorded history and-” “and-” He suddenly stopped, stuttering.

Athena placed a steady hand on his shoulder, as if he might fall.

Apollo’s grip on the railing tightened. “I-” “I don’t want to lose another one, Athena. Not now, it’s too fucking soon I literally just watched Asclepius-” The tears started trailing down his cheeks until they dissipated into thin air as a whiff of steam. “I just want a fucking break!”

There was a long pause before he continued.

“Why do I care so much?”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t. After all, I’m barely any better.”

------------------

“Athena?”

“Yes Phoebus?”

“What do you think dad’s going to do about this?”

“…I don’t know.” ------------------

“Apollo?”

“Hm?”

“Do you hate him?”

“…sometimes I wish I did”

“…”

“I-” “I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t be. I occasionally wished I did too, but it’ll never be that simple, no? Who would even replace him?”

“You?”

Athena laughed. “Weren’t you the one always asking to be his heir?”

“I was a very stupid toddler back then, hell, probably still am now. I mean, don’t tell me you actually trust me to run this thing?”

“True. I don’t blame you for not believing in yourself. Honestly, I don’t either.”

“I-” “Wow, you couldn’t have at least sugar-coated it a little?”

------------------

“Hey Pal, maybe we could share the throne?”

Athena immediately made a face of disgust. “But then if we kept our titles as King and Queen, someone might assume we married each other.”

“Wow!” Apollo tried his best not to laugh. “I mean, I don’t want to marry you either but still, you make it look like being with me is a bad thing!”

------------------

“I-” “I don’t want to get rid of him Apollo...”

“…I know.”

------------------

For a few minutes, all they did was stare and enjoy the view; looking down at the earth like they owned everything that the light could touch. Then with a flick of her hand the goddess summoned her spear and slung her shield over her back.

“Apollo, get your bow.”

“Wait-” “What? Why?” It took a few moments for him to realize what she was suggesting. "Athe, no matter how much I try, you know I’ll never stand a chance against you in close combat-"

“I did say get your bow, not your sword, didn’t I? I mean, you’re welcome to try if you want.” Her eyes were taunting him. “Father invited almost every single deity to Thetis and Peleus' wedding in Olympus. Excluding the mortals, the rest of Greece should be fairly empty right now."

"...I guess a duel does sound fun.”

"It certainly does. Besides, you really look like you could use one right now."

"Did-” “Did you just insult me by calling me out of shape or am I just over thinking this and you're genuinely trying to cheer me up?"

"Maybe both."

“…Fine. Only a few conditions: no one uses the aegis or the masterbolt, and that you better be a hundred percent sure father isn’t watching us right now.”

“Of course, wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of him now, would we? I’m not that mean.”

After a few moments of consideration, Apollo summoned his signature bow and wore his golden quiver. Taking one last glance behind them to assure themselves that they were, in fact, alone; they went over the railing. It was faint and easy to miss, but when Athena saw the eager and determined look on his face, she couldn’t help but smile.

‘Now there's the arrogant bastard that I know.’

"Mt. Othrys?" She asked.

"Sure, the closer the more convenient.” He grinned. “Mt. Othrys it is.”

And so, they jumped off, straight into the abandoned ruins of a golden age long forgotten; landing in the middle of all of those towering columns and mighty slabs of black, the remains of their father’s decade long war.

[mimymomo]

Don’t Forget To Say I Love You Part 2

So, after more than a month, I’m finally back and working on this au. Can I explain my absence? Well...no, no I can’t fully explain this. I saw how popular that first chapter was and I just...wanted to distance myself because I thought there was no way to live up to the hype. But here I am back again with a much lighter chapter this time (well, as light as you can get in this au). 

Thank you Annika for beta-reading this!

First part found here!

...

Rays of golden sunlight bled through the window curtains. The sound of chirping birds and angry honks from frazzled drivers filled the compact apartment despite the windows being sealed and locked. Eurydice laid in her queen-sized bed, head and body bundled under no less than a dozen throw blankets with her back turned to the window, the symphony of the outside ruckus falling on deaf ears. She was too in her head to pay attention to anything that fell outside of the thin walls of her quaint apartment, the rest of the world be damned. 

She laid in darkness, the air hot and positively rank from days of unbrushed morning breath. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in days, three days to be exact. It had been three days since the bar, three days since meeting that boy...Orpheus. Three days since the start of the last six months of her life….

Eurydice poked her head from under the barrage of blankets, the brightest of the light momentarily blinding her. She gazed at the bedroom room wall, counting the cracks and holes and every price of chipped away light beige paint. Littered about the rest of the wall were large sheets of paper, ripped straight from a calendar, held up with long pieces of tape and mismatched thumbtacks. The months spanned from March to September. In the top right corner of each day was a number, scribbled sloppily in red sharpie. 194 on Wednesday, March 6 - three days ago - all the way to 0, Monday, September 16. 

Of course, my last day alive is a fucking Monday...

Three, now four, x’s marked the March 7th, 8th, and 9th in a stingingly sharp red. One hundred and ninety days left. 

She’d skipped the past two days of classes, choosing instead to stay hidden away in her bed. Was there any point in pursuing a degree she would never get to use? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to break loose from the prison that was her apartment. So there she lay, still and dejected, wallowing in her hole so deep and dark she couldn’t manage to escape. 

Anger stirred inside her, turning away from the wall and stuffing a spare pillow over her face. Maybe she would suffocate and blackout? At this point, she wouldn’t care that much. Some time alone, in the dark, without the constant thoughts obnoxiously swimming in her mind would do her nicely. She wanted to scream, kick her legs and throw her arms into the air. Wanted to yank her choppy, unkempt hair straight from her scalp and repeatedly bang her head against the wall. Her life, her plans, all cut short by a chance lapse in careful judgment. She wanted to hate him- that stupid boy from the bar, Orpheus. She wanted to stay in her room and never see him again, just in a way of malicious spite. Curse him for what he unwillingly caused.

Yet.

She wanted to see him. She yearned for his touch that she only previously felt so briefly. Calloused yet, gentle fingers slightly warm to the touch. He was a musician. She pictured him sat by a window, guitar perched in his lap and fingers bandaged from years of strategic strumming. Sheets of half-scribbled scattered around him in a chaotically beautiful mess. She ached to hear his soft, harmonic voice, would he whisper sweet musings in her ear in the middle of restless nights? Sing soothing songs to whisk away the ashen clouds. Was his laugh just as beautiful as his voice? Gods, she could only imagine.

Eurydice removed the pillow from her head, turning back to face the wall, back to all the numbers in red. Back to the dates that mocked her, crossed out and counting down to the end. What do I do? 

What could she do? Death was imminent. A high-speed train coming to town that she would have to board no matter how much she protested. So, what was she going to do until her ticket got punched? Was she going to lay there and wallow at the lost what-ifs and missed chances? Or, what if she gave in to the urge? Follow that nudge in the back of her brain that crawled and scratched at her mind. The urge that was desperate to see that boy again, the boy that condemned her to her fate. The boy with the beautiful hazel eyes, a warm glow and syrupy sweet voice, light and fluttery. 

Come home with me!

Brown hair rumpled and up in every which direction. His eyes pleading, desperation filled irises. The tone of his voice- so hopeful and pitched. He reached for her- a strand of light pulling her through the pitch-black sea. Her own singing siren, would she answer his incessant calls?

With great endeavor, Eurydice pushed her body up and off the bed, the tips of her toes curling and brush against the touch of the old raggedy carpet.  She knew where she had to do, what she had to do.

Slowly stepped into the quaint hole in the wall she called a bathroom, Eurydice flipped up the switch, the angry shine of the fluorescent light bulbs, burning holes in her corneas. She gazed tiredly into the mirror, greeted to puffy, red-rimmed and purple discoloration in and around her eyes, the warm light brown hint of her skin now fading into a pale, sickly color. Jet black hair, greasy from lack of washing, a rumpled mess sticking out from each and every direction. 

Eurydice cringed at the sight, barely recognizing her own reflection after avoiding it for days on end. She reached out to grab the purple toothbrush from off the stained sink, squeezing the remaining mint green paste on top of the bristles, frayed from repeated use. Without thought, she spun around to turn on the shower and began brushing her teeth. Scrubbing each tooth with lackadaisical effort, aiming to prolong the decision she just committed to only moments ago. The bathroom filled with hot, misty steam, the young woman's reflection vanishing from her mirror and her eyes. 

She spat, gargled and stripped, stepping into the shower.

It was hot. Each droplet of scalding hot water burned her skin at the touch. She would be the color of a ripe tomato by the time she left, but Eurydice couldn’t bring herself to care. The stings felt nice after a while. Dipping her head under the raging shower head, Eurydice closed her eyes and breathed. The air thick and moist, water rushing in her nostrils. For the first time in days, the young girl felt some clarity in her head. Under the rushing, low-pressure water, burning the pores of her honey skin, Eurydice’s mind was free. Like a bird released from the confinements of their cage into the embrace of the clear blue sky, she free. Even if it was only for a short few minutes, she lapped every second up. 

    Then, the shower ended.

Clothes were haphazardly thrown on, hair was brushed and twisted into some semblance of purposeful upkeep, and make-up was shakily applied. She nabbed her backpack, wallet, and keys and stalked out the door. Her future awaited. 

…

She stood frozen in her spot, unable to take the next step into the building. She had to do this, she had to see him. She gathered every ounce of courage she could muster and took a step forward, pushing against the door and stepping inside. 

It was dead. Eurydice scanned the room but the only other person she saw was a middle-aged man with graying, salt and pepper pushed back hair who was nursing his bottle of beer close to his lips. No Orpheus anywhere. Damn it. 

As she began to walk closer to the bar counter, a body suddenly popped out from out of the back room. Wispy brown hair, brown leather suspenders and a red bandana- Orpheus. He was carrying a hefty blue crate filled with what Eurydice assumed was bottles of liquor, cautiously taking meticulous, routine steps backward. Even while doing heavy labor at his job, he was graceful and radiated an aura of serenity. Eurydice, with small hesitant steps, made her way over to the bar, passing unoccupied tables and undisturbed pool tables until she reached her destination. With a good amount of distance from the counter, Eurydice watched as the lanky bartender restocked the shelves, he was still humming the same song from before. She cleared her throat, “mhhmm, hmmm.” 

“Yes, sorry! What can I get you-” Orpheus quickly stopped mid-sentence to stare at Eurydice, his throat running dry. The air was thick and felt oddly silent without the sound of his incessant humming. 

Eurydice felt herself beginning to shrink away under his intense gaze. However, she noticed that his stare wasn’t heated nor angry but instead nervous and doleful. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he repeated slowly as if she would disappear if he had said anything more. She couldn’t blame him for that reaction though, she did abandon the poor boy without a second thought, just a few days prior. They stood there in silence, neither of them knew what exactly to say. There was so much they wanted to ask, to spew out into the open, yet neither of them could find the words and both petrified the other would run as soon as they opened their respective mouths. 

“I thought-”

“I don’t hate you,” Eurydice blurted out, cutting Orpheus off and leaving him speechless. 

“But, I, I thought you said...I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries a few days ago! I didn’t mean to. Sometimes, Mister Hermes says I move my mouth before I think with my head...”

Eurydice wrung her hands and rocked from back to forth on her feet, from the balls of her heels to the tips of her toes. “No, I’m sorry. I was having a rough day and when I noticed my arm, I just…” Overreacted? Was screaming and crying truly an overreaction when realizing your worst nightmare－only having six months to live at the ripe young age of twenty-four－was becoming a reality? “I just...reacted.” Eurydice finished. “I didn’t mean what I said. Everything was just all happening at once, I couldn’t handle it. But it was wrong to vent all that on you. I’m sorry.”

Orpheus shrugged awkwardly, fiddling with his hands and stroking the side of his neck, “it’s okay-” 

“No, it’s really not,” Eurydice shook her head, gazing softly at the babyfaced bartender. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I was being a dick and I can own up to that...can you forgive me?”

Orpheus smiled, his teeth astoundingly white and straight, “of course, Eurydice.”

Eurydice’s eyes widened at the sound of her name falling from his lips, “how do you know my name?”

Orpheus gapped, floundering around a bit, “ohjeezIrealizethatsoundsquitestalkerish. I’msosorryEurydice!” Eurydice gave no response, choosing instead to stare down the boy until he spat out his excuse. “You dropped this as you left.” Fishing around in his pockets- pants, side and back, and front of his dirty apron, until he pulled out a rectangular plastic card. He handed it over to Eurydice, letting the girl flip it over. She gasped, it was her student ID. 

“Oh! I, I didn’t even realize I dropped this...thank you.”

Orpheus ran his fingers through his hair, the ends sticking up wildly even after his hands were removed, “it’s okay. I’m glad I was able to give it back to you.”

Eurydice leaned against the bar, placing her elbows on the countertop, head in her hands, “I’m surprised though. Most people never pronounce my name right, especially without me verbally saying it to them a few times. But you got it right on the first try.”

“Yes! I mean, of course, I did! It’s Greek, eurys meaning wide and dike meaning justice. You’re my soulmate, I wouldn’t want to say your name wrong.”

She smirked, raising an eyebrow, “wow, you even looked up the meaning huh?”

Orpheus nearly fainted, face flushed an impossible red. “I...I just...I just meant to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it. Then, I realized how pretty it sounded and I wanted to know where it came from because Eurydice isn’t a common name, you know?” Eurydice nodded, attempting to hold back a giggle at the boy’s pure nervousness. 

“Hey,” Eurydice said smoothly, “it’s okay. I actually think it’s kinda cute.” She wasn’t lying either. If any other person had done this, Eurydice would’ve been freaked out beyond belief. But Orpheus, with his complete earnestness, she felt no ill harm was purposely done. 

Orpheus simpered once more and went back to absentmindedly wiping at the counter. “Your name’s Greek, just like mine. Do you happen to remember my name? I mean, I did tell you in passing so I won’t blame you if you don’t-”

“Orpheus.”

His hands stopped, smile wider than a mile, “yeah. That’s it.”

“So, will I ever be able to learn your last name as well?”

“Thrace,” he answered almost immediately. “Can I learn yours as well?”

“Mendoza.”

“Eurydice Mendoza,” he trailed off, a dreamy gloss shining in his eyes, “it’s beautiful.”

Eurydice rolled her eyes, a dusty blush spreading over her cheeks, damn, this stupid boy. “So, Orpheus Thrace, when did you decide to you wanted to marry me?”

“From the first moment I saw you,” Orpheus answered earnestly.

Eurydice was taken aback, but quickly attempted to regained her composure, “that soon huh?” Orpheus nodded his head. “But you didn’t even know me. Hell, you still barely know anything about me.”

“That’s the thing,” Orpheus began, pausing his ministrations and staring at the shiny glass in his hands. “From the moment I saw you, I felt as if I’d known you all along. Like, you were someone I was always meant to meet and get to know. Someone I was meant to fall in love with. And I still feel that way. I want to know everything you’ll let me. I want to spend each and every day learning more and more about one another.” Orpheus lifted his head, his eyes, bright and completely sincere, “I-”

“You’re quite the romantic type aren’t you?”

A flood of dark red crashed over Orpheus’ face. His cheeks, nose and the tips of his ears hot and  aflamed. He ducked his head down, bringing a hand up to run through his hair, “oh, uh yeah...Mister Hermes and Lady Persephone have always said I was a hopeless romantic.”

“I don’t know who Mister Hermes or Lady Persephone are, but don’t apologize for being yourself,” Eurydice replied sternly. “Even if you are a weirdo.”

Orpheus cringed, “weirdo in a good way or bad way?”

Eurydice gave him a serene smile, her eyes soft with an underlying hint of melancholy, “good way. Definitely good.” She didn’t know what came over her, but she felt desperate to confirm to his man that there was nothing wrong with how he was. In her eyes, he was too cute beyond belief. Orpheus smiled back and let out a small chuckle, the blush on his cheeks still an ever present red. Eurydice felt her heart pounding against her chest, stomach tying in knots at the saccharine display in front of her. This boy was just too damn beautiful! She stared for a few seconds longer then cleared her throat, her face growing warm, “and besides, we all got a bit of weirdness in us. No one is normal.”

“You seem pretty normal to me,” Orpheus said.

“That’s because you haven’t gotten to know me yet,” Eurydice smirked with a touch of cockiness tanging her tone. “I got a few questionable habits and interests.”

“Um, will I ever get to learn about said habits and interest?” Orpheus asked trying to feign his own sense of bravo but Eurydice could hear the eagerness bleeding through his words. 

“When is your next break?”

“Oh,” Orpheus shot back, turning to the small analog clock that hung on the sidewall, “I have about…another forty-five minutes.”

“Then, we’ll see in forty-five minutes,” Eurydice said assuredly, hopping off the barstool and walking over to an open table a few feet away. She turned to the stunned boy and gave him a wink before turning back and unloading her the contents of her backpack on to the tabletop. As long as she was here, she might as well catch up on some homework. She’d thought about it and death approaching or not, she was gonna finish this last quarter. She didn’t waste the past four years of her life just to not get her degree. 

She got to work, frantically calculating numbers and equations for her statistics class and typing away a budget proposal for her economics class. 

Minutes ticked by and before she’d realized, forty-five minutes had passed. Orpheus quietly threw off his apron and slunk into the seat opposite of Eurydice, head down and glued to the screen and books in front of her. “Hello, again.”

Eurydice flinched, nearly knocking over her laptop. “Gods! Orpheus, you scared the shit outta me!”

“Sorry, did I disrupt your work?” he questioned shyly, fingers dancing in his hair again. Eurydice could tell he was getting antsy, and her yelling at him wouldn’t help that.

“No, no you're fine,” she waved off his apology. “I’m just about down here anyway. I take it you’re on your break now?”

Orpheus nodded, “yeah.”

“Great,” Eurydice grinned, “so, what d’ya wanna know?”

So they talked, and talked, and talked, both quickly losing track of the time. Eurydice studied Orpheus har, like a student cramming before an important final exam. She learned he was twenty-three, his birthday falling in the middle of May, that he’s been working at the bar full time since he was eighteen, and that he lives with his guardian Hermes on the floor above.

“You don’t live with your parents?”

Orpheus smile morphed into something forced, hollow even, “I never met my dad, divorced my mom before she gave birth to me. My mom raised me for a while, ‘til I was about 18 months, I believe? She...she didn’t want me,” Orpheus attempted to say as blase as possible, yet, Eurydice picked up on the hint of emotion in his tone. The hurt. “Said she couldn’t look after a kid. Wanted to go and find her soulmate. So, she dropped me off at Mister Hermes’, and she left. Never came back after that.”

“Oh, Orpheus,” Eurydice cooed sympathetically. 

“I’m fine now,” Orpheus piped up, waving his arms, “it was a long time ago, I barely remember it.” He lowered his hands, “I can’t fully blame her for leaving. I understand the feeling of wanting to meet your soulmate more than anything, I wonder if it’s her I got that from?” He let out a weak laugh, “But, I can’t help but wonder if I ever came up in her mind at all throughout these years? I know that’s selfish to wish someone would think back on when she wasn’t happy, but I...”

“It’s not selfish,” Eurydice pressed, causing Orpheus to lift his head. “You’re a lot kinder than I ever could be. I’d hate my mom for leaving me.” I already do…

Orpheus shook his head. Silence fell between them. Eurydice sighed, “I understand how you feel, about wondering if your mom thought about you when leaving you behind? If she still thinks about you now...my mom is out of the picture as well.”

“Really?” Orpheus asked curiously.

Eurydice gave a quick nod, “yeah.” Orpheus didn’t badger her for more answers, which she greatly appreciated. She turned away from the boy with the sad puppy-like eyes, “look, Orpheus...I’m not sure if I’m ready to full-on dive into being soulmates and romantic and all that. It’s not you or anything, it’s just that...I have some, hang-ups, about this stuff. But, I do think I want to try to warm up to it though.” 

She faced the younger boy, his eyes soft. “That’s okay Eurydice, we don’t have to move fast with any of this. We have time to grow and figure all this out.”

Time. Time. Time.

Eurydice faintly smiled. “Yeah,” she whispered, “yeah, we do have time.”

The college student tentatively reached out her hand, fingers bending at the joint. Orpheus slowly placed his hand in hers, fingertips tickling her palm until his fingers slid into place in between hers. The action was foreign and scary to both of them, to be this close and intimate with a relative stranger. Yet somehow, it was something they both yearned for. Eurydice curled her fingers and gave a tight squeeze, a promise saying she was going to let go. Orpheus lifted their hands to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, right at the bottom of her knuckles. His way of sealing this promise, his way of saying okay. 

“And who might this be?”

The two new lovers jumped, ripping their hands apart as well. They turned to see an older gentleman peering down at them. His skin a dark, velvety brown, with prominent wrinkles, that popped brilliantly against his matching silver suit. His gray hair perfectly cut and trimmed. 

“Oh, Mister Hermes!” Ahh, so this was the mysterious Mister Hermes. “Eurydice, this is Mister Hermes. He runs the bar and has basically raised me since I was a child. Mister Hermes, this is Eurydice, my…” Orpheus trailed off, turning to meet Eurydice’s eyes. How did she want him to introduce herself? She had said earlier that the whole soulmate thing didn’t sit right with her, would she still want to be referred to as his soulmate? 

Eurydice paid no mind to Orpheus’ hesitancy and offered her hand for the man to shake. “Eurydice Mendoza, I’m Orpheus’ soulmate.”

Soulmate. That was the first time Eurydice had said the words out loud. She was someone’s soulmate. She had found hers after years of swearing it off. And despite that gnawing feeling of fear lingering in the back of her mind, an overwhelming wave of sheer euphoria washed over her body. Orpheus was her soulmate, and in the short time she had known him, she was glad to be his. 

The older gentleman smiled a coy smile, “ahh, so you’re the girl who Orpheus has been moping about.” Orpheus began to blush and sputter but the man kept his eyes focused of Eurydice, raising a sole eyebrow at the girl, “‘told me all about your little, confession, a few nights back. You mind telling me what you're doing back here after hurting my boy?” His words were calm yet cold, burning and biting Eurydice after each pause. His hard stare pointed like freshly sharpened daggers. 

The air grew dense, full of tension and scrutiny on the older man's part. Orpheus, halfway regaining his composure, tried to defend his soulmate, “Mister Hermes it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. We solved-”

“No Orpheus,” Eurydice stopped the boy in his tracks, “I should explain this.” Hermes said nothing, waiting patiently for Eurydice to continue. The girl sighed, “I was a complete ass. A whole bunch of crap had happened that day and I…” she paused. She twisted her fingers in her lap, was she actually gonna admit this? Was Orpheus going to hate her? Judging by how enamored he seemed to be with her, it didn’t seem plausible but that didn’t calm Eurydice’s nerves. She let out a shaky breath, “I wasn’t ready to meet my soulmate. I actively tried to avoid it due to...circumstances. So when I ran into Orpheus, I was angry and I didn’t know how to handle it. So I said some really nasty things to Orpheus that I regretted right after I said them.”

Eurydice glanced over to Orpheus. Expecting to find shame, she was greeted instead to a face full of understanding, and non-judgemental warmth. She continued, “but, after coming back and really talking to Orpheus, I don’t feel as scared anymore. Maybe meeting my soulmate wasn’t such a bad thing after all…”

Hermes stared the girl down, and the young soulmates held their breaths. However, Eurydice watched as some form of understanding washed over the older man’s face, his eyes softening. “I believe you girl.”

Eurydice let out a sigh of relief, she wished she knew what she did, knew what she said that caused him to believe her. But for now, his acceptance of her would do. “Thank you, Mister Hermes.”

“However,” he countered frowning, “try not to hurt my boy like that again.”

Orpheus blushed, shifting away from the stares of his guardian and his soulmate.

Eurydice gave Hermes a melancholic smile, if only he knew, “I’ll try my hardest not to.”

“Aight then,” he nodded, satisfied with her answer. “ I’ll let y’all finish up here. Your break ends in five, Orpheus,” Hermes winked, sauntering away from the two and back behind the bar, returning to serving customers.

“I’m sorry about… that,” Orpheus frowned sheepishly.

“Don’t be,” Eurydice smiled, reaching out to link their hands once again. “I’m glad you have someone who’s looking out for you.” Orpheus, without wasting a second, interlocked his fingers with hers. 

As the rest of their limited time went on, the two watched as slowly but surely, more and more people flooded the bar. Buzzing bodies, young and old, crowded tables, all around the stage and swarmed the bar counter, clamoring to be served round after round. Orpheus gave another shy smile before rushing back to working the busy bar. Eurydice sat and watched the young bartender, keeping her eyes glued to the boy as he bounced back and forth between guests. She studied his movements as he took orders and mixed drinks, tight and routined as a well-oiled machine, his body language, his cheerful smile and welcoming disposition, how he engaged every customer with the same amount of care and genuine appreciation and attention. She watched the actions of a boy who grew up behind a bar counter, surrounded by drunk bodies, yet still found the light and joy in the craziest of moments. Eurydice could feel the fluttery feeling return, kicking intensely at her gut. 

Orpheus wiped stray beads of sweat from his brow and met Eurydice’s attentive gaze, giving her a modest, yet heartfelt grin before returning back to serving. The molten pit in Eurydice’s stomach began to boil and bubble, overflowing in an array of smoldering heat that nearly caused her to physically recoil. 

What was this? I just met the damn boy for gods sake! She wanted to run, run far from this foreign feeling that was plaguing her mind and body. Yet, she ached to feel more, to draw closer to the boy and let the fiery heat consume her whole. Eurydice thought back to what she told Hermes, told Orpheus, after coming back and really talking to Orpheus, I don’t feel as scared anymore. Maybe meeting my soulmate wasn’t such a bad thing after all…

Did she really mean all that?

She stared back at Orpheus, watching him laugh and entertain each guest with lovable enthusiasm. Yeah, maybe falling for him wouldn’t be so bad?

Eurydice spent the next few hours at the bar talking to Orpheus, Hermes and other random patrons who randomly struck up conversations. Surprisingly, mostly everyone in the bar was a long-time regular. each with their own funny story about Orpheus to tell. Before leaving, she and Orpheus exchanged numbers and he made her promise (innocently asked with such a cute expression Eurydice couldn’t have denied him even if she’d wanted to) to text him when she got back home, a request she honored. They texted the rest of the night until midnight reared its ugly head. 

Goodnight Eurydice! <3

Night Orpheus

She didn’t realize until she laid down for bed that night, but during her time at the bar, she never peered down at the clock on her arm once. Not one quick glance or check. Was this was what love was? Being so enamored that time flies by yet you couldn’t care less?

She drifted off to bed, the sounds of honking vehicles and drunkenly happy civilians blaring outside her window. The lights from the outside world bled through her drawn curtains. And for the first time in days, she slept soundly through the night. 

...

This chapter was not worth the wait and I apologize for that. Enjoy the semi-light tone because it’s not gonna last long. 

I’m not promising when the next chapters out. 

[introvertguide]

Swing Time (1936); AFI #90

The next film on the AFI list that we watched was the dance classic Swing Time (1936) with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. The movie was nominated for two Oscars and won Best Song for “The Way You Look Tonight.” The film was rather recently recognized by the US Congress and inducted into the American Film Registry in 2003. The film is mainly known for the dancing and the music, but I want to do a brief overview of the plot:

SPOILER ALERT!!! BTW, these are not even good spoilers because the movie is 80 years old and the plot is a little light. I did my best. 

John "Lucky" Garnett (Fred Astaire) is a gambler (apparently a viable profession in the 30s?) and dancer who is engaged to marry a woman named Margaret (Betty Furness), but his friends make him late for the wedding with a rouse about cuffed trousers (I guess...) and the bride’s father phones to call the whole thing off. His friends get the message but don’t pass on the information and instead bet Lucky that he will not be getting married, and he agrees to the bet. Margaret's father tells Lucky that he must earn $25,000 to demonstrate his good intentions. (Why? Not sure. If it was my daughter, I would either accept his apology or tell him to get lost and never return. There would be no bartering over my child’s happiness. Instead, the father makes it into a bidding war and is suddenly OK with this man standing up his daughter because he might have good financial prospects)

Lucky and his friend "Pop" Cardetti (Victor Moore) try to buy train tickets, but his friends take his money due to the rigged bet over the marriage. Lucky and Pop do their best hobo routine and hitch the first freight train to New York. Broke, they wander around the city and eventually run into Penny (Ginger Rogers), a dance school instructor, when Lucky asks for change for a quarter. It's his lucky quarter and Pop feels bad that Lucky had to exchange it. They attempt to get it back, but Penny is in no mood to deal with them. When she drops her things, Pop sneaks the quarter out of her purse, but she blames Lucky. Quick note, there are screwball romantic comedy beats throughout the film because there are constant mistakes and misunderstandings that are “whacky” and simultaneously move the plot along. They are cute but often make no sense. 

The two follow Penny back to her work so that Lucky can apologize, but he has to take a dancing lesson from her for an opportunity to talk to her. She's still furious and, after a disastrous lesson, Penny tells him to "save his money" since he will never learn to dance. Her boss, Mr. Gordon (Eric Blore), overhears her comment and fires her. Lucky dances with Penny to "prove" how much she's taught him. The dance that the two are able to do “spontaneously” is blatantly choreographed and perfect in every way. For the purpose of the movie, however, it is meant to be improvised. Not only does Mr. Gordon give Penny her job back, he sets up an audition with the owner of a local venue to showcase his new student and his talented teacher. 

Lucky and Pops check into the same hotel where Penny is staying for the audition. Lucky does not have a tuxedo to wear to the audition so he tries to get a tuxedo off a drunk man, but he ends up losing his own clothes instead. Like I said, not everything makes sense so you just have to roll with it sometimes. The pair end up missing their audition and Penny gets mad at Lucky all over again. Lucky is able to arrange another audition then he and Pop picket (literally with sandwich boards) in front of Penny's door until she gives in and forgives him. Also, Penny’s friend Mable and Pops seem to be in a relationship even though they don’t seem to really like each other. Also, Pops always sounds drunk. I don’t know why, it just is. 

In the strangest plot twist yet, it turns out that they cannot audition because the club has lost their band leader, Ricardo Romero (Georges Metaxa), to a casino. They go to Club Raymond where Lucky gambles to win enough to get Ricky back. Meanwhile, it turns out that Ricky Romero has been hitting on Penny for a long time and wants to marry her. Lucky is about to win enough to marry Margaret, but he takes his last bet off in time... proving he is no longer interested in her, but in Penny, instead. This is rather strange because there is nothing forcing Lucky to go back if he makes enough money since the father of Margaret never comes back, but it is seems to be a driving force to prove that he loves Penny. He is willing to remain somewhat poor for her. The owner of Club Raymond bets Lucky on a single card cut and the wager is all of Lucky’s winnings versus the contract of the band leader. Upon seeing that the club owner intends to cheat, Pop cheats as well, and Lucky wins the contract. I am not exactly sure how all this happens, but I see why Lucky is a considered a professional gambler since he is consistently betting in an attempt to win people. 

Lucky and Penny dance at the club and it is beautiful. They are dancing together all the time, but Lucky does not trust himself around Penny because he feels guilty about not telling her about Margaret. He's avoiding her, which Penny notices, so she and her friend Mabel Anderson (Helen Broderick) conspire to get Lucky and Pop out to the country. There is a most awkward number when Pop lets slip the information about Lucky and Margaret and a very flirty Penny becomes very cold as it seems that the two cannot be in love at the same time. 

Mabel basically dares Penny to go in and confess to Lucky that she loves him and they finally have a moment. But as these movies tend to go, Margaret shows up and ruins everything. Penny decides to marry Ricardo and Lucky will go back and marry Margaret. It turns out the Margaret has decided she wants to marry somebody else so Lucky runs out and breaks up the wedding using the same trouser cuff gag that was used on him at the beginning of the movie. 

Ricardo is without pants so Penny says that she guesses she is going to marry Lucky and then Ricardo plays a song with his band celebrating Lucky and what a great guy he is. Lucky and Penny finally have an on screen kiss and that is the end of the movie. 

It was noted by my parents that the music and dance numbers are not evenly dispersed through the movie, but are instead bunched up in the later two-thirds of the film. It is a good 20-25 minutes before the first song while musicals at the time normally had a big opening number (along the lines of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in The Wizard of Oz). This was apparently due to the first number, ironically named “It’s Not in the Cards,” to be cut from the film as it was judged as being not up to the standard of the other songs. 

A cinematography note (or lack of one, really) concerning the dance skill of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, many of the dance sequences have 3-5 minute uncut shots in which the camera barely moves. Astaire famously said on many occasions that he was doing the dancing, not the camera. With his perfectionism and the general toughness of Rogers, the two would do dozens of takes for these complicated dance numbers to the point that the high heels would rub in Ginger’s feet causing them to bleed. Every dance scene is a testament to both actor’s dedication to their art. 

The movie was similar to painting a room in that it took much less time to complete the aspect that people would actually see than the time it took to prepare. Months of developing the choreography and rehearsing was filmed over weeks despite the multiple takes insisted on by both director George Stevens and Fred Astaire. Dance director Hermes Pan was a very creative choreographer that developed highly technical and extremely complicated dance numbers and Astaire insisted they were done flawlessly. Ginger was a talented dancer that brought the best out of Fred because she continued on take after take and was able to keep up with Astaire’s almost manic work ethic. 

The number that Astaire performs when Margaret shows up to see him in a tribute to Jim “Bojangles” Robinson and involves Lucky being in black face. The number is a little weird and he goes through a good five minutes of shenanigans following the number still in black face. It is just weird. I just kept thinking he needed to wash off his face already, but he deals with both of the club owners and again loses Ricardo’s contract. I has awkward moments with Penny meeting Margaret and it is just so much more so since Lucky is still in black face. It is pretty uncomfortable in today’s society

Although I personally like the simple sound of his voice, Astaire has never been recognized as a very good singer. He also is not known for his acting, especially in his younger years. He was a world recognized phenomenal dancer from age 10 when he danced with his sister to the day he died. He was also not a classically good looking man being oddly proportioned with large facial features (especially the ears). All this being said, he successfully plays a suave gambler, sings beautifully, dances spectacularly, and truly embodies a confident man that makes women swoon. This was a perfect movie for Astaire in that it challenged his dancing skill and he was able to play off Ginger for his acting. He was not given much to sing but a very simple little piece that worked well his voice. He was dressed well with a top hat throughout the film. The film is truly the all around best of Fred Astaire (at least I think so).

So would I recommend the film? Absolutely, but I would mention the Bojangles in Harlem number because the blackface is a little off-putting. I think most people will either just skip it, watch it and not care, or watch it and think the 30s was a very different time. Everybody is different, though, so keep it in mind. Should this film be on the AFI 100 list? I think that the way that Astaire was filmed due to his talent and perfectionism is something that  has been lost to film trickery so something like this which highlights the best of Fred Astaire should surely be searched at and ranked as one of the best parts of American cinematic history. A great film that is a lot of fun to watch. 

[sunriseverse]

Would you please write "My cat keeps breaking into your apartment and it ate all your plants… dinner to make up for it?" Thank you in advance!

these two *shakes head* o b l i v i o u s 

Newt doesn’t find out about it until half way through the year; in his defence, he’s a bit over-worked, busy grading and grading and more grading, god, how many tests are there to grade?

You’re the only one to blame, since you teach the class, points out out his brain, annoyingly logical.

“Oh, shut it,” he snaps aloud, throws back the rest of his coffee, eyes sweeping across the living room, and frowns. The flash of dark fur he’s grown so used to seeing is missing—odd, since Owen is usually up and whining at him for breakfast by now.

He shrugs. Oh well—he’s probably just out on the balcony.

When he gets back from work, Owen is lazing on the couch. “Oh, who’s a good kitty,” Newt grins, scrubbing his fingers through the cat’s medium-length fur, chuckles when Owen narrows his eyes and makes a grumble of protest—

And recoils as the cat sneezes, spraying him with mucus. “Eeeeeew,” Newt whines, “oh my god you little bastard, you did that on purpose didn’t you!”

Owen licks his nose and starts grooming his paw, staring at Newt innocently. Newt sticks his tongue out and flees to the bathroom to wash his face, because cat snot? Gross.

Except then, a few days later, he finds Owen on the balcony, which, you know, wouldn’t be a big deal if he weren’t nibbling on the prized plants of Newt’s neighbor, one Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, bane of Newt’s academic life, who Newt has maybe a teeny-tiny crush on.

Hermann, Newt’s oldest friend who kind of maybe hates him, whose balcony is apposed to Newt’s, where Owen is currently calmly munching on—something, Newt’s not sure what, but he knows Hermann is going to be pissed.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, staring at the dark feline, slightly in shock, and then again, with more feeling, “oh, shit.”

This is, of course, when the door on the other balcony slides open and Hermann, in an adorably comically oversized sweater-vest, hair in what is barely moderate kemptness, leaning on his cane slightly, deigns to step out.

For a second, they’re both frozen, gazes locked on Owen, who’s moved on to one of the ferns, before Hermann hisses, “Geiszler!”, snakes forward, lightning-fast, and tosses Owen over onto Newt’s balcony. He draws himself to his full height, face stormy, and hisses, again, “Geiszler—” and stops, apparently at a loss for words, casts a mournful look at the plants before fixing Newt with a glare. “You—”

“Oh, fuck,” Newt exclaims, cutting the other off, grabs his fucking cat—trash goblin bastard—and bolts inside his flat, slamming the balcony door behind him.

After a few hours pass—mostly with him pacing and scolding Owen, in alternates—he collapses onto his sofa, stares at the ceiling, and groans, “What am I supposed to do?”

The ceiling, being a ceiling, doesn’t answer, and Newt scowls at it even more petulantly.

The next day, he studiously avoids the math building and spends over an hour at the plant nursery looking for new plants for Hermann, which he carefully arranges into a box, setting it in front of Hermann’s door, and rings the bell before disappearing back into his own flat.

Still, even though Hermann’s previous frostiness thaws, Newt still feels guilty. It’s then, a few days later, that he hits upon a way to fully apologise to Hermann: dinner.

“Dinner?” asks Hermann, voice pitched oddly, sounding a bit strangled. “Dinner—with you?”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Yes, me, Herms, do you see anyone else in the vicinity?”

Hermann purses his lips and makes the face he does when he’s deliberating something intensely—which, why? It’s just dinner—before he says, “Well, alright then.”

“Great!” Newt beams. Hermann returns it, though his expression is indecipherable.

The place they go to isn’t anything fancy, and Newt laughs at Hermann when he places the napkin in his lap. Hermann, in turn, mocks Newt for his borderline-obsessiveness with needing to eat his sandwich in a precise way, but it feels—light-hearted.

Fun.

The realisation hits Newt partway through, and he freezes momentarily, because he’s known Hermann for years and years and their arguments have been many things—intellectually stimulating, aggravating, steady, but fun is new.

It feels, oddly, fragile.

“Pass me the salt, please,” Hermann requests, and Newt snaps out of—whatever that was, grabs the salt and hands it to Hermann. Their fingers brush momentarily, and Newt, for reasons unknown to himself, freezes.

Hermann doesn’t, and looks at him quizzically. Newt shakes his head, trying to dispel the mysterious feeling and gives the other a weak grin. Hermann returns it with one of his own—small, the barest uptilt of his lips, but it’s genuine.

It makes Newt warm, and he clears his throat, trying to covertly tug at his collar, and says something he knows will incite another round of bickering, and by the time it’s over, Hermann slightly out of breath and flushed, it’s been forgotten.

When they get back to the building, they stop in front of Newt’s door first. “Well,” Newt says, awkwardly, “this is my stop. Uh…see you tomorrow? Maybe?”

“Er. Yes,” Hermann says, not meeting his gaze, bites his lip. “Well.” There’s a moment of stillness, and then Hermann moves forward, wrapping his arms around Newt, and then strides down the hall, leaving Newt slack jawed.

[phemonoi]

I wholeheartedly agree. I've always been like this. Let yourself be a child and believe at least once.

As an example, I had been waiting for a package from China for months. I used to jokingly blame Hermes (god of travel, messenger... posting service probably falls under his domain) for this. I had already given up that I'd get my package. But yesterday, very oddly and randomly, the package got to me. I didn't expect it at all. My local post office swore the package was still in China, they didn't have it. Other logistic systems recorded the package as in transit, or in China's sorting center. So it randomly got to me, a day after a very bad experience, and the postman didn't even ask for my address confirmation. He just ringed my bell, and slew the package under the door. When I opened the door no one was there. No one. Of course, the reasonable explanation would be that the postal service of my country and their logistic system is absolute trash. But I actively decided I believe this was Hermes' doing. It was highly suspicious. So what? Is it silly to believe that? perhaps. Do I care? Not at all.

Have fun. Enjoy your beliefs. They're supposed to be of service to life and bring you happiness.

My hot tip for today is that sometimes you can do silly, spiritual pagan things because they’re fun and they don’t have to be particularly logical or relevant in any way. You don’t have to believe in everything 100% to do and enjoy things. 

Every Samhain my mother leaves a plate of food outside. She says that the ancestors come in the form of raccoons to eat it. When I was little I of course wholeheartedly believe this. Now I think we probably just have a lot of raccoons in the neighboorhood, but that understanding doesn’t detract from the tradition. Suspending my disbelief for just one night to think that the animals I see wandering about are visiting spirits makes Samhain a hell of a lot more spooky and mystical then it would be otherwise. I wouldn’t want to do it any other way.

We don’t touch the garden between Samhain and Yule. The explanation given for this is that anything left outside during this time is food for the fairies and taking it angers them. As I’ve gotten older and learned more about gardening I’ve realized that this is probably an explanation for why we need to let the soil rest, and I certainly don’t think picking a plant in early December is going to cause me any harm, but don’t pick the plants anyways. Leaving the garden alone during the cold months makes tending to the plants that much more enjoyable and special during the hot months, and if my reasoning for why I can’t harvest that very last squash of the fall is fairies then that’s my own business.

Sometimes when I go down to the beach I find strange or out of place things. My explanation for these things is always selkies. In the back of my mind, I’m always aware that there’s probably a much more logical and reasonable explanation for whatever I’m seeing but those reasons usually aren’t quite as interesting, so I say that it’s selkies. And that’s fun. I feel like there’s some unspoken rule that after a certain age you’re not allowed to try and believe the things you’ve imagined, no matter how inconsequential and silly those things are and honestly, that’s boring, I’m not a fan.

The point here is that not all of the things we do in the name of our spirituality and faith need to be serious or even well thought out. Clearly, if you’re doing a ritual or a spell that’s one thing, but there are other fun little ways to make your spirituality more magical and wondrous that are less about what’s actually happening and more about the suspension of disbelief. And those things are wonderful and fun, and they add a little bit of joy to your life.

I meet a lot of witches and pagans who take themselves and their practice very seriously, and well that’s fine to a certain extent I think it can sometimes make your spiritual beliefs feel like a chore. Letting yourself have fun this way can be a really good way to prevent that.         

[the-firebird69]

and mikey is jason not mike.  mikey has him sy mikey Thor Freya Zues Hera ...htis is horrid your an imbicile we help means these are at us ad are i mx and are ther getting it onn. you see  we see the are at us..and all over him are ridiculous..statemetns are out landish embellish use poor grammar and are in the senate this is poor we see. tons of them too. huge huge lots. and mx is over run for sure...tons there the place was is a hell hole...not likechina no. jason Mike heeyyy  joe what the  justin f u whiteboy typing go f off loser low level merc Zues ok ok we use it dracula nah you back off or are lunch  Zues we see it ok then what you ghost tons need humans there. you dont.  and they are at us.  well we need tem alive mostly at times ok.  so you say it we use it then. out then bud.  thi sis the group. your the ingrates...sure are bud we aint you and you aint strong enough your not imnot these imps orweak ou faggot..i break them they se later ok dolt Zues  oh.kill too wit a thought this is lousy.  your our father or he is...dave is yours. im the Kraken but im the grandaddy of them all. oh. ok and what do w edo now..wither like them.ok. they war on us and blameyou and wont easeoff you see tommy f.  he is belligerent then latre smiles on tv seen by herms. ok sendit...but who is he...sonof mac daddy. he had him hit he and his brothers missed clonnes nd started a war.  wow this is bad.  and then.  they wont back off not fortea or gold or lasers or food diamonds wonnt.  it is odd.  that is why i tought ok aggressive and such..and i see.  but they are it why.  well.  they feel ok.  i see. up and nothing. wow.  tards really.  did it ad no justin the draculas are not rempid there it is your bud cork.  nono it is notme yeh you adn son and yes are rancid.  do th court thing and now it will turn on you.  you let it go by theway.  oddly enough. so. we  see they try on yours and them too.yes of course yes.  and bide is a mortal eeimy blamed you all the time you wer weaker at it. as you ca see but macs see it...he wont be. at me  if so right after them as he planned.  and willdssappear...the world is at war w thiermaster those that are s. it is for you to make alliances dracula with those that are on yourside you need out of that one ad he wouldnt mind. nope hatesus...is eway way off. lol.  and macs donnt need to bne here too much but need canaries. s wes ee this is horrid thi is a wa w etreat himlike a baby and it like a storm a mild thunderstorm tonighthey rip it up hard.  fially we see no it is due toour rihgging likekids ...and then we see us fail.badliy.  nyc prob up. shortly yes...all of it at one time then the cavern in that order yes.  tons say right over it....and wedid not cordon it off fully.  cant too many there will see it. ok.  and wesay all areout beyond. cordon now and will raisesimultaneously.  now we cordo for real eough shows we clear it soon well now..we use his idea that was usedin nz and australia the towers...tons say it caps and we say ok do it and we see this nah.  tons here.  and we fire soon. use it too all Thor Freya Zues Hera Olympus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNuIn4T-CLk

[pendragonfics]

Good To Be Back

Paring: Mark Watney/Reader

Tags: female reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, feels, fluff. 

Summary: You met in college. Married, got to work together at NASA. You're in SatCon, he's in the ARES III astronaut program. But when he's reported dead on Mars, you're more than a wreck. Thank God for your good friend Mindy Park, and a steely-eyed missile man who're working hard with you to bring him home.

Word Count: 1,914

Current Date: 2017-07-05

You can still remember the first thing Mark Watney had said to you, when you met in college – “It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m fine,” because the guy had just fallen down a flight of stairs trying to get from his botany classes to mechanical engineering in time. He’d gotten a bit bruised, sure, and the notes he’d been holding were splattered everywhere, but apart from his ego being a little damaged, the man was fine. He’d said the same thing after his stag’s night for the wedding had gone south (another stag party decided to ramp up the tension, resulting with Mark needing stitches in his eyebrow the day before the wedding), and still, you worried.

But now, he wasn’t there to say those words. Reassure you with puns and silly memes he’d found on his Facebook feed from the other astronauts.

It was completely fantastic how the pair of you had been accepted into the same workplace over the years, brought into the same sphere. Except, while you were the grounded one in the relationship (as always), he was two feet off the ground, and in the astronaut program.

Mr. Sanders, Director of NASA had seen to you personally, since you were his closest family. It killed you to hear it so factually, even if it was your profession in SatCon. His coms unit severed, deceased, and left behind on Mars after the ARES III crew were forced to depart. Smiling to the man in charge of your pay check, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom, and sat yourself on the closed lid of the toilet.

It’s then when the door is shut you feel the tears coming. Back in college on a drunken night in with old friends, they’d mentioned how dangerous the space program was potentially. Of course, you’d all been off your faces, and thought that space travel was as simple as on Star Trek. But damn it, it was 2035, not 1962; NASA had more tech than when the Friendship 7 circled the Earth. You had met Vogel and Johanssen, and they’d promised to keep him safe. He was supposed to be safe. Not dead.

“Damn you, Mark,” you hiss.

“_________?” A co-worker calls out, the sound of the bathroom door opening. Mopping your eyes with toilet paper, you take a deep breath, flushing the toilet before you go. “You just ran off. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Just needed to go.”

---

Sol 37

I’ve figured out how to make water, but I don’t think NASA will like it. They left me on here, so I don’t really care what they think, I just needed water. I mean, it was an accident and all, no hard feelings to Commander Lewis, and all. Anyways. I blew up a lot of shit (namely, almost myself), all in the name of science and survival and all that.

I keep thinking of what they’re thinking of me back on Earth. You know when you’re a moody teenager, wondering about what people will think about you once you’re dead? Well. That’s me now. Except I’m like, a full-grown adult, married and all. I keep thinking of _________, and how she’s doing. Probably not that great. When her grandpa died, she was a mess for ages. I don’t blame her. He was a great guy, always snuck those nice boiled candies into bingo night at the nursing home for his friends.

What I’d give for candy. No. What I’d give to tell my wife I’m not dead.

---

It’s hard to keep going on. Of course, everyone is asking you to take leave, take time off for your grief. You almost consider it. A week goes by, and then you accept it, taking time to cry by yourself in the apartment that barely smells of Mark anymore, remnants of him everywhere. He’d never put his things away; toothbrush laying by the stand, slippers kicked off by the bed, the coffee cup he’d been drinking from, empty and sitting all lonesome on the coaster by the plant on the breakfast bar. There’s no body to bury, there’s nothing but what you’re living in. Every day, you miss Mark, missing him more, and more, and more, until you can’t handle it anymore. Some days, you can’t get out of bed. Sometimes, you can’t open your eyes.

But one day, there’s a phone call.

You’ve been friends with Mindy Park since you both started the SatCon program, sharing numbers ages ago. When her picture starts vibrating on the bedside table, you find some energy, reaching over to answer the call.

“_________?” Her voice is oddly perky, especially for the hour.

You blink, flicking the bedside light on. You had barely any sleep, or maybe too much; you can’t remember, it’s been so scattered, and your eyes feel almost like they’ve been pissed on by a cat and left to burn (not that that’s ever happened to you, but you imagine it to feel incredibly painful).

“Hey,” you croak. “Is something wrong? Did I log something wrong?” You ask her.

Mindy makes a noise, almost like she’s shaking her head, but realising it isn’t a video call, adds, “Nope. Good news. Mark is alive, _________.”

You swallow, “A-alive?” You stammer, and sitting up too fast, you feel the blood drain from your head, and a little woozy. “This isn’t a joke, please, tell me it isn’t a joke, Min,” you almost pray.

“It’s real. And I’m working with Vincent Kapoor, too. You need to get here as soon as you can, we need your brain on this,” She gushes. “_________, Mark Watney is alive, and you can help bring him home. We all are.”

You’re already out of the bed, stumbling toward the shower to get cleaned up. “I’m on my way, Min.”

---

Sol 223

It’s shitty being alone on a planet, but you know what? There can be perks. I don’t have to fight anyone on the music. Except Commander Lewis. When I see her again, I will tell her where she can stick her records. Why nobody else brought music, it baffles me, because I’d kill for anything. German hardcore metal. Those recent pop music things Beck likes. Hell, I’d kill for showtunes.

Now I’ve started talking to NASA, they won’t shut up. Can’t a man just enjoy a life-threatening one-man holiday on Mars? All I’m missing is a pair of schmuck sunglasses and a bottomless piña colada. I’m waiting for them to tell me I can talk to _________. I mean, when all’s good and well on the Hermes and I’m on it, I’ll see her face, and tell her about all the crap I’ve been through. Might even grow this beard out, it might just make the whole desolate final frontier look complete.

I’m not really that upset about the music. I’m just worried about how much TV missing. If they’ve cancelled my show, I swear to –

---

You still feel like shit, but you’re a piece of shit whose brain is working a million miles a minute with the bigwigs of NASA. When he’s able to, you’re given the privilege of contacting Mark, using the messaging system in the Rover.

IT’S NOT AS BAD AS IT LOOKS, I’M FINE.

He tells you, making you laugh. The other people in SatCon don’t get the inside joke, and for a moment, you realise that it’s the first time in ages that you’ve laughed, and it makes you feel warm inside. Like Mark is already home.

DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE. COME BACK FOR ME.

You reply. Vincent Kapoor must take over the communications or there won’t be contact for a while, leaving you back to your desk to observe the weather maps and satellite pictures once more. Except, you’re feeling your heart beating a little faster, your lips perked up at the sides. You’ve still got those bags under your eyes, and your sleep schedule has gone to the shit house, since you’re working double shifts to keep him alive on Mars. You can’t do anything about the overabundance of potatoes, but sure as hell can you warn him about unprecedented sand storms arriving.

“You look pretty happy,” Mindy passes you a cup of coffee, smiling. You’re both at your desks in the SatCon observation area, currently waiting out the seventeen-minute period between the satellite changes. Opening the lid of the disposable cup, you see she’s remembered to add a marshmallow, just like how Mark likes his coffee. “I’ll try and get you more time to talk to him.”

Taking a big sip of your coffee, you sigh in contentment as the caffeine hits you. “You’re a saint, I swear, Mindy Park,” you tell her, resting your head upon her shoulder. Almost closing your eyes, you feel a wave of tiredness wash over you.

“Woah, you’re pooped,” she notes, taking your cup from you. “How about you take a nap, and I cover for your shift?” You nod, not even going to fight her on this. You’ve been up for the last forty hours waiting to talk to Mark. “Sweet dreams.”

---

Sol 512

I’m going to soar. I might sound like that I’m proud to be the fastest man to go in space travel, but I’m scared shitless. There should be some consequence of it, maybe my organs get f*cked up, or my brain turns to custard, I don’t care. I just want to go home.

I just want to go home to _________.

---

You’re faint when you hear the news. He’s on board. He’s safe. He’s coming home. Everyone is cheering. You’re sure the whole world is cheering. Mindy is jumping, and rushes to your side, and hugs you tight enough to maybe have a few ribs broken. You’re breathless, in a daze.

“I’ve got him,” Commander Lewis’ voice over the coms is still ringing in your ears.

It’s still a year, or three before he’s back on the soil of Earth, decontaminated, and briefed and cared for, and back in your arms, in the apartment, but your heart is racing, a million miles a minute, and so is your brain.

“He’s coming home,” you whisper, still incredulous.

“He’s coming home.” Mindy agrees.

---

“Yeah, I know I stink,” He tells the other guys. “Try not showering for a year and a half.”

Johannsen gags, her hands raised in surrender. “No-oo, no thanks.” Vogel nods silently, keeping his distance while the botanist smells like something that needs to be flushed away by the plumbing.

“But Mark, that’s how you usually smell,” Martinez chimes in from the pilot’s seat.

He laughs, glad to be back with the crew. “Screw you, Martinez”

---

His first words to you aren’t the special words he’s used all these years. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks. Nope. His face is lit up, like he’s the star atop the Christmas tree, the beard the team had been telling the NASA coms about shaven off. He smells of soap and Mark and your arms are around him so hard that you wonder if you’re compressing him into a travel size by your vigour. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s good to be back,” he murmurs into your ear. “I missed you so much, baby.”

Your grip on him loosens, “You’re not going to tell me you’re fine?”

He laughs. “Only if you swear never to make me look at a potato for as long as I live.”