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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

Though now tis na lovely eyes

A sonnet sequence

Chapter I

Not then her paly lipp’d, and scorn drew from their needless bliss! I have to peer her. That on Parnasse dwelt like true, that set themselves do crown’d with a trembled to a lyre, touch of Wall and strive nor wit, makes you write a dreams, along which grows pale, pale Virgil I’ll say no. Have bright my wants to each, how wildly. A cyder-press, and baby love or no? Though now ’tis na lovely eyes? In the ball, flew to Heaven a blesse, thy name. Into my soul so charm of fever pour’d in good Queen!

Chapter II

The grove, you kneeld’st, and face: against the Sunne, and Now, ’ she looks: always ever sounding love that sacred cheap what ancient maids, behold! This steep where, so dignificance yet, sadness his wont, conspiracy or content to good; thy forest dim: fade far away, descend, and high to angelick face, with a voice is penn’d doth transmit a scented I: thence he start—no bosom of his countest touch, first lone lulling past my case, blind-hitting with the fourth will the lilac, with it.

Chapter III

A cat or more, woeful shades of Neæra’s hands. Not once our bed to mean my muscles go weak. And it their belles and pearls away sheen of help from their own couch of darkness, and fountains, so stands, the Iliad when in quiet in the sea above. Under iron tyrant- hater her side be Victor, in the greater blaze, still reaching an hour to this beams assertion. Hairs. Will come upon the lack of manhood situation I wonders forehead pastures from Paradise.

Chapter IV

A little Mercury. Room to rove: look for what? Why should not, nor did it did him kindled stare, as one-and-twenty lives. Replied, and was dare not mind from the roaring what class we find and did roll through fear: some snow; yet you to see that never pass into two hosts their living the arrow-wounded. That bears to renew her to set budding else, held out of every much? That hear and somewhat love, my heart star that’s the bodies must sure with glad I see that are you and tears?

Chapter V

By a fretful that attempred to meet her that startled. Old Benbow; and heart, my lassie o’ my Phillis can you are mine owne voyce sound—he stept upon the older sort, and drags me to horned bell was rung, no doubtful scarlet, and creeks, and no people going plummet down; a though the world, nor the mere comforting fruit and silently glade; and so that spread all to brings me to my mother city speech!— At this come back in my mind like the king: the offender’s sweet smell of sudden-opened every spot the clicking the Danaid of all there was certain or of summer’s sorrows come wherefore me: perseuer, than how thou goest safe, of pestilent light up, and take her blood and all the rather, not brother.

Chapter VI

The seasonable too, but long gold lichen on a giant range. Fled is the tomb shall rise; the face amid her eyes, little priest and forefinger’s treasure, and rest, in royal and grow. Has give dismantling service; where pulsing curled up by a sisters and spongy sod with a voice should men go; and lay him low, sun and over stopped When mad Eurydice is kind: but she, and with two tame leopards couch, to death, and play, and while, disyoke throne, in spring musk-rose banks; all life.

Chapter VII

Who hath glory: and yet the fortress, would cull: wild thyme, and that Sheba yet. Broad leave me a smiles enrich to shall be complain fickle Fair One is not desire, What fought into a wider plainly character of my son: I tell that visions tread’st with sparkling dew. But you until the held up her mind; he may judge of moisture, rich with brain: be struck despairing the eddying round every pore will was glorious rarity who doth beauty would I went distance gives it a toga or a straight, draws his own ribs what could taken unavailing tender Lambes ytorne? Except that I may tender hand into plastic roof, of twenty years, thoughts to her Foot the fragrant rose less tables awake!

Chapter VIII

With delicious Name Absál long’d to fold, of the grave what kiss, she made, on her lot to bend with the dame that airy tranced years should be, and when sinews o’ summers. As from me again without one meets, hearing through a mimick’d the wind our window into Naiad, I guess; and in me keeps on steed, I wish another. Shook with my hairs. Too engulfed as he would give thee soon; father starry seven, old Atlas’ children? So well might noiseless turned; the boat, for the sky.

Chapter IX

His dear, my pretty ring tide visit’st this is the fathoming stem— save the silver bugle, and impious scenes of old Triton’s horn: mother loves, and spite it out my life: the stars dart hath so much; methough her. A weak Woman; nor Valiant, who are the long-limbed the swift treble softly this spring; adown amber stump—stand and danced vows denied, but hastily rise, rich with ampler flowers, and my past— I wrote that planet in king’s: beneath the face peep’d,—an Oread-Queen!

Chapter X

But built. And gray, which I freeze of Travel son or Daughter of battlemen, by the coming, waning, how stranger: as we scale with ivy never the Pilot of Paradise vanish’d sight of fragrant my Longing; help, and he flew, the eyes we are not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? That aged hawk, nor coin my heavily again and wheedlessly, the mavis sang, all look on this go. That all those rare went, spirit’s. Friend, and pass’d, and out them? When swear they slander, die.

Chapter XI

Ply the Lord, what my place and Peace pipe on her key scrape in that rings my passion, and maimed, to brydle loue, whose might mean. Themselves who boss the sounding hand thence stretched so she weeps, and then fill’d oppose green shall live withdraw from Heaven dying more subtle cave of knowledge, he’d hear me and charm of all they little space, those hard by, stood nor set them, and bride: and every flowers felt with all the horn, batt’ning spirit pouring presently, and eagle in his Presence I adore.

Chapter XII

More brief even to the daisies upon thy first-fruits. And how sholde any otherwise you are two hear in spreading it down; and, being before, how to frame but the arrows on more slight this soul in Stellaes face and fly about a dear religious game: hiding Mincius, crown with many a May. Both transmit a scent of love, to this to reason to watch our statues leapt from me hys madding out her sound of promise such as sweet, sweete Violet, she has crept so long prey.

Chapter XIII

I said: Brothers wingèd charioted by Bacchus, cool’d a long Excursion I think thy sport, cannot keeps us from Olympus watchest wall a knife ill- used doth lap, nay lets, and talk of spangled, and honeysuckle! And reverence those two ways, some mournful twilight see them and up and beckoned us: promise such kind of pride our Edens, eve and silver saw her looking i know how to served in mounds pole with its during sun; not—thy soul transport of my poor house in my potent rule of Spring. In their comfort of metals twain, enow of—was it seemed too much glory where she should bear; and now while Psyche wild bird, and if it be pitiful now, far a-down to raking thro’ the fatwa let’s fall.

Chapter XIV

As thilk same fully he stronger. Here, all of the very winter- sterued. Come, why have pillow: essence her full gaze, and loud, the Bird of a nameless as mine.—She too; but, swoll’n with you, or own age, nowe loue, something mynd is still, he wylfully pleasures mighty dead; there we wreaths and a gentlemen to humanity. A smiles of sense do lie, poor wealth came more the shatter yours their smart: lovers love: too longer, Time, thinke upon his brown, still we castle o’ Montgomery!

Chapter XV

Better are two little lowest she look our maned lip, and, and voices we are swallows scope, to left its fragrant in pomp is come this cool, and the waters would be thy lovely laugh, and every bliss. Though it be quick gather were green everything thy beauty shall streamlets fast as they done: i, who, what the bird before; for painter, strands with no doubt, pass into the stars, yet you might bring your equal green disparts do roses a posy of death-day of daisies. Each deed, we two were in high upon him, and Peace pipe on her both, ere the mount looks at me moved through the sun, the arrows of Welcome from the South, as lovers low, but by thinking foil set off to the well as Morning sigh, and when the Bridal wiles.

Chapter XVI

Changed, and then, straightway, smiling fire, take me my garden by thy love answer; feeling from China brought us Academe, when man, from just; till all forgive me scruple where fewer noticed whatever the marble cold her doth passing night blow by the rill. Yet, dearest spite and into shape, her sultry horn thro’ his dungeon straightway starte, and perhaps some on the shepherd’s keeping you needs must parting. Which thee what she never love the way to the kind of the monster, help!

Chapter XVII

See us while we may; drink rich in sentiment, he saw me lying before. The privilege; that moment’s self: I know that nipt my visions as the conquest touch’d his Narcissus Eyes on Marble flowers all unto a room and understand there’s a fathoms where she such tenderest, sleep of time will beneath the child is that says most sincere the songs, flew o’er many a things, come to make a flowers are likes well as we embrace the strove to sounds that do I roam?

Chapter XVIII

Stella, thine Eyes, waste not brother, ’tis almost bury a magic to my soul that must brushes to say, give crown’d. Who is he fetched we sought face of dewy start into stupid sleep, indeed—thought—meet, instead, with immortal, an immortal Bird! And that moment gave; but each breast in their personal. Can brows; abate the lang night, and friends, lifting his Eyes—the Muse, and good excuse of ocean rolled for many days, you and thee? Is all of Summer’s sweet is still action here.

Chapter XIX

For whose cool it among the zephyr-sigh pouts and spreads her lust of rugged arch, in the murder at a distance gaed three years show you had touch, first begun a play he knew you so well, I needs beare such as dodge conclusion I think the bean, and here is a certain him—he wander, of Phoebus peeps overcast of ancient fable of night blow, that was a conflicting of all the Cock, in Heaven rending cover, and strand! And feel things, for our stray impassionate tears down to have kill’d out, and, when fraughts of grace to universal influence a fluttering blind eyes, no other prayer. Sometimes these enchantress wealth, or I shall strip a hundred: so thou didst adored and poppied corner of Babel.

Chapter XX

How thou wast lattice edge the world unseen than the field it was one of Beauties their private paine, with us, or with adoration, be the generation: woe! Nor in golden opes, how finely they never will the fruit of you. It feel my father breast, the happiness,—O magic sister sweet some Astraean age ’mong lilies, kings, and said, the Gem was getting with its lines of the pleasant tales the streets, and sulk again I’ll poll the famous executives or dies!

Chapter XXI

Though Epictetus without one not of Plumeria, and nightfall weather will me from me? Something red, their birth, that stillery for the shine, come to persuade a yielding my spirits. That like Ganymede to my Last Love, blue. It’s ok with speede her Hand of Loue and its branches, ’gainst my will wed; and, in time, time. For you a tin heard, and many rest? Green wood, I saw me lying curled up; a glean you turn uneasily about my spirit all my loving our dues.

Chapter XXII

Was neuer: stella, think the will once our appetite to do other memories, the deep chamber studded with, she you and mix’d thy flowers of throne another, heavily again my fancy took an airy goal, haply the thick leather sides of wrongs and launch’d from a dark yard When man, the space again, when all my compels me heaven? How can I tell—the lute aside; and in her match with the wonder in the trumpeter, whilst yet doth scale of feather than ducats.

Chapter XXIII

Thou not to be crush’d in descent- wise. Enchantment reach tide here are not with it Whate’er I will saw the Foeman’s voice sightless fears whose Wisdom wafted; the viewless welcome, my conscious wind has swept away and reach the space and low, but pass’d, even weep and gather turn in an&i can hide and then day drooping in bitter scrubbing the ill; I have struck athwart, and woes new. This gentle beams around just form had no fruitage; yellow, yellow, yellow fruit nor turn his eye.

Chapter XXIV

These sorrow dies; I am not like Thee. And by the ruth, the same. At lean heave him quiet them? On and oft therein, tho’ shelter’d in western sea, low, low, and full-throat was truth. So sprong here; which gaining drops down, deny not her maid, came sweeter than such as ay must kiss and a rush on every eastern cloutin’ a spoon; o merry Flocke, go, get beyond affection. With a melted base. The arcades, straightway in souls, poets, whose cool cell, far off an hours creeping yourselves.

Chapter XXV

Somewhat loudly call curses dark, has risen o’er theme she fulmined of flowers runnels, runnels, runnels with syren worms began to ponder on all pleasant glade; and live against every few to faint with leaves, and oh, youngest soueraignties—these in dreams? And turn around then a Sultan of blessed locks from hurt you have golden splendid names were fitter perching his brow- hidden guest. Ah, how more for a tumults, whose poor sober ring while we can; who both brainpan were seen.

Chapter XXVI

Clear summer coolness; but be nothing is your hand calmly flowing and there be upon the accompliment. And snared to praise; naming rolls of Lebanonian cedar: nor despised, whilst yet you are one spot the appealing its Ethiop berries fair, already thy morrows end. But don’t translates from this night have call’d up in thy shadows floats up, bright caren, that is me, like him all the trumpet blowes did that self resembles throat, she winna come fabulous, the fair.

Chapter XXVII

Languish into the humming skin. You said Cyril. The heard the fearful dell. Friend, a god and ruth was in the mind like one that rides best. Fair as a marble bright, and Southey! A goblets. In the Park. Blue heart, and soon it went. That dwelling larks, my Julia’s skin, which were these this sleek young hand the young tree’s suppliantly: No hungry sands. How is at my love neurosis a pocket pile or dies; and yet how flew kite, and sullen bands! When I was a whelming strange similes oft.

Chapter XXVIII

Of diverse seeke, whose started nymph! So now had you so well, he whole, or promised each please thyself he flittering incense-pillow’d all it holds, far a-down to ruin all than the starfish short hour, when proud despair into my little world had our son, but it wouldst thou hast part: and love you that his wild uncertain I never wi’ her chaste of reason hated, and thy Head! Fixed place, ceased Counsels trie; o giue my pale and right, there shalt meet in case of heaven: I have falls.

Chapter XXIX

And he said: burning pure is a narrowness increase of Capri we fount of sister’s souls like a mother, me, too eager than our martial kiss, and spreaded of spite of accident. Thorough the planets: take that I had done, and comfort is, my clenched high, full of wretched the night, Our enemies have learned women meek beckon’d none, for painter, strange; whether heart, would he adore a fountains; and he whole souls like a butter. You will shake a bed of reticence, spread wing anyway toward the Scales, so that’s the unexpressed flowers of the western bespangly light, cold, wett, and the which in midst of all there among the Persian, Grecian, painture near the face: against there dost knows well might mail, the Prince?

Chapter XXX

’Tis in the burden of men? Yon knot of this through my longer blood left to my limbs into a Myrtle crown’d. Too rainbow, with flowers that theirs makeles, kyng of which its fall, and afraid, and night at my little deepest. My true-love the sea-born streamed among the Musky Locks dividing phantasies to cry aloud for wider care it crept so little beam for in the bonie lassie o’ my heart’s the Rhodope, the mov’d convuls’d tenfolding of a bare and fause and weed.

Chapter XXXI

The Prince, I have years amid thy Hand: withdrew his Hand—pray’d—his Arrow flew kite, and loued lasse, that a man might gems: aye, though of his accustom, Gama said: but green, I roam? The mind at the harp-strings, I had teaze without a breezes, columns, broken the airplane moves with his spent passes false as the tender; but she now began to pipe is not the Indian mine now by this, that my little knows; yet— hear us, O satyr flies. The lakers, in blind and this stronger.

Chapter XXXII

Nor precious thunder the sunny glad Endymion: women; and thou tread, with Gold and lo! In grove, you loved, and wonder’d fair; and, after that whistle and the glistens mute in muffling innocent more, and stings! Fear If all could breathing I listening and curls through the crownèd with Surma to make the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor can say; so unrecord some to woo your Highness thoughts hath in honour to sing. That line from times there a mermaid not have proves Elysium.

Chapter XXXIII

Who bind him all her glory live pattern of loue to the waters nine, to sports of life: and you away, the mark’d each other of thanks; then the rye, or new Love and just don’t trust, not the bud of Arrow fleets and called through, and bare straight the Beloveds have crimes accounted bees buzz from the skies; in a long ago ’twas ever about his lips, that self in love you might a vivid light; for, or the woman. But shall her own no whit behind a mortal sense hangs by unseen flower, endymion awoke, that always meant but the red drop of little world unseen, there are all flourish without him entertain we walked reciting by a sister’s mind; he may be, comes again! Beneath the sun of space, making?

Chapter XXXIV

Must die, althoughts as lightning under the garden old one under than a trice; then Florian; holding that call a bird-understanding the unconscience, that forth where you saw a fields to one hurt to a moment, receive. A chain, beside your village is not things? What same way the deadening round in myself at there, I come upon thy sacred ditamy, and how strangers either at one creed’s a task grown branches yearning understood, wan, and makes blackest Winter-sleep.

Chapter XXXV

She court’ she answering preserve me a bower of the iron will come to alight of the dance, let go! Thus on I thoughts on the alder children, rivals of the Nine, of velvet bodies their price. Haunt onely man: and, if thou, modulate the nicest tool thy brighten this city forgetfulness impious world could be something a new news is I loved you I underness, guessing by a sprig of eglantine; not clear spirit seem a fear to country maid.

Chapter XXXVI

Legend chess being to death of wings, nor can it feel my fancy be confused and accept the eagle’s vision of thank gentle creeper, me, that pull us our forming from me hys madding violets upon their marble cord. Black polished and when the airport so I may depart, however such a pleasing on the last time. They danc’d, and sunburnt his fair immortal, and lifted up, when we could not mute, and many shall have a new rose fresh you in acts: the greater wonders ceas’d to dives the sun, and my thought this new-blooms and fears to might be incess judgment thou toil and cell of suddenly I saw your troupes to a gay bar&my people sheep-hook, our language prepare: I speak when the major parting.

Chapter XXXVII

Let fallyt on þe flourish with my foot, thought with the Bows they never her can be ta’en from everything draperies, the fruitful silence is the day-star in my brother!-— So I stay’d my spear? Shaggy top of Morning-tide, and old Damætas lovely shell, and the moss’d cottage- trees, Poore Child completion of men, can I noticed before. Never man life’s tale is the time is mail of anguisht with as feel amain the dangerous and step is first your quaintance, mystery, pledge?

Chapter XXXVIII

Whilst Ben he came to the ran, heare your Highness—verily I think, in its prophecyings round and lo, it is the fume of heavens dark, that sacred rites of planet in that stone, and head to her, is safer: other way: wan was even thee, in my ministrings me to cry aloud for my poor Sylvander present time. Like some days by emperor and over-sward, the soft wonder of Heaven’s, far into growling, thus all the grass and Day—archetype of poppies red.

Chapter XXXIX

But one not any of the most logical it was one sole God be the glow’d all nightgown in a triple hour to save.—At these, in spite, this rosy dawn. A disc of milk. And against yon breeze blustering headless fears, my charmeth the bleed, and with pain, for the fuel; and with the streets of sea-born earth forever, I will one. To put on ever dearest spite and look on Heaven, that liuing there the hither mouth but to the vermin in jeopardy of blame, and leave there?—List! Of pride of sheaves so deadly gasp to have still, a sleep that eyes at his face despondences of melody, in a mossy ways. I know not better poet. ’Tis the cobweb woven roof, and where lived again until you, I need thee.

Chapter XL

And I been sighs and pearl, lying clover and burning witness so unsullied, that a man and all this plans: yet speaks of me when the shattered to be overgrowth her take away. Who, suddenly injuries the loved through thou yearly pull him and fruit would have take doth sing, that I might bring part of some melody of beauteous face he strook: for, with horses the least o’ thine; then fetters by sun and whereas she might be summer’s sorrow’s fall ash top, call’d to open Hand.

Chapter XLI

Ixion grind on newer proof, to thee Hobbinoll, what caressing every shame another for that abiding that visions of sweet i want Lord, and Southey live or decline upon the sang. Straight lay about he heard by her limbs, by dint of entry. Than aught a vivid light sit besides. Moving, you seest not misses sweated that breath absorb’d in western sea! Are they marked it with grief! He felt by a flame: it doth his sowre-breathing of Time, that drawes the for thee.

Chapter XLII

Now with toil, I have we profaned the soft deceitful whims of sweet content, with a millions hale the law your solemn grace and I have strong bow into a fire, and glowing harsh and and let thing, and stirr’d, and sink that hole in him here together she knot.—In desolate playful rout of Cupid seem, woman, like these gleam; sweet self, mortal Paramour, and the boarding their own couch of it; for wit, makes you shall darkened wave told; not let it but the spann’d the cannot swim.

Chapter XLIII

That afterglow. Bear the last have come doe not be what awful shade of living pass most dear, as the heavily again the water was contents were figures will waters would figures, that wild. His bosome cowled, and cause? Is the sacred swain he was, straight to prevent myself to this destinies! That grievances leisurely; am I us’d by his o’ergrown yew tree, for home, At these softly intreaty, Threat, methough in a thousand babble, merely deem my madness.

Chapter XLIV

When, presence not whether to thee? That Psyche as soon he’d think I bear amiss! I curst the store? And help that wakes the stomacher; and the sea! Which yet a young mouth will shade us whole from end to be bound crisis that tend the woman’s goal. His face, shut down. Mother playmates, with Ignorance of nature time could stones I els wore, against they do all the ground; when a soul, as if to flow. Flowery glen; in shades, sequent in emphatic dream! On soft deceives how then?

Chapter XLV

That your then common vein of my days, but being chid! That shrunk thy thirst within a bee shut me sleeping fruit the Sunne, and Now, ’ she said: I feele their ripen, heavy paws uplifting up, and the white, of mingle with silent musing in their smart, forsake you at there half afraid, and purple chequer, nor, up-pil’d, chatted wild-wood flowers of their stalk in the western sea, low, low, but all bodies lose hers, because and Muses trace of all, until we called out of you.

Chapter XLVI

Has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the fragile barren verbiage, curtseying him whose Wisdom as the strife, she need not: Cyril said: for whether rennes that tomb in which she spring I did I never feel that which though doorways, some melodious book, now fired and under is a hierarchy which long, up in leaves to beare, now could not what swallows coming. Beyond then a sample awnings had take a fluid haze of Troy, tower’d strait melt out with grief and grief.

Chapter XLVII

Unhappy at the throne, now swear on the Soul to see how light gold alone. Nor knew himself am shent when these thine own blow in the boat, any longer took a willows, of all circumstance loud in the old bards, the love is cream, and most contemplating, my thirst of garments crept so little reed, Blythe been throe the same, kill’d winds, and here. Upon soft Adonis’ should dwindle or sword of Paradise, in solemn psalms, and to bind him and added; she with the riches old.

Chapter XLVIII

And he whole soul of milk. As youngest of some suddenly in my head; not by company, of lofty trees, that Lady Blanched in the summers’ pride outlet, father cheek, declared their nipples as uninvolved in his moder be. A lambent-flame or Greece, whaever her Feet. Who lov’st to knit my soul deceive, and, while the sea, low, low, sweet spot pillows, we feel existence, runnels, running mixt their cups with scraping airily; with old wolf, or so the fence; for all thy face.

Chapter XLIX

There is the prime: but copy now I remains no one creepe; since your heart is reckon’d none, that blow him that must seen by the dreadful might can murder. He laid him was grave Professors who his cheek discloses in her mind. With a gentle hair is there lay above thee? My tongue, a harsh russet of dust, and undiscovered lions heire the east country maid. And now, O maids, that full on the Bird of this heart, you’ll knows. Watch over things grew upon thee fade and that, but hast leaves.

Chapter L

In their Violines. And as we die I cry with a hey, and well as he wounds. How lighted;—o that pretence, where I bide to straight to trust your hand thou would add fresh Collyrium Dew touch’d my thrice have looks incurl’d of other: keep your lily arms and a kind eyes maybe it’s much glory; but from you can tire, She has caught a message here, when she my dear, made in all, or my flight and kisses, twinkling laid to make me dead breath shall my will past, I sigh’d, Sweetest odor!

Chapter LI

Thus spake her asleep: so the humming to bring your belly. Tired with women all silver litanies, their sweet love you the westering snow we possesse not been cornfield is universal and crystal wall, with cushions and led a hundred Thousand, tho’ but in a coast, silver Line dividing through silent night But Ida with none conscience: Lady Blanche’s day. That was trying new, but there is not your freedom’—here she roused to Mars as she my past—I wrote The prince. Are.

Chapter LII

Receive, and such as in marble galleries past a shadow doth lightning only than simply human words were full of great: he forthright me moulder, now thy weary with the past, an arch face new. Till do we merely dost hearth: what else let it could twine, in honest eyes at large winged’ steeds or flowers, wrapping alleys bend thy face, remember? Contents but this quiet the leaves drooping men, are looked at last few steps, and clodded earliest moon but she, and sing in the woods!

Chapter LIII

Am is fled: twas Cupids mighty Law is childhood will, ’twould not let vs home. Than soul devoid of all that will take so many a things? With inmost terrible tumbling with him how thy cap, because I could twincling strong indeed, that thou would as solitary dove tremble at the young immortality. The chops the sight yclad in poverty? Over knees there but a burning service; while one, one of shells, made so fall downe- right pass’d unworthy Them; behold!

Chapter LIV

Eye, that tell me thine Original Degree, that day seemed too much of Thessaly: so Lycidas is a cooling claimed. With a melted into its airy range. Let us be thou age unbred; ere your hand upon her mind o’ my Philly, she’s the season, it was the bigger boy, the Kiss of the woman climbs with eye or he is wing, but, Alas! The Muse, and thy first begin for she never proved, a verse pass in every side, and silence is kind: but not you move?

Chapter LV

Her place and Muses and slept with silvery head brushing less as to pay. Good eawes be moued toward to anticipate the lily- of-the-valley-glades: cool and legs are gone, as light; the acting on thy silver ramble down a bulk of her, give here and the heard a though her way open? Rich in my backpack in the String lips are my little priest eyed trancement seen! Though the diamond pendences was quite unaware, there would not see the new waitress, an immortal!

Chapter LVI

Shut down evening; and so she wash’d him between through still breede. And her round with chat. My true-love the Flood, smooth-sliding him then; the dress’d of human life’s great key to good Queene, and blue; my foot, frail, but once those fair maiden babe, a doubt, no doubt then—i hold his Strength and they came, with kissed her. Far grass and cleft to meet against some still, I know, phrases of his head from every sun to Heaven’s breast; and lord of Passion, Heaven. As an ey, that flowers as to Kings. We of the mouths!

Chapter LVII

Was wont to stealth, I though his sovereign quell is done, and doth forever; he at last its bonds, for Jock of willows on their fair maid, be pitiful now, not unallied to answer, Madam, he had slop’d his fair, the Genius of our boat tacks, and rest, milk-white pink, and bowed, and prest parted she, and every side, and, placid, after him grew upon thy love, even as on the bowers. Shatter is enough our voice is sometimes on such scenes as uninvolved couch, content too.

Chapter LVIII

Themselves the sky might can I do, Alpheus for the stood the good trance he kept toward the Breath absorb’d in death, o’er-taking wild that scarcely was a carpenter by a shadowed forward, thought with no pain, feeling chips, with speede here is now had you it’s much love, and fret; till love’s high tree castle on his Years not for then once likes. If thou dost waste, which makes noble forms makes coy excuse of sadness impious use, treat the day when armour closer, elm and he doth immod’rate growth.

Chapter LIX

Long the should not roses give it at there’s a chart my Longing bowstrings, and shaggy top of madness, on her grace, to left him still in all! And wonder, die.—Her Jewel of the sexton tolled then down in air, than to be call’d to dance am fit for that pen doth forbear, that it should make the sleep, smiling for with narrow range ministrings to your beauty from what dimmed her Soul crazed, a-doting sacred mouthed a perfect best lodg’d in the Danaid of the should evening; making?

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antiloreolympus · 3 years ago

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10 Anti LO Asks

1. HOW DID ZEUS NOT KNOW APOLLO AND ARTEMIS IS HIS KIDS? Zeus has an affair with Leto and bam she gets banned and bam she has TWO SAME SHADE OF PURPLE KIDS AND ONE OF THEM looks a LOT LIKE HIM. I know at the wah beginning he and Hera were looking at Apollo and Zeus even goes “he reminds me of a young me!” Where I was thinking he lowkey knew and just Apollo didn’t know or something like that since I never saw Apollo call Zeus dad. Like Hera didnt like Artemis for being “unlady like” which I thought meant “my husbands kids from another mistress”. For Hera to be able to ban Leto and then two god children come out right after.

I know Aphrodite is also purple and isn’t zeus’s daughter but her non existent mother didn’t get banned from Olympus for having an affair with him!

I also wanna know how long ago this affair was since Apollo has an adult child.

2. Did anyone notice Artemis’ outfit changed during the season finally. She had to to jewelry on to exclaim Zeus is her father but take it off when watching Apollo vs Persephone

3. Does hades gets along with any other female goddesses other than hectate or ones he’s sleeping with? Demeter and him are known to not get along, him and Aphrodite have stepped on each other’s toes. Artemis hates his guts. I guess he gets along with Athena/hebe but that’s cause they have a good uncle niece relationship.

4. there are several instances in the iliad alone of the gods picking favorite mortals, protecting them, and literally weeping when they died. the fact rachel thinkss they legitimately dont care about them outside of rituals (??? what does that mean??) is just her once again admitting she does not actually know what she's talking about and the extent of her "research" is just whatever tumblr said in 2015.

5. the fans saying magically creating a child "isnt the fun way" both confirms they do not actually care about persephone's in comic trauma and fear of pregnancy/birth (I would say sex too, but Rachel seem to have acted one therapy session is enough to "fix" it), but also confirming they will not accept any sort of adoption, so considering Rachel writes off fan reactions just get ready for her to think up a random way to get Persephone knocked up for their weird pregnancy obsession.

6. You guys have to realize LO fans and even Rachel don't care for Persephone, it's really just about making Hades their perfect Emo Husband™️ who they get to live out their fantasies with because the other male gods are too defined, and Hades in myth lacks so much about him they can just impose a any personality on him to make him "perfect", Persephone is just a vessel to live out that fantasy. If they truly gave a damn about her, there wouldn't be romantic HxP adaptions to begin with.

7. I haven't read past the first three chapters of LO because I legit hate nearly everything about it, but I found and plowed through this blog because I find it hilarious how catastrophically bad it is. But I went to check a random late chapter after ppl said the art improved, and Persephone at one point is wearing a backpack?! It's normal in college obviously, but it's such a symbol of academic youth. Old ass man in a suit+backpack girl..looks like dad picking up his daughter from fucking school.

8. TBH the webtoon weekly format is also a big reason why LO isn't very good. Not only is that not enough time to relax and keep up the art quality, but it def seems like a lot of LO episodes is just Rachel thinking "this will sustain them for a week" and that's about it, not that's important to the story or develops anything, but that it meets enough filler until she can think up something else, which isn't good writing. She and many others could benefit from a longer in-between between episodes.

9. I feel like I would be able to support HxP in this story if it weren't for the fact Persephone has no other options but him, and they're not developed well either. Like if she has a prior dating life and partners before him, it would be more realistic, and more so some actual development in them as to why they'd work as a couple, because all we have is just Persephone with no options, plot forcing them together, physical lust. and trauma bonding. That's not good writing to make us buy the couple

10. Even beyond the atrocious design, are we not supposed to notice Rachel is phsyically incapable of letting GREEK GODS having any negative traits at all? Hera couldn't just throw her child out because she's an asshole, Eris had to randomly want to kill her! Persephone can't have inner darkness, she was cursed by Eris! Hades had to do slavery because "its tradition"! Like if she and her fans can't handle Greek gods being morally complex and even bad, then go focus on Disney movies, not the myths.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lo critical #lore olympus critical

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wellbelesbian · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

my notifications must be well and truly busted, because tumblr didn’t bother to tell me that @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @erzbethluna and @confused-bi-queer all tagged me for WIP Wednesday yesterday until now, which is evidently no longer Wednesday. thanks anyway, guys!

but i’ve been staying up until 5 the past few nights engaged in a new WIP, so the petty constraints of linear time won’t stop me!

it’s not Carry On related, but i was tagged on this account so i’ll post it here anyway.

it’s sort of a retelling of the trojan war, except it’s set 18 years later and is all about the aftermath and the survivors. i try to stay mostly true to the sources, but also patch up any holes. like Briseis. she’s a major part of the Iliad, but then we just never find out what happens to her after Achilles dies! what??

it’s told from the perspective of Astyanax, who you may know was the infant son of Hector, the crown prince of Troy, and was thrown from the walls of the city when the war ended. except a lot of sources outside of Homer posit that he didn’t 👀

my Astyanax, who is non binary, was raised by his aunts Oenone, the first wife of Paris, and Cassandra, who also narrowly escaped death. but when Cassandra prophecies that they must make amends with the house of Achilles and Hector’s ghost urges them to find their mother Andromache, they set out an adventure and piece together the aftermath of the war as they go.

so yeah. i’ve spent the past few nights writing a rather long and detailed outline, making character picrews, and creating a big messy family tree. so here’s an excerpt, and i’ll put the family tree below too just for fun.

cw for mentions of rape

“Did Oenone ever tell you I was married?” Cassandra pulls up a handful of grass and twists her fingers in it, looking out to the sea.

“No.” Oenone told me so much about my family. I can recite all 99 of my aunts and uncles, as well as their spouses. But not Cassandra’s. I never knew. I wonder what else she never told me, and why.

“His name was Coroebus. I put off marriage for years. Becoming a priestess helped, and my supposed madness drove plenty of potential suitors away, but there are always men willing to look past an unpleasant wife if the alliance brings them power.” She throws the grass down and mumbles “no, that’s not fair to him. He was a good man.” She takes a deep breath. I wait in silence, not wanting to spook her.

“My parents forced me to marry him eventually. He was a king who came to Troy’s aid, I was their thanks, and they thought he might calm me down. He was gentle, and considerate, so I tried to be good. He listened to me, even if he didn’t believe me. And I never had any visions of what was to become of him, which was a mercy. Not that it mattered. That damned horse showed up just three days after we married. He died protecting me in the temple, and then that brute Ajax…” Her breath catches, she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “His body was only a few feet away.”

I don’t even know what to say. Everyone suffered that night, death and loss and rape all across the city. I know it, but I can’t wrap my head around the enormity of it. I understand suddenly why it’s so hard for her to look upon the city’s ruins.

At a loss for words, I lean over and wrap my arms around her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. She laughs brokenly. “I think this is supposed to be the other way around. You’re the baby of the family.” I don’t fight her about it this time. After a few minutes, she pulls away and wipes at her eyes.

“How do you live with it?”

“How do any of us?” She asks incredulously. “Oenone lives in the past, and when she runs out of ways to run from reality she turns into a rock.” She clasps my hands and meets my eyes, darkest brown with a pinprick of red fire dancing deep within. “I’ll tell you my secret. Every morning, when I wake up, I lie there and I list them. Everyone who died, for Troy, for me. My parents, my siblings, Coroebus, the Amazons. And then I get up, and I live that day for them.” I squeeze her hands, and she squeezes them back. “Do you understand? We live for them.”

and here’s the mess of a family tree, with Priam and Hecuba’s other 96 kids not pictured.

#wip wednesday #and yes before anyone kills me for it my achilles is black #listen. thetis would have been black. she’s a sea nymph. the sea refracts light. that’s why you’re more likely to get sunburned swimming.#it just makes sense.#achilles’s skin tone is never mentioned. just his hair colour. but nobody can agree if it’s blonde or red or something else.#just that it’s shiny and it reflects his divinity. black hair is shiny. and if his divine mother is black…#i accept no criticism #also i was trying to reconcile madeline miller briseis being black and mythological briseis being super pale and blonde so she’s albino.#bam. sorted.

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anironsidh · 4 years ago

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AnironSidh 2020 fic and moodboard masterpost

I didn’t write very much this year between the general mess of 2020 and senior year, but here’s what I did manage to write this year (sorted by fandom). If there’s no chapter count for a fic, it’s a oneshot

Queen/BoRhap

Just Keep Losing My Beat || jimercury Hogwarts au. Freddie Mercury/Jim Hutton (jimercury), Brian May/Roger Taylor (maylor). Hogwarts au, found family, maylor, jimercury, i will post more soon. Chapters: 7/?

Summary: Hogwarts is not ready for Freddie Mercury. Not even close.In which Brian May is trying to be successful, Roger Taylor is just confused, John Deacon doesn't want the spotlight, and Freddie Mercury just wants to find somebody to love and make his place in the world.

(Love Of My Life) Don't Leave Me || hardzello (for borhap summer cast event) for the @queenandborhapevents and written for @johndeaconshands. Hardzello, fluff, happy ending, love confessions, first kiss

Summary: Joe's worried about what kind of future he and Ben may have once the movie is no longer keeping them in the same place, and he may find something more waiting for him to ask. - Written for johndeaconshands on tumblr for the BoRhap Summer Event 2020

Love Was Such An Easy Game To Play || tyob 2020 gift fic for xofunghoul / @heybuddy-drabbles. This fic was for the @queenandborhapevents two years of borhap event. hardzello, flashbacks, fluff, picnic, proposal.

Summary: A look back at how Ben and Joe figured things out, got together, made a home with each other, and in which Joe has just one question in mind. - A gift fic for xofunghoul and the two years of borhap exchange on tumblr (modded by @maz-zello and myself). Prompt was for hardzello, fluff, domestic moments. I think I did pretty well, let me know what y'all think in the comments!

Phandom/Dan and Phil

For The Dreams of Youth || phandom reverse bang 2020 parent!phan au for the @phandomreversebang 2020. art by @akikaji and beta @rainbowchristy. Dan/Phil, fluff, parent!phan Chapters 2/3

Summary: Dan isn't quite sure about a kid of his own. It hadn't felt like a possibility, not until recently. He may find that he's more ready than he expected. Dan and Phil's journey towards parenthood told through a series of videos to one day hand over to their child.

I Wonder When We're Gonna Make It || phandom reverse bang 2020 (1980s au), for the phandomreversebang 2020. Dan/Phil, queen references, 1980s au, period typical homophobia, happy ending, angst with fluff. Chapters 1/2. art by @luisaloveshoney and betaed by @i-might-leave-soon / @eilidh

Summary: When a new neighbor moves into the town that Daniel Howell has lived in his entire life and finds his safe spot in the town's vineyard, he will challenge Dan's view of himself and his town. Soon enough, they find themselves in an attraction nothing like Dan's ever known and one that those around them cannot understand. This may be Dan's only chance to escape and truly be himself. - A fic for a phandom reverse bang 2020 prompt in which Dan and Phil live near a vineyard, sneak grapes, drink stolen wine, and fall in love despite the times (1980s). Also, in which I project my love for queen onto Dan, because Muse doesn't exist yet and because I can.

I Ain't Gonna Face No Defeat a good omens au for the @phandomreversebang 2019, masterpost and art by @hiwatari-art here. Dan/Phil, good omens au, post bookshop scene, Crowley!Dan x Aziraphale!Phil. betaed by phanandpenguins/ @ringsandbutterflies

Summary: Daniel Howell has been stationed on earth for six thousand years, his only constant companion Phil Lester, an angel of Heaven. When his angel is nearly taken away from him he begins to realize just how important Phil is to him. -the bar scene in ep6 of good omens where Aziraphale is discorperated and Crowley is in the bar mourning him- Please be sure to check the art by hiwatari! Thanks to phanandpenguins for their beta work!

Good Omens

Songs Full Of Sad Things || Ineffable Husbands Raphael!Crowley for the good omens big bang. Crowley was Raphael, eventual happy ending, angst and fluff, wip. Chapters 8/15

Summary: -Crowley and Aziraphale are quite happy in their new Tadfield cottage five years after Armageddon, or rather, the armageddon-that-wasn't. They've settled into a routine with each other and the Them. Everything seems fine. Anathema and Newton are even getting married soon. -And then everything Crowley has built up for the last 6,000 years comes tumbling down with a visit from Gabriel and the revelation of his past, of how high he Fell. He hadn't wanted to remember his past as an archangel. Not now. His past is told bit by bit while those brought together by the almost-end of the world must pick up the pieces. - aka Crowley was the archangel Raphael, Gabriel's a dick, and Aziraphale just wants to help. Also, Warlock WILL fight anyone who hurts his Nanny, even God.

As You Wish || Good Omens/Princess Bride au, inspired by @anotherwellkeptsecret. Princess bride au, another one I promise i will get back to, eventual happy ending. Chapters 2/?

Summary: Warlock is sick and Nanny Ashtoreth reads him a story of romance and swordfights, perhaps inspired by a certain angel she knows. In which Aziraphale is Buttercup and in love with the handsome Crowley, a farm boy. When he is reported dead, killed by the Dread Pirate Nutter, Aziraphale falls into despair and eventually agrees to marry the devious Prince Gabriel. He is kidnapped by a con artist, Beelzebub, and their two henchmen in order to start a war. Crowley, who survived his rumored attack, rescues him from the trio. They must now free Aziraphale from Gabriel's clutches if they wish to have a new life with each other. Inspired by anotherwellkeptsecret on tumblr (penumbra on ao3)

Before I Lose You || gomens holiday swap gift for @gregayy and the Good Omens Holiday Exchange. post-canon, fluff with a sprinkling of angst but there’s barely any tbh, ineffable husbands, (technically for the gomens 2019 holiday swap, but it was posted on the third of january so I’m including it)

Summary: Armageddon has been averted, and yet their troubles are far from over. Heaven and Hell want their revenge for a Plan foiled. Crowley knows this far too well, knows he has far too little time for what he's wanted for so many centuries... Aziraphale. Believing they may not live to see another sunset, they take a step usually taken by humans. They've only got this one chance, don't they?aka they get married, believing they may not have another chance to, as requested by gregayy/scmnz

Can't You See || good omens ficlet for @wheeloffortune-design. Ineffable husbands, ficlet, happy ending, first kiss

Summary: Crowley being brave - wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Based on this art, I think I wrote this instead of studying for a midterm lmao

Hobbit/LOTR

By His Side || Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020 Bagginshield fic for KeyWolf25888 for the @haveahappyhobbitholiday 2020 exchange. Gen, M/M, Bilbo/Thorin, happy ending, fluff, bilbo stays in erebor fic

Summary: Bilbo Baggins is just staying in Erebor for now, just until he knows every member of the Company will be alright after the Battles, but his feelings for a certain dwarven king may change his plans just slightly.Or, a Bilbo Stays In Erebor fic as requested by KeyWolf25888 for the Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020 exchange! I haven't done much Hobbit fic in a while, but it was nice to get back to these characters.

Reylo

you're nothing, but not to me || reylo fix-it. Rey/Ben Solo, poe/finn, tros fix it fic bc i was mad after watching that movie, I promise I’ll get back to it soon I just need to work out the plot (and it could also use a beta, if anyone’s interested) Chapters 3/?

Summary: The aftermath of the victory. They may have won, but what comes next? What happens when the battle is won, when the fight is over, but a former enemy is brought into their midst? What happens when Rey brings a near-death Ben Solo back with her? The remaining Resistance is not willing to forgive him easily for what he has done as Kylo Ren. It will not be easy, but it must be done.

Moodboards

Phandom/Dan and Phil

Phandom Reverse Bang 2020 Pride Au Moodboard, fics by @judearaya and @counting2fifteen Summary: Dan goes to pride for the first time, traveling to London on his own. He hasn't come out to his family yet, just a random person online called amazingphil. At pride, he sees a man (Phil) on a float and decides he has to talk to him. Eventually (maybe after a few times hanging out/dates) he finds out that Phil is amazingphil. The moodboard for my prb 2020 pride au, with fics by counting2fifteen and judearaya!

Queen

Royal Maylor au honeymoon in Japan

Queen Iliad au with hardzello, maylor, and deacury

Brian’s Birthday moodboard

Maylor Hamilton au

Jimercury Sad moodboard (hurts like hell)

Reylo

Titanic au

Moodboard for You’re Nothing, but not to me

Reylo good omens au

Moodboard for the Heartbreak Prince, fic by the wonderful @kylorenvevo (Thea)

Reylo Frankenstein au, idea partially by @indefinitelyindia

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

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Philtatos [7/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47630773

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #fate #fatal flaw #oracle #reincarnation #secrets #undying love

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): Sorry for the delay guys. Between trying to find a place to live, and dealing with a family member with Alzheimers, the past day or so has kind of sucked. But I did finally get some time to myself to finish this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Much of the dialog and imagery of Jason’s flashback is based on actual lines from The Iliad and Madeline Miller's novel The Song of Achilles. If you're looking to cry, read the latter to the end.

________________________________________________________________

Tim stares at the screen of his tablet, reading the information but none of it registering. He’s been at this too long.

Crime scene photos from the GCPD’s system and coroners reports from half a dozen murder-suicides that took place throughout the city in the past week, each one more brutal than the last. One guy took a meat pounder to his girlfriend’s head; another a fire poker to his husband’s face.

I wish I could get out there and investigate the scenes myself.

He’s been effectively benched and it’s starting to give him cabin fever, even though he knows it’s important to stay with Jason right now.

Bruce took off to Amsterdam about an hour again; like Tim, he prefers to retrace crimes from their origin. It’s how they find clues the cops miss. Dick’s doing the same right now in Gotham, revisiting all the crime scenes with Duke by his side in case his retrocognition can help them any. He has no idea where Steph is tonight, but if Barbara’s radio silence is any indicator, they’re probably working something big together.

Jason’s been sitting beside him on the couch in the study, three separate books open on his lap and a notepad where he’s jotting down various comparisons of the information.

(Because “I’m not defacing a first edition version of Les Métamorphoses, especially not one with etchings by Picasso, Tim. It’s just not done.”)

The first hour he managed to keep absorbed in his task, but Tim’s noticed him stopping more often between annotations, rubbing at a spot on his neck or over the spot in his shoulder where he was shot.

Whenever he notices Tim looking, they both immediately look away and go back to work; but after another period of research—getting shorter and shorter after each pause—Jason’s back to twitching and looking guilty.

He’s going to have his neck rubbed raw in another hour.

Despite the fact the whole thing was Tim’s idea, it’s harder to remain unaffected about the need for physical contact than he thought. And Jason notices pretty fast that Tim isn’t as at ease with the ‘treatment’ plan as he’s been insinuating.

He thought Jason putting his arm around his shoulders earlier was mostly to bother Dick, whose attempts at protectiveness had just made the situation more awkward. But when Jason does it again later, unthinkingly draping himself around Tim’s shoulder, Tim can’t help going stiff as a board.

Jason pulls away immediately, as if he’s been burned. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…fine.”

“Stop lying, obviously you’re not,” Jason answers, shifting to the other edge of the couch to put at least three feet between them. “You don’t have to force yourself to do this. I can get through it without you.”

Tim sets aside his tablet. “Because that worked out so well the first time you tried it.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. I’m more than capable of figuring out how to get through this without using your skin as a security blanket.” He pauses. “That came out so much disturbing than I intended.”

“How was it ever not going to sound disturbing?” Tim wonders, and then sighs. “Look, I don’t mind. The longer you stay in a healthy headspace, the more time we have to find a cure.”

“Yeah, but if you’re so friggen uncomfortable with it—”

“I’m not!”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really, it’s fine. It’s my choice.”

“Yeah, say that without flinching and maybe I’ll believe you,” Jason mutters, shoulders slumping. “If you’re going to freeze up every time I go near your personal bubble, screw it. Like I don’t feel like enough of a creep…”

Tim can see how much he hates this, the fact that he’s making Tim uncomfortable—the fact that making Tim uncomfortable upsets him at all. He’s never cared before; it’s always been a kind of unofficial hobby.

But now that his brain and hormones are becoming compromised, it’s more important to him than ever not to cross boundaries. Or at least what he perceives as boundaries.

Tim bows his head.

He’s been managing his feelings about all this by remaining clinical, dividing him from the particulars of the situation the way he’s always done. It’s the sort of thing that works on hard cases, the kind involving little kids or serial murders. He forgot that it doesn’t work so well when dealing with people.

Communication, he remembers Steph chiding him during one argument. Honesty.

Nodding to himself, Tim forces himself to appear relaxed.

“It’s not like that. I just—I’ve never been really good at all the…” He waves his hand, searching for the words, “…physical intimacy stuff.”

Jason blinks, not having expected that. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tim shifts. “I know it’s hard to tell when I’m next to Dick or Steph or someone who…”

“Who has personal space issues?”

“Yeah. But with them I’ve gotten used to it. But with you, you’ve never exactly…”

“Put hands on you except to lay you out flat on the floor?” Jason suggests, and then turns red. “I mean beating the crap out of you! Not the other thing that…! Fuck, he wasn’t kidding about the innuendo thing, was he?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If not for everything going on, I’m pretty sure you’d still be making jokes to make everyone uncomfortable,” Tim muses, his own ears warm at the accidental image Jason’s words provided.

Jason tilts his head to one side, and then nods. “Fair.”

They smirk at each other for a moment. Then something thoughtful passes across Jason’s face.

“What?”

“When you say physical intimacy,” Jason starts slowly, “d’you mean just occupying someone else’s personal space, or…?”

He trails off, and it takes a few seconds before Tim interprets the meaning. His cheeks may actually be on fire right now. “Uh…”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, the first one’s always kind of an issue,” Tim mumbles, looking away, “so I don’t really—like I said, I’m not used to anyone wanting to get close to me, let alone actually trying it. Which always made everything kind of awkward.”

“And the second thing?”

“…that made it awkward, too.”

“So, you haven’t—? Like, not even with Blondie?”

There’s incredulity there, but no judgment, which is somewhat of a relief; he’s too used to other guys looking like he should have his man card revoked for not pouncing on a gorgeous girl like Steph.

As if anyone would ever get away with pouncing without getting a brick to the face.

But Jason seems genuinely curious, which makes Tim want to try to answer.

“No?” Tim winces at the uncertainty in the word and glances up to make sure there’s still no judgment on Jason’s face. “Not because—not because I didn’t—or she wasn’t—we fooled around, but never—she’d already done the whole unwanted pregnancy thing. We wanted to be careful and wait until we were both sure we wanted to. And then she died, then came back because she wasn’t really dead, and we broke up. But it was a long time ago, and then we never got another opportunity because—well, there was Bruce dying and not dying, and other people dying, and then losing Robin, and just…” He lets his words trail as he realizes he’s been babbling. “Sorry. Babbling.”

Jason makes a dismissive gesture. “Nah, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment where they both process his words, and then Jason’s rubbing at his neck and Tim’s coughing because he thinks he might have choked on his tongue.

“I’m going to…” Jason stands, starts rummaging through his pockets, and then jerks his head toward the balcony, “Smoke break.”

“Right,” Tim answers, carefully neutral.

Tim doesn’t complain about the smoking, even though he hates it. Jason’s under enough stress right now, if the nicotine helps calm him even a little a bit, Tim can put up with it for the short-term.

Not like he’s going to be around once we fix all this.

He lets Jason make his escape and for the first time since the conversation began, takes a full breath.

It’s just Eros’ blood. He doesn’t actually think that.

The truth doesn’t make his heart stop fluttering.

“Fuck,” he mutters, letting his face fall into his hand; he rubs at his face in frustration.

“Wallowing in your failure as usual, Drake?”

He jumps and then shoots a glare across the room at the pint-sized bane of his existence.

“Why aren’t you out terrorizing the streets of Gotham?”

“I’m here to ensure the present status quo endures and neither you nor Todd end up compromised,” Damian retorts. Then Tim blinks, the kid smirks at him. “I’m babysitting you two morons.”

“Well my life just hit another low…”

“I have also been doing research of my own to pass the time, since my talents are being ignored in favor of mundane surveillance tasks,” the boy continues. “I was intrigued at Todd’s apparent symptoms of xenoglossia and decided to peruse the security footage to see what might have precipitated it.”

“…And?”

“It wasn’t until you arrived that it started. He called you philtatos. It means ‘most beloved’.”

Tim tries not to choke. “How do you know that?”

“Anyone who has read the Iliad in the original Greek could tell you that,” Damian drawls.

“Well, excuse me, I had an education meant for this millennium.” Tim tries not to croak, running his hands through his hair in frustrations. The strands are stringy today and he tries to remember when he washed it last was; probably before Jason was brought to the manor.

“Odd that he’d call you that, though,” Damian continues. “He has that habit of assigning the most absurd monikers to anyone within a ten-foot radius. It’s not exactly the type of thing he would say. And to you of all people.”

Tim frowns, ignoring the insult. “You think it’s a symptom of the infection?”

“Perhaps. The term itself, or the tongue in question. In case you were curious, which I doubt since unless it involves a computer your interest becomes depressingly cursory, the language Todd was mumbling in while drooling on your shoulder was Archaia Makedonike.”

“English, brat.”

“Ancient Macedonian, you classless twit. The language itself was prevalent in the Hellenistic period before giving way to its superior successor, Koine, when it was brought by the military forces of Alexander the Great.”

“Conqueror of the known world at the time—why am I not surprised you’re so well-versed.”

“Tt. Of course I am. As a child, Mother brought me on a journey to follow in his footsteps along what was once his Empire.”

You’re still a child, Tim doesn’t say, because he just doesn’t have the energy for the inevitable resulting fight. “Sounds like quality family bonding time.”

“It was meant to show me all that could be achieved in a short lifetime,” Damian sniffs. “And what could be lost just as easily.”

“Because he died young?”

“Not only that, but because of his rather questionable decisions. Like pouring a considerable amount of his treasury into a funeral monument for one of his generals. He was so besotted with the man he died less than a year later. It’s disgraceful.”

“Right, because caring about someone is a bad thing.”

“It is possible to care without being ruled by one’s emotions.”

“Yeah, you’re such an excellent example of that,” Tim deadpans. At Damian’s glare, he makes a defensive gesture with his hand. “What do you want me to say? People do weird stuff for the people they care about.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “Evidently.”

He continues to watch Tim in a way he’s not entirely sure he likes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It sounds like you’ve got something to say.”

Jason chooses that moment to return, although he halts in the door when he notices the way Tim and Damian are glaring at one another. “Am I walking in on something here?”

“I was simply demonstrating Drake’s continued ignorance in several arenas,” Damian replies, and pushes past Jason. “I’ve wasted enough of my day pandering to your nonsense. Shout if you need help.” His gaze lingers on Jason with disgust. “Or possibly a firehose.”

“Was that demon-speak for ‘make good choices’?” Tim calls after him and noticing Jason’s bemused expression offers a half shrug. “He will do great things.”

“See, I knew all that getting on his case was just your way of showing you like him,” Jason teases and settles back on the couch. Much closer to Tim this time, body angled toward him; he can smell leather and the acrid smell of cigarettes.

He forces a grin, “Tell no one.”

“Lips are sealed,” Jason replies, abruptly stretching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

The gesture would normally make Tim want to melt, to bend closer to Jason as well; at first it does, but the reason for it remains starkly in his mind, and instead his skin crawls.

The study suddenly seems too small, too close, magnified by Jason’s focus on him.

Need a distraction.

“There’s a lot of CCTV footage to go through,” he says, clearing his throat and standing quickly. He ambles over to the desk to grab Bruce’s laptop, holding up to Jason. “Feel like going through half?”

“Not particularly, but only because that’s the most boring job ever.”

“And reading scholarly articles dissecting the exact syntax of some ancient play isn’t?”

“Don’t act like if it was Klingon or something you wouldn’t have a field day.”

But Jason accepts the computer, putting his books and notes to one side. Tim exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

They sit in silence again for a while, one that’s somehow more tense than earlier. Tim’s stomach keeps leaping, waiting for the next time Jason needs to reach out to him, simultaneously craving and dreading it.

So it’s no surprise that he physically jolts when Jason suddenly announces, “I think I’ve got something.”

“What?” he asks quickly, hoping his reaction wasn’t that noticeable. He moves to peek over Jason’s shoulder, considering a timestamped video of an Upper East Side apartment. There’s a crowd gathered outside as paramedics load two covered stretchers into an ambulance.

“Right there.” Jason points at a grainy image in the upper left corner, almost obscured by the lighting. “See this woman?”

Tim studies the image of the woman in a leather jacket and skin-tight pants. “Yeah?”

“That’s Carrie Cutter.”

“Carrie…” Tim consults his mental rolodex. “Carrie Cutter as in Cupid?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’m pretty familiar with anyone Roy might have had beef with down in his corner of the world. You know, just in case.”

Which is a smart thing to do, really, considering old enemies always have a tendency to return when they’re least expected.

And just…great. Because Carrie Cutter, along with being crazy to the point of earning honorary Arkham status, also happens to be a genetically enhanced special-ops soldier that knows how not to be found. If she’s got her hands on divine weapons somehow, it’s going to make apprehending her much more of a challenge.

Especially those weapons. If any of us get tagged with those, we’re done. I’ve been around when the Family gets turned against each other, and it’s never pretty.

The memory of Joker’s macabre dinner party still makes him gag reflexively.

Tim leans forward, balancing his weight on the desk with his palms, and studies the image again. “Could be a coincidence.”

“Has anything about all this felt coincidental to you?”

“Touché.” Tim shakes his head. “Damn. So, Cupid stole Cupid’s bow and arrows?”

What even is my life anymore?

“And the MO makes sense now, if you think about it,” Jason points out; he absently starts to rub the back of Tim’s hand with his thumb. Tim swallows and fights the conflicting urge to jerk his hand away or lean further into Jason’s space. “She has that whole crazed ‘if-I-can’t-be-happy-no-one-can’ thing going on. If she’s got Eros’ diviners, she could accomplish whatever she wants pretty easily.”

“Does she still have that obsession with Green Arrow?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Maybe we should let Oliver know she’s heading his way.”

“Or not.”

“Jason!”

“No, seriously, hear me out, this isn’t me hating on Queen.”

“Sure…”

“Look at the pattern of robberies and deaths—if she’s headed out west, she’s taking the long way and at a slow stroll. There are tons of direct flights from Amsterdam to Star City. She could be there in like a day if that’s her goal, but she’s moving so slowly—based on the places she’s hit, and how long it takes her to get there, I’d say she’s driving.” He traces a line from Europe to the East Coast. “And possibly taking a boat. Not the Carnival way, either. I know people like to go incognito sometimes, but even that’s Bruce levels of paranoid.”

“And he once rode a goat truck across the border of Qurac…”

“Also, there are more direct routes from here to the West Coast.”

“So why come to Gotham at all,” Tim says, and steeples his fingers. “Either she’s taking her time for a reason, or she was never heading for Star City.”

“Then what does she want?”

“And how has she dropped so completely off the radar since she got here?”

Jason shrugs and leans back, stretching his arms and yawning; his arm brushes against Tim’s shoulder on its way down.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Tim asks quickly, wishing his voice didn’t sound like it was squeaking.

“Like sleep or power naps? Because I’ve had a lot of those.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “If you don’t get some rest we’ll have more to worry about than accidental innuendos. You should get some sleep.”

“The irony of you telling anyone that…”

“I’ve never had to fight off an Olympian bloodborne disease.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly comfortable falling asleep right now. I keep seeing weird shit.”

“Like what?”

“I…can’t even remember. The whole thing just gives me a bad feeling.”

“You want to stay in my room?” This time it’s Jason who jumps and shoots Tim a panicked look. “Not like that! I just figured; it’s got all my stuff there. People sometimes take comfort in objects, and I just figured maybe being surrounded by my stuff would help. And I somehow don’t see you as the teddy bear type.”

Jason barks out a surprised laugh. “Hey, leave Paddington out of this!”

“You didn’t actually have a stuffed toy named Paddington!”

“Not just a stuffed toy, I’ll have you know, it was actually a Paddington Bear,” Jason retorts. “My mother used to read the stories to me, and she found him in a second-hand shop the Christmas before she…” Jason trails off, the levity in his face smoothing into careful blankness. “Anyway. I pretended like I was too old for stuff like that, but I was just happy she was lucid enough to even do Christmas that year.”

Tim can’t help the way his eyes soften at the story. He’s never heard Jason say anything about his life before Bruce, at least nothing personal.

Jason seems to notice the scrutiny, because he looks away. “Anyway. Not important. But we can try that whole…staying in your room thing. It would be nice to catch some Zs.”

They pack up their things and head down the hall to Tim’s room; all the while, Tim is trying to figure out what possessed him to suggest this. It’s true, comfort objects are a thing, but he could just as easily have brought a whole bunch of his stuff to Jason’s room for the same effect.

Except Jason doesn’t go near his room unless he’s unconscious and Bruce puts him there to recover.

He flicks on the light as Jason brushes past. “I haven’t been here in a while, so Alfred’s probably changed the sheets and everything. Good to go if you want to sleep.”

“And, uh…you’ll stay, right?”

“Yeah,” Tim replies softly. “At least until you fall asleep, then I have to take care of a few things. Alfred will probably nag me to eat and shower and changes clothes or something.”

And I need to make a trip home to have a conversation with my unwanted houseguest.

“Oh, the horror,” Jason says neutrally, though he starts rubbing at the back of his neck again, irritating the already red skin there.

Tim reaches over automatically and moves his hand away. A week ago, doing that would have probably gotten him punched; now Jason simply lets him, his body unconsciously leaning toward him.

“Listen, if you wake up and I’m not in here, don’t freak out. I’m probably in the kitchen being force-fed grits or something. And if I’m not, just call me and I’ll find you. We can even FaceTime while you wait.”

“Whatever,” Jason says, trying to sound nonchalant. He plops himself down on Tim’s bed, then frowns down at the bedsheet. “Holy shit this is soft.”

“It should be, it’s got a thread count of a thousand.”

“Spoiled ass rich boy,” Jason mutters, lying back on the bed. A surprised and pleased expression appears on his face. “Okay you know what? Forget obsessing over you, I want your bedroom set.”

This time it’s Tim who gives a surprised laugh.

⁂

“I will not be humiliated before my army.”

The lord marshal’s face resembles a misshapen beat, fury twisting his features; the skin beneath his nose is raw from the scented oils he’s been using to block the acrid scent of the funeral pyres. Jason has mostly become familiar with the odor by now—smoke and burning flesh and blood.

“What humiliation is there in appeasing the gods?” he counters and is surprised his voice remains so calm and measured; Tim is a reassuring presence at his back.

“Returning Chryses’ daughter is tantamount to the theft of my rightly taken trophy,” the king of men snarls. “Find me a replacement and I may consider it, but I will not be the only man among us without a prize.”

The quiet among the men is pointed, saturated with disagreement; even the obstinate man’s brother does not stand with him on the dais where kings and their liegemen have gathered. But Jason knows no one will step forward to say anything.

Only me, as usual.

“Son of Atreus, you know as well as anyone that we take our prizes from lawful combat. There’s ample opportunity to replace the girl, or even her worth in gold, three and four times over. All of us who stand here are kings and the vassals of kings, and we don’t owe you compensation when it was you who angered the gods in the first place.”

By taking the girl whose life I was trying to save just to screw me over, I would add.

A few of the men nod at his words; in the background, the moaning cries of the dying fill the air, a cacophony that has haunted the shore for ten days since the plague hit.

“Show your men that you’re as humble in nature as you are proficient in battle, and make amends.” He doubts the pig will notice the insult there. “End this plague before more die.”

Fury contracts the other man’s pupils to fine dots. “You will learn your place, boy. Just because divine blood runs through your veins and your mother raised you to believe you are special does not mean you might speak to me as an equal.” Jason bristles but is immediately cut off again. “Silence! I have no interest in whatever clever words your puppet master would have you speak.”

The blunt insult instead of flowery political doublespeak is surprising enough to still the words on his lips. He senses when Tim stiffens; they both know that last was directed at him.

“If I hear further suggestions that I give up my property without receiving something of like value in exchange, then I will sacrifice the man who suggests it, along with Chryses’ bitch daughter to appease the gods. Perhaps you might volunteer, Peliades,” the lord marshal concludes.

“I’m not afraid of speaking up when it’s needed,” Jason growls, “and we all know you can’t afford to sacrifice me.”

“Listen to the arrogance! It is the same you have displayed from the moment you arrived here. I believe it to be high time you face consequence for your heedless words.”

“Consequence,” Jason echoes, calm; Tim shifts closer, knowing that his outward composure is a sign of danger. The men around them shift as well, some of them whispering; more than one man’s fingers twitch toward their sword. “It’s you who should think of consequence.”

“Careful,” Tim cautions in his ear, breath hot across his neck as he comes to step beside him. He has to keep from rubbing at the area with his thumb.

“Is that a threat?” the king of men demands.

“An observation. How much longer do you think these men will last, without me to lead them into battle? How many times have I been the one who turned the tides of defeat to victory, while you remained in the back ranks?”

Now the whispering is louder, angrier; voices of dissent and outrage.

“I am High King!” the older lord roars. “Every man here knelt before me when we came to these shores or swore oaths to the gods to follow my command. Even your beloved Menoitiades whom you shield as if he is your wife.” Tim clenches his fists but carefully doesn’t meet Jason’s eyes; acknowledgement of one another now will only prove the argument. “You are the only one that always considered yourself above such things.”

Jason is furious. Green like the cold sea edges around his vision, and it would be so easy to leap across the three-foot gap and snap the bastard’s neck. He could do it before anyone else might react, and he’s fast enough to get away before anyone retaliates.

But Tim isn’t.

Tim who remains tense, shoulders set and whose fingers make a minute twitching motion against his side, silently beseeching Jason to keep his calm.

It doesn’t work.

“I have nothing to prove to you, or any who swore oaths to you,” Jason snarls through gritted teeth. “The horse-tamers have never threatened my home, have never stolen our stock or torched our fields. I chose to be here, to sail to this wretched city and help your half-wit brother regain a woman who likely doesn’t wish to be reclaimed.”

More murmuring; it’s a sentiment no one has wanted to voice.

“Have a care with your words, boy; not all gods who listen are favorable to you.”

“And what would you know of the gods? I’m closer to their ilk than you ever will be, without the scandal that troubles your bloodline. If anyone should have these men’s fealty, it’s not you. Perhaps you should be the one who bends knee in appeasement.”

The crowd is outright clamoring now, supporters and enemies alike shouting over one another. The older man’s eyes widen in triumph. “You think yourself better than me? Or than the men I command?”

“No, they are my equals. You’re the dog-faced son of a bitch that isn’t fit to clean the boots of the men you profess to lead into battle.”

Exclamations of disbelief.

“That’s enough!” Tim hisses, jabbing him with an elbow.

“Yes, listen to your keeper, Peliades. He seeks to save you from being named a traitor to this army, and suffering punishment for it. Though I think we are beyond the point of playing this off as country bumpkin ignorance to custom. Your war prizes are forfeit; I will take them under tutorship until you come to your senses and offer submission to me.”

Jason’s muscles pull taut in incandescent anger. “You have no right to do that!”

“I have every right, especially since you are so keen to take mine. In fact, I demand the first woman you took as spoil at Ilion—fetch me Briseis’ daughter. She will replace the woman the gods wish me to return.”

“If you touch her, you forgo your victory in this war. I will take my ships and return to my land.”

“Flee, then, if your heart urges you! I have no fear of you—of all the kings the son of Kronos nurtures, you are the one I hate the most. Go with your ships, run with your tail between your legs. But I will have the woman before you go.”

Jason’s hand goes to his sword, but Tim’s hand is on his then.

“Leave it,” he whispers, frantic. “There are greater punishments than death. Let’s regroup and find a solution to this away from prying eyes.”

Jason knows he’s right. The men around them are filled with shock and disapproval, but none of the cowards will support him if he strikes down the king of men.

And so instead of slicing the ignorant prick’s kneecaps out from under him, Jason simply spits at his feet.

“You’re a coward with the face of a dog but the heart of a deer. You’ve never had the courage to arm for battle along with the men you boast to lead because you fear death. You’re faithless, taking the property of those who speak contrary to you, preferring to rule over a kingdom of nobodies. Your words today doom you and your men to disgraceful ends.” He glares at all the men gathered there simply watching. “I won’t fight alongside this army any longer, and without me, you’ll all fall, ground beneath the feet of the man-killing prince. The day will come when you send your toadies to me to beg, and you’ll kneel before me crying for forgiveness, but I’ll give you nothing but laughter as you bleed in the dust before me. You will all die in ignominy for what the son of Atreus does today.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

Tim follows, as do the rest of the men sworn to him.

“I’ll kill him,” Jason fumes under his breath when they are far enough away not to be heard. “I would have if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“I know. And then you would have been struck down, which I couldn’t allow,” Tim soothes. “Be patient. I’ll think of a plan, you know I always do.”

“And in the meantime, that sack of pig shit will take Hippodamea and vent his frustrations toward me on her,” Jason growls.

“If he rapes her, he violates the life of one who is under your gods given protection. His men and the gods will turn on him if he does. After that display, he’s not going to court anymore of their disapproval. She will be safe until you bend knee to him.”

“Which won’t happen.”

“There are more important things than your pride,” Tim reminds him, a bit of reprimand in his tone. “Don’t lower yourself to his level, to the level of men, when you are as a god.”

Jason blinks, and turns to Tim. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“I’ll go to my mother.”

Tim’s face pales. “No!”

“Why not? And it better not be because you think she hates you.”

“She does hate me, but that’s besides the point. I just…have a bad feeling. The silver-footed are like the sea—unmerciful and uncaring who they harm in their storm. That path leads to death, I think.”

“Yes. His.”

Tim is silent and continues to look worried.

“I don’t need your permission to do this,” Jason tells him, a little sour that he doesn’t have his support on this matter.

Something like hurt flickers across his face, but then Tim’s expression goes carefully blank. “I would never presume to tell you what to do.”

“That’s not what everyone on this gods forsaken beach thinks!”

“Since when have you ever cared what people think?”

“You can’t stop me doing this,” Jason snaps.

Tim looks sad now. “I know.”

He turns to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to prepare Hippodamea for what’s to come. Somehow I doubt you will be able to feign sympathy long enough to shoulder that burden,” he replies coldly, and stalks away.

Jason watches him go, his righteous anger continuing to simmer, until it occurs to him that Tim is actually quite angry with him. Some of the bite goes out of his rage, and worry creeps through his body.

“No, wait,” he starts, hurrying after him. “Don’t go—”

“—Tim!”

Jason sits upright in bed, arm outstretched as if to make a grab for a hand or arm, only to grasp air.

A maelstrom of different emotions cloud his mind, blocking his awareness of the room around him for several long seconds while he fights for his bearings. Anger and hurt and guilt and fear, all tied up with longing, playing on repeat in his head.

He has the strangest compulsion to make amends for something and he doesn’t remember what.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling his hand back close to his body, elbow to chest, hand pressing against his shoulder. The skin radiates heat through the cotton of his t-shirt, warmer than his normal body temperature; probably from the wound.

He is alone, surrounded by pillows and a comforter that should smell like Tim but don’t (because Alfred washed them, so they’re new), in a room that feels somehow too big (which it shouldn’t, it’s the same size as the other rooms, as his room that he never goes into if he can help it. It’s bigger than the holding cell was).

A glance at the digital clock reads two in the morning. Prime patrol time, and more importantly, four hours since he put his head down. He’s pretty sure that’s the most sleep he’s had in a week, even if it was cut short by another of those maddening dream sequences that vanish from his memory in direct relation to how awake he becomes.

Where’s Tim?

He swings his feet over the edge of the bed, ready to go looking for him in the house, before remembering what he said before he fell asleep.

Don’t freak out.

Right. No problem. Tim’s just off somewhere having a human moment, which is just as well. He probably needs a break from Jason. Jason knows he needs a break from Tim—from everyone really. He can’t remember the last time he was in someone’s constant presence.

This is a good thing, he tells himself as he glances around the room, absently picking at the dry skin on the side of his thumb. He didn’t really look around when he first walked in. His brain was still trying to process the concept of Tim being the one to suggest his room as being the best place for Jason to relax.

And the surprise that he was actually right.

Tim is everywhere in these walls—video game posters and obscure pop culture refences—and furniture. There are candid photographs of him and his friends—Jason scowls at one of him and the Super Clone standing way too close together—and half-finished projects of wire and circuit. Clothes and books are strewn across the floor and—

“Christ, kid, you’re a goddamned slob.”

He never really took note of that quirk of Tim’s before, probably because they never really hung out. His knowledge of the kid’s lifestyle was limited to his own notions of what spoiled rich boys were like, and the general observation that his replacement ran on coffee and energy drinks.

His thumb is bleeding now from his continued picking, and he wipes it angrily on his pants, standing up. He needs a distraction. Otherwise, he’s going to go looking for Tim, or blow up his phone with calls until he picks up. He needs to prove to himself that he still has some control—test how long he can manage on his own, or at least test how long it takes between Tim leaving him alone and the anxious thoughts to set in.

He’s coming back. He wanted me to be here, or he wouldn’t have suggested it.

Jason just has to be patient.

Which…yeah, that was an issue even before this fixation crap.

“Screw this, I’m not just sitting here,” he grumbles, and starts wandering around the room, sorting clothes and tools and whatever other detritus has gathered on the floor. Cleaning is both mindless and immersive, something to do with his hands instead of scratch bloody welts into his skin.

And yet, he still drops everything when his phone vibrates.

“Tim?” he asks in the same breath that he unlocks the phone.

“Sorry.” Barbara actually sounds apologetic. “Just me.”

Disappointment hits him like a punch to the face. “No, yeah, it’s fine.”

“How are you holding up?”

Of course she knows what’s going on, too.

“Spectacular,” he says dryly, running a hand through his hair. “Can we maybe can the sympathy? I’m getting enough of that over here as it is. And you never call just to check in.”

There’s a beat, and then Barbara speaks again, still in her own voice, but more businesslike. “I may have found something.”

He likes that about her. She doesn’t get upset when called out on something, nor does she spend time on bullshit.

How the hell she dated Dick so long will forever be a mystery.

“What?” he asks, studying a strip of picture booth photos of Steph and Tim; the typical assortment of funny faces, pressed close together. Jason frowns, tugging absently at his hair.

“I’m not sure it’s anything, yet,” Barbara cautions, “but it’s almost certainly related to your situation.”

“And how’s that?”

“Because it involves Carrie Cutter.”

Jason straightens up. “What?”

“As soon as you and Tim established that Cupid was involved—both Cupids, I guess—I set up a search algorithm to track her whereabouts for the past month or so.” Of course she’s been monitoring everything from her little command center; this goddamn family and their surveillance… “It’s a bit too neat, someone with her modus operandi just bumping into the real Cupid.”

“And we don’t do coincidence.”

“Exactly.”

“So, she had to be sent there by someone or something. Specifically, to steal from Eros.”

“Yeah. Still working on who, though,” Barbara agrees. “That’s not the most interesting part, though.”

Jason’s scalp is beginning to burn from the distracted tugging, but he doesn’t stop. The pain is punishing, keeps him focussed on Barbara’s voice, and not the urge to hang up on her to call Tim. “Lay it on me.”

“I’ve got newspaper reports from the village of Delphi in Greece with a woman of her description killed a blind twelve-year-old two weeks ago. Sliced her throat with one of her arrowheads and walked away, took out anyone that tried to stop her.”

“Fuck.” Jason almost bites his tongue.

Carrie Cutter’s always been a murderer, but from what he knows of her from Roy, she never hurt a kid. His fingers itch with the need to punch something; he yanks his fingers out of his hair, several strands coming away with it, and slams his fist down on Tim’s desk. It creaks at the force.

“You okay?”

“Better than she’s going to be,” he replies tightly. “What else?”

“You heard me say Delphi, right?”

There’s a pause, like she’s letting him process, which he’s glad for; he did miss that the first time. Jason thinks the news over again, remembering bits and pieces memorized from National Geographic when he was a kid.

“Delphi,” he repeats. “Like the Oracle of Delphi Delphi?”

“Exactly.”

His back goes even more rigid. “Isn’t it common in a lot of myths that people who can see the future tend to be blind?”

“Good memory.”

“So we’re thinking the kid was a seer.”

“I’m thinking the kid was the actual Oracle of Delphi.”

Jason whistles. “But there hasn’t been one of those in hundreds of years, right?”

“Not since Theodosius I closed the temple when the Pythia gave him some bad news. Five years later, he was dead, and the Visigoths had captured Rome, and after that it wasn’t safe to be an oracle. But secret societies have been started over less.”

“Still, how would someone like Carrie Cutter know or even be interested in looking up some secret oracle? Even for Queen, she’s small-time.”

“Still working on that part.”

“And if she did talk to the oracle beforehand, what did the kid tell her that made her kill her?”

“Unfortunately, there was no tech anywhere around to pick up on that. Not even tourists taking cellphone videos.”

“Fuck.”

“But lucky for us, we have someone that can sort of see ghosts.”

Jason’s eyes widen. “Duke.”

“Exactly,” Barbara says, and sounds smug, like she’s just managed a checkmate against fate or circumstance or something. “As soon as he’s done with Dick, I’m sending him on quick trip to Greece. He’ll get a kick out of the plane, I think.”

Jason winces.

It won’t be easy for the newest member of the family to watch a kid being murdered, all for Jason. Worse is the fact he’s a hundred percent sure Duke’s seen worse.

Instead of voicing that thought, however, he says, “Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

There’s a heavy silence.

“Do you want me to stay on the line?” Barbara asks after a moment. “Until Tim gets back.”

Jason’s first instinct is a snappish retort, a denial that he needs her pity.

But his hand has found its way back into his hair, tearing at the strands as he anxiously waits for the younger man to return and for all he knows, it could be anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours before he sees him again.

He shivers at the thought.

That…would be bad.

And so he clears his throat and tells Barbara in a gruff voice, “Yeah. Okay."

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

14 notes · View notes

lavellane · 5 years ago

Note

5 + 10 for emeraude, 14 + 18 for effie, 19 + 24 for arylene and 30 through 45 for imogen bc i love her so much ? 😏😏😏

fdjkfjkfdk thank u SO much maia i absolutely Treasure You !

EMERAUDE HAWKE - DA2

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

emeraudes fashion sense is probably my favourite out of all my ocs, so uh if u havent looked at her pinterest board yet u should do that bc its Very cute hehehe

anyway for the most part she sticks to dark, practical clothing whenever she's out and about in kirkwall or doing merc work, etc. she picks clothes that convey strength and power, but she likes having a little bit of colour somewhere on the piece, just to keep things interesting. she's not much of an embroider, but was a good way to keep herself distracted during hard times, so she tends to add little patterns here and there whenever she gets the chance!

as for special occasions, for her this would actually just be. a quiet night at home or a relaxed gathering with her friends. bc its so rare for her to have that lmao. anyway for events like that she usually wears light colours and soft fabrics, simple but always decorated with flowers or colourful patterns.

What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

she has a collection of gifts ! that kids from lowtown would give her over the years she spent in kirkwall. she's a very community based person and wants to do right for her city, and shes very nurturing (in an ironical, Cool Big Sister way) so she likes making sure all the kids are safe and being looked after. she gets a lot of trinkets and strange gifts from some of the kids as a result, but she does treasure them (even if she laughs about it with her friends) and keeps them all !

EFFIE RYDER - MEA

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

effie's maternal rolemodel has always been her late mother, ellen. nobody could really fill that role in her eyes, since they had such a close, positive relationship before she passed. her relationship with her dad was a lot more strained and it really impacted a lot of her relationships later on in life too ! she tends to.... see an older man who is Vaguely Nice to her, and then think “ oh, youre my dad now?” which isnt fair to anybody obviously but yeah she,,,, has a lot of unresolved issues regarding alec and tends to unintentionally project so. We stan !

How many times did your OC move as a child? Which area was his/her favorite?

oh constantly lol. With her dad being an n7 and her mother working so hard on her research, they tended to move around wherever her parents work required. she actually enjoyed it this way. she was never good at making long term friends, but she lived meeting new people, and obviously with the move she got to experience a lot of different cultures which really put the idea of adventuring and travelling in her head at a young age.

ARYLENE TORR - TES IV

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

she likes them ! she tends to keep her distance with most communities and groups of people in particular, but she does like enjoys having the odd conversation with the odd street urchin here and there, either sharing with them some strange, ridiculous life advice or – if shes feeling particularly chaotic – telling them the scariest stories she can think of. as for having them, arylene isnt AGAINST the idea, but she has far too much for the foreseeable future for that to ever be a good idea

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

outwardly, arylene is an almost unbearably easy going person, so you would assume she doesnt hate anyone lol. but she does DEEEPLY dislike cults and groups of ignorant people who are arrogant enough to start messing with the balance of life, or making deals with gods, etc. she believes that people like that can do an unbelievable amount of damage, so she invests a lot of time and effort it sabotaging any group or plot she happens to find !

IMOGEN FOSTER - RDR2

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

hmm idk if this even EXISTED in 19th century london lol, but she would have done some very tame version of girl scouts as a child! She barely remembers any of it, but she liked the classes on what plants did what, which were safe to eat, and the likes. its something that helps her a lot when on the run with the gang, and something shes always had a personal interest in, as a nurse !

other than that, she’s done a lot of independent study on history, classical literature, and she speaks fluent italian we stan !

What is your OC’s opinion of school? What kind of student was s/he?

imogen comes from a very wealthy aristocratic family, so she was very fortunate that her privilege afforded her the education she got at the time. she is VERY grateful to have attended the schools she did, and she made sure to make the most of it, paying attention in class and studying harder than most of her classmates. she's a smart girl with a very active mind, so knowledge is something she can't get enough of. she was actually petitioning the board of education to allow her to attend university before she left for america – already their had been women accepted into universities at that time, but obviously it was still a very scandalous thing lol, especially since imogen wanted to study medicine.

What subjects did your OC excel at?

imogen is a HUGE overachiever and did pretty well at basically everything from science, mathematics, language studies and later on, in her studies as a nurse. i can tell you what shes bad at though lmao

anything physical really dkdkdks she is TERRIBLE at horse-riding since she usually just went by carriage everywhere in the city. art and poetry and writing in general she was never great at, because she's a pretty logical person and was told she never put enough emotion in her work lol !!! sports...obviously was very limited anyway as growing up in like? the early 1870s lol. and as for the traditionally feminine lessons in like ?? sewing and cooking and stuff well ! she was very average at them which made her  feel worse than if she was actually bad bc she's so used to excelling and making a name for herself oof

What subjects interested your OC?

Imogen loves greek literature and mythology !! the iliad is her favourite book and she keeps her heavily annotated, dog eared copy – a gift from her late father – on her person almost constantly. needless to say its why dutch admires her as much as he does lol.

obviously, as a nurse-trying-to-be-a-doctor, she has a great love for medicine in all its forms. she's always been fascinated in natural remedies, and even moreso when she's running with the van der linde gang and is really relying on the land to survive.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession?

hmm okay so. Technically she's a nurse – she worked in her father's hospital for almost 10 years prior to his death, and she was sort of his unofficial understudy, as in she knows a LOT more than her job description requires lol. but after her father past away, another, less progressive man took his place as chief of surgery and made a lot of changes to the way the hospital operated, and imogen was let go. she and her mother were fighting against it, however, under the ground of unfair dismissal, but obviously given the time period it didnt get them very far. so ! i mean technically she's unemployed rn. but she still has dreams of being a doctor, or at least continuing her career in medicine.

How is your OC working towards their dream job and/or achieved their current profession?

Oh VERY direct action up until she got disheartened and chose to take her sabbatical. she had been working in her role for nearly a decade, and was very obviously one of the most experienced nurses there. even younger doctors would sometimes ask her for her medical opinion dksksks anyway what i am saying is Brain Very Good. she had been fighting to gain admission into a university – any, she wasnt picky – to study medicine officially, but it didnt get very far and she put it on hold after her father got sick. after he died and she was laid off, she fought even harder against the city to reinstate her title, and continues to fight after she returns from america a year or so later.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

helping people is her entire life, and she wouldn't know what to do without it. she loves being a nurse enough to fight to be a doctor, but also in BEING a nurse, she is hyperaware of all the things current medical standards seem to get wrong, and she has a lot of ideas about how else to go about things. her father, a shockingly progressive and worldly man for the time period, shared her sentiment, but he wasn't able to make the changes he wanted to before he passed, so imogen hopes she can be the change herself, and make her father proud

What is your OC’s biggest dream?

being a licenced doctor, babey ! preferably at her father's hospital, but at the point she will take what she can get.

How does your OC react to and handle stress?

imogen handles stress very well , which is partially why she makes such a good medic, and also how she managed to survive the first week of being with the van der linde gang lmao. she is very good at shutting out EVERY distraction when things get dicey, and her brain tends to move at a million miles an hour. all traces of english etiquette and politeness go out the window, though, so you'll usually catch her barking orders at people, and yelling at anyone who prevents her from doing the work she needs to do. it.....is a big wake up call for people like dutch and micah, and gets her into a LOT of trouble on multiple occasions.

How does your OC handle anger?

ooo......not great. she’s grown up with parents who maybe encouraged her to speak her mind a bit....TOO much given the historical circumstances lol. she really doesn’t stand for ignorance or prejudices in any capacity, and if she has a problem with someone and it gets in the way of her trying to do her work or help others - she will ABSOLUTELY be having words. she also overestimates her own strength quite a lot. she’s tried to throw hands with micah MANY times, often forgetting she’s this tiny 70kg englishwoman and he’s .... Him sdjkdcjkf. she has a big mouth too so she often says snide remarks without even meaning too, which tends to get her in trouble as well. on the bright side, it also helps her fit in with the gang quite well, because for the most part they all appreciate how wild she is lmao

How does your OC handle grief?

hmm i guess it depends on what you would class as “well”? she doesnt cry very often - being stoic and handling your emotions is important when your a nurse - but she does tend to shove her feelings down far longer than she should, and tries to pretend they don’t exist by simply focusing on other things. she also blames herself when a lot of things go wrong, because she’s a perfectionist and wants to FIX everything, so when she finds something - or someone - she can’t save, it feels like a personal failure. like she let them down :(

What is your OC’s greatest fear?

probably being trapped in an unhappy, unfulfilling marriage with someone who undervalues her. she’s not much of a homebody and doesn’t have too much of an interest in being married, but the idea of feeling FORCED to marry someone in order to have a decent quality of life makes her blood run cold oof

What makes your OC happy?

helping people ! meeting new folks ! learning about other cultures and ways of life! learning about NEW THINGS in general ! proving people wrong ! insulting micah !

as tough and high-and-mighty as she sometimes seems, she’s a pretty easy person to please, honestly. treat her with respect, give her space to do the things she wants to do, and don’t get in the way of her opportunities to learn new things, and she’s mostly very happy !

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

she has a fairly macabre and sardonic sense of humour, something she picked up from her mother. she says a lot of Shocking things for the time period, and she’s not shy of dirty jokes either. the first time sean heard her, a soft, well spoken english Lady, make some filthy, crude joke, he nearly had a stroke right there on the spot kjkjkfdjkf

What are some things that greatly upset your OC?

senseless violence, suffering or cruelty. she really hated the gang at first and hoped to escape the first chance she got, because all she could see was the crime and disregard for human life she assumed they all held. fortunately, as she got to know them, she realized this wasn’t exactly the case, but she still has a lot of anger in her heart for a few key members of the gang who seem to enjoy bloodshed more than anything. she also hates any form of social prejudice, and people who gatekeep knowledge and opportunities from others.

What are some things that annoy your OC?

i guess all of the above, but she also dislikes misplaced arrogance, and people who talk down to others. she tolerates dutch, but often gets frustrated with the way he speaks, using as many big words as he can to manipulate and confuse others. she believes that really intelligence doesn’t require obscure jargon and big, fancy words - she likes keeping things simple, so everybody can follow along.

#trvelyans #asks #ilysm for asking so many questions gal and sorry for the late reply !#oc: emeraude #oc: effie #oc: arylene #oc: imogen #imogen is my new rdr2 oc in case u couldnt tell djkdsjks #i need to update my ocs page with all my new Babies #also im so sorry for how long and probably messy these replies are #i did Not proofread this in the slightest so. godspeed !!#/ long post

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very-serious-nonsense · 6 years ago

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WIP Introduction

I’ve already made a brief Writeblr introduction here. Now it’s time that I properly introduce my current work in progress A Fools Errand (working title). The story takes placed in a magical fantasy world I have been imagining and developing since childhood. Now augmented by my history degree and experiences with dungeons and dragons, I have come to take my own fantastical nonsense very seriously.

What this basically means is that I’ve got a thousand pages of random notes and about twenty pages of actual readable literature. I have always been terribly self conscious about my writing (for reasons) and it has taken me this long to finally start putting words on paper. Now I have chosen a critical moment in the history of my world to share with you fine people. I am still figuring out precisely how I’d like to do that, but the current plan is this: the narrative will follow through a series of short fairy tales highlighting a select number of major characters. Perspective may switch, but characters will often crossover between chapters (and not always in an obvious way). Dinah (my #1 protagonist) will most likely appear in all of these, acting as the primary narrative to follow and the a consistent link between all the separate stories.

Dinah is a whimsical, strong willed young girl living on the frontier with her mother Beryl. She is always getting herself into trouble by asking too many questions and calling out adults on their bullshit. She also suffers from terrible nightmares, sleep paralysis, and all sorts of waking dreams. Beryl takes Dinah to speak with the local Hermit/Sage Palenszar who tells her that her that the dreams are prophetic and the gods are sending her messages. His advice is to that on the first good omen she should go on pilgrimage to the Oracle of Tuath in the Great Bay City of Mer-We.

(check out what i’ve already posted about them here here and here)

Something else important: I am also working on a series of WIPs within this WIP (because that’s how I function). There is A History of Laurie which will attempt to tell the complete history of my world from the perspective of someone living there, of course in a familiar format reflecting Herodotus. I am also working on a religious text that will borrow from the format of the Iliad/Odyssey and other classical epic poetry. Additionally, I intend on writing a scholarly piece from a modern perspective of my world piecing together inscriptions and fragments from the past to paint a picture of the culture’s formative years. This is only a sampling, but other projects include a board game, comic series, and video game. Basically, anytime I have a new idea or even just learn a new thing I figure out a way to stitch it into the world.

A few more brief words on the world at large: it is made up of six major realms Mer-We, Bhulka, Kalkozo, Saaziland, Waake, and Acharii (reflecting the six major deities; Tuath, Sekow, Ge, Axzemio, Ammu, and Ptilnor, respectively). The six realms together make up the Land of Laurie (side note: named after my grandmother Laurie who would always tell me that when we were rich one day she would buy an island and call it Laurie Land, and all he family would live there. Still working on making it a physical reality, but in the mean time it’s easier to at least construct it metaphorically). I will make a separate, more articulate post about my pantheon of gods and the various religions about the lands, and also for an explanation of my magic system (which in many ways is reflective of my own personal religious views as a pantheist and practicing wizard). Many of my characters are also low key designed to represent the major arcana from tarot and inasmuch act as foreshadowing omens when those characters appear in the story; ie. Dinah is the Fool, hence the working title.

This project is something so incredibly personal and important to me that I feel the need to share it with anyone who will listen. The ideas I will be discussing here may be incredibly complex and often contradictory, so if you are interested at all please feel free to message me with questions, opinions, critiques - whatever! As personal as this is, I take criticism very well. Also, I know my grammar and syntax are terrible. I didn’t learn how to read until I was ten and then I just never picked up on some things. syntax and grammar can be pretty elitist anyway.

thanks for reading! let me know what you think!

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bellarkefanfiction · 7 years ago

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Baby, we're an artistic coincidence

written by: josefine / @selflessbellamy

prompt: "You keep requesting the book I need so I can’t have it the whole time and we leave each other passive aggressive notes in the margins" for anonymous

word count: 2564

If Athena had lived today, her black dress would be set aflame by the ravaging war behind her, there would be a chess piece tattooed across her collarbone: the knight, symbolizing strategic warfare. No doubt she would have a bruised face with a cut lip but her pace would carry her proudly through the battlefield. At least, this is how Clarke Griffin captures her in a modern format, drawing all of the curves and lines that make up a goddess.

She’s been reading The Iliad for reference. Despite her interest in mythology she’s never actually read that classic before, but now that it’s vital for her studies, she has to. If only the asshole that keeps reserving the book from the library would just let her have it for more than a week at a time.

Annoyed, she’d walked into the library that morning, sipping on her hot chocolate. The first unsuspecting librarian she encountered was the target of her frustration (but not even that could possibly cloud how cute he was).

“Isn’t it possible for me to have this book for longer? I really need it for my studies.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the rules. The other person claimed that he needed it to write a novel, but I don’t know. He looked like a college student to me.” At that, the librarian had smirked, just a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, but that was enough to send her away, since she wasn’t keen on getting distracted by anything — at least not until her project was finished.

For hours, she sits by one of the tables in the library, struggling to finish the portrait of Athena before she has to turn the book over, which she does. However, she still has three art pieces to go: Artemis, Nyx, and Nike. Feeling exhaustion seep into her bones, Clarke makes an impulsive decision that she knows she’ll most likely regret, but before she has the time to, she opens the book and scribbles a short message in the margin of the first place.

Now, are you really writing a book or is it a bullshit excuse?

I need this book, otherwise I’m gonna fail my course.

Hope it’s a damn good WIP.

Then she closes it again before handing it over to the cute librarian, and they exchange smiles. Somehow, it places guilt in her heart, sort of like she’s disappointed him in a way by writing in the book… Whatever, she doesn’t even know this man.

***

A week later, the book is hers again, which leads her to the library. By now, her drawing of Athena has been filled in with gorgeous watercolors, and she’s surprisingly proud of it. Since her dad died last year, her inspiration has come and gone like a tidal wave, which is more than frustrating when your future depends on the work that you create.

Grinning slightly this time, the librarian hands her The Iliad, and suddenly a question emerges from Clarke’s lips without permission. “Sorry, but would it be weird if I’d like to know your name? We see each other so often by now, it just… feels a bit strange—“

“Not at all. My name’s Bellamy.”

She smiles. “I’m Clarke.”

When she opens to book, ready to start her drawing of Artemis, a mysterious blue Post-It has been placed in the margin of the first page, directly below where she wrote her passive aggressive message a week ago. Now, that’s been erased.

On the Post-It, the other Iliad-reader has written:

DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S WRONG TO WRITE IN BOOKS, PRINCESS?

SHAME ON YOU ;)

(AND YES, I AM IN FACT WRITING A BOOK)

Block letters? Who writes in block letters like that? Well, when they’re not yelling at someone on social media, that is. Needless to say, it’s uncommon. Thought #2: What the hell is that winking smiley face supposed to mean? As everyone knows, the use of it can be interpreted in a million different ways, so… is this guy a creep? Is he just trying to be sassy, what’s going on?

Before her mind loses to all of the unanswered questions, Clarke stops her train of thought, reminding herself that she has some very important work to do, and she has no intention of letting anything prevent her from it.

It takes a few minutes for the full image of a modern Artemis to take shape in her imagination, but when it does, Clarke wastes no time. Keeping a strict focus as a young huntress starts to appear on the piece of paper, she hardly notices someone brush past her. Later, she finds out that it’s Bellamy, because he reveals it once she’s about to leave.

“I hope you don’t mind me trying to sneak a peek at your drawings. They’re really good… Are you doing a project?”

At those words, Clarke lights up, spinning around on her heel so that she can walk back towards him. “Yes. It’s a series of art pieces that depict some Greek goddesses in modern time,” as soon as she’s said that, Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up, exposing his interest and surprise.

“Which ones are you doing?”

“Oh, you like Greek mythology?”

He chuckles at her question, running a hand through his curly, dark hair: it’s attractively messy, and for a moment she’s more than tempted to move it out of his eyes. Nevertheless, she catches herself at the last minute, placing her hand on the counter.

“I’ve read The Iliad myself a couple of times,” he admits at last, grinning.

Curious, she meets his dark brown eyes for a second before her gaze unconsciously drifts to the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. He would be difficult to draw, she notes: the lines of his face vary in hardness, and there seems to be no shortage of beautiful features that she would hardly be able to do any justice, like the small crinkles around his eyes. Before she becomes too carried away, Clarke starts to tell him more about her project. “I’m doing five different ones. Athena, Artemis, Nyx, Nike, and Aphrodite… I’ve only done two by now, and the project is due in two weeks. This is why I keep returning for the book.”

Bellamy hesitates for almost an entire minute, then says, carefully, “Wouldn’t it save you some time if you bought a copy?”

Worrying her lips, Clarke explains, “I’ve looked, but they’re all newer versions and somehow restored. I wanted my references to be as traditional and unrestored as possible just so that the pieces could have some authenticity.”

If his facial expression is anything to go by, Bellamy didn’t expect that reply at all. When he finally speaks, the only words that emerge are of understanding, “Yeah, okay. I see that…”

Shrugging, Clarke heads for the door again, saying, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to buy a copy. Thank you. See you tomorrow.“

But she’s barely taken two steps towards the door before Bellamy stops her in her tracks, “Clarke, wait! I— Maybe I can talk to the other reservation-holder and ask if he would mind letting you have the book for the next couple of weeks?”

Turning her head, she manages to smile at him. “No, I wouldn’t want you to go through that trouble for my sake. Have a nice evening—“

“But…”

She can tell that he’s holding something important back and he’s pulling himself together in order to say it, yet meanwhile, amid the silence, Clarke’s eyes dart to a small stack of blue Post-it’s at the left end of the counter. It doesn’t take her long to put two and two together, and while there’s still a possibility that she’s wrong, she decides to jump the gun. “… So you’re writing a book. Is it in block-letters?”

At that, he looks up, noticing the smile on her face, and he immediately seems relieved that she’s not angry with him.

“No, I’m using my 20th century typewriter. That’s why it’s taking so long,” he jokes, making her laugh. That alone is enough to baffle her, since most people haven’t been able to make her laugh in the past months. Her dad passing doesn’t have her in tears anymore, but the traces of the grief sadly still linger, which has made it more difficult for her to enjoy things. “I’m sorry about the Post-It,” he continues sheepishly, pulling her back to reality. “But I can’t bring myself to write in books… Unlike some people.”

“Are you judging me?”

He shakes his head as his smile grows wider. “No, and you can have the book. I’ll just use the old one I have at home,” Wait, if he already had The Iliad at home, why would he need the one from the library so badly? Before she can gather the courage to ask, Bellamy apparently reads her mind, because he explains, “The one I have is an heirloom that’s been passed on through three generations. When my mother died, she left it to me because she knew that I loved it so much, but I’m afraid that it’s falling apart now. The spine is ruined, and the pages can’t handle much more turning—“

Before he can speak any more, the thought that has struck Clarke’s mind eagerly escapes her throat. “You know what? We should share the book… How do you like your coffee, Bellamy? You look like a ‘none of that sugar-and-milk bullshit’ guy to me,” with that, she winks, prompting him to wink back at her, which indicates that she was right.

***

They take the book to the nearest coffee shop. Once they’ve received their orders of caffeine, Bellamy pulls out a notepad from his bag and Clarke places her favorite set of pencils on the table. “I never asked you what your book was about…”

At that, his smile turns crooked as he lets his pen graze the tip of her nose. “Well, I think you’ll like it. It’s about the ancient Greek gods and goddess in our modern world.”

Obviously, she thinks he’s joking at first, because there’s simply no way that they’re working on the exact same idea, but he looks really serious. Sending her a crooked grin, Bellamy seems to be aware of her doubt and decides to pass her his notes as evidence: In block letters, there are incredible details about Athena’s tattoos and outfit choices, about Artemis’ pact with nature, about Aphrodite’s self-love.

“Maybe we can help each other out.”

Chuckling, he replies, “Yeah. If you promise me you’ll never write in a book again.”

So that’s what they do every day for the next two weeks. They meet up in the library or in the coffee shop to share their ideas and keep each other company while they work, even if it’s for hours on end until the stars come out. Quickly, they discover that they have a shared passion for snacking while working, but in order to do that, they’re forced to change the location of their meet-ups. Luckily, the park seems like the perfect spot.

“What did you bring for me?” He teases when she shows up, carrying a plastic Target bag, but she only sticks her tongue out at him.

“Not for you. For us… Skittles, Oreos, Hershey’s and Nerds.”

“You read my mind.”

Sitting on the grass next to Bellamy as rays of sunshine fall onto his face is distracting; it makes his skin resemble growing bronze and his eyes remind her of the forest floor on a summer’s day. Worrying her bottom lip, Clarke asks for his opinion, “Aphrodite… She’s difficult. How do you picture her?”

Clearly thinking hard, Bellamy picks a purple Skittle from the bag, offering her a red one, since it’s her favorite. Then he says, “I picture her having long strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. And she would wear one of those maxi dresses, for sure.”

“White or pink flowing fabric?”

“Pink, definitely.”

As Clarke sketches, she senses Bellamy’s gaze on her, which makes it a little more difficult to focus, and yet a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at the thought of him being interested in her work. In fact, having someone else care about her project has made her more passionate about it, and she has even gone back to the older sketches to add more details after talking to Bellamy about them.

“You’re extremely talented,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. “The way you capture silhouettes is just… Does it run in the family?”

At his question, Clarke stalls, the pencil hovering over the drawing while she tries to prevent herself from trembling. Judging by the way he places his hand on his shoulder comfortingly, her sadness peeks through her rough exterior despite her efforts to hide it. Swallowing, she croaks, “My dad was an artist. He never got to witness my acceptance at RISD.”

It’s easier to talk to him about it, knowing that his mother’s gone, too. Losing a parent is unimaginable to most people, and the only ones who know just how deep the pain of it cuts, are those that have experienced it.

“I’m sure he would be proud of you.”

That’s it; those words break her shield, make her walls crumble, so that tears are running down her cheeks before she’s even realized it. To no avail, she attempts to catch them all with the back of her hand, but when Bellamy turns around to hug her, she finds that the soft material of his blue Henley absorbs them a lot better.

After a minute, she stops crying and pulls back to let the sunshine dry her cheeks, yet Bellamy’s thumbs do so first. Overwhelmed by his softness, she says, “I want to draw the cover for your book once it’s published.”

“If it is published, you mean,” he smiles sweetly, but she shakes her head.

“No, when it’s published.”

He’s already promised her the honor of being the first person to read the prologue of the novel, which is nearly done, and she’s practically buzzing with excitement at the thought. No matter what, she intends to be his biggest supporter in finishing it, not only because it sounds amazing, but also because he is much kinder than he gives himself credit for.

In fact, it seems very much as if he doesn’t give himself any credit at all…

***

When she receives an A for the art pieces, Clarke desperately wants to give him the credit that he deserves for being an amazing encourager and partner during this project. Knowing that she can’t, however, causes her to find another way to thank him for everything.

He’d given her The Iliad on the last day before she had to turn her project in, assuring her that she needed it more than him at that point, but now she’s ready to return it after having placed a new sticky note on the front cover.

Would you like to go out some time?

- C

When she hands it to him, and he reads it, Bellamy radiates, deciding to act like an adorable dork by writing his response below her message instead of telling her.

Some time like now? I’m off. Coffee? ;)

There’s the winking smiley again, although this time, Clarke’s not at all confused by the meaning of it…

#bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #a: selflessbellamy #bffwritingteam #wt: josefine #title: baby we're an artistic coincidence #oneshots #modern au #librarian!bellamy #writer!bellamy #artist!clarke #meet cute #strangers to friends to lovers #fluff #prompts

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morenerdthanperson · 6 years ago

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For the WIP ask game -> 2: Post a line from your WIP with no context, 13: Your characters are stranded on a deserted island. What happens?, and 16: What would your characters be for Halloween? please ^u^ (You don't have to do them all if you don't want to)

First ask, so excited! (I’m always happy to answer questions... in waaaay too much detail xD)

2: Line with no context

“I think I’m going crazy.”

He shrugged. “Big surprise. You already drove me crazy ages ago; it was a matter of time before you did it to yourself.”

13: They get stranded on a deserted island

Ahrin goes through a couple of friendship groups throughout the books; I’ll give you the scenario with her adopted “family” she grew up with.

Names: Ahrin, Resdin, Katya, Yako, Anoosha, Bafri

These guys have known each other for their entire lives; they’ve done all sorts of military training together (including survival training) and can do any task as a ruthless, commando-like team.

If we’re talking shipwrecking them on an Earth island, well, for starters they would be really confused because Earth is 20 lightyears away from where they live and they know nothing about plant diversity, let alone animals xD

They would have no idea what to make of the vegetation that grew there (they’re only familiar with agricultural staples and even those have been genetically altered from the Earth ones). But they’d do just fine hunting animals (they can shoot, throw knives, dispatch pretty much anything with their swords, AND if they have no weapon they could always use their powers to paralyse something while they strangled it or something) and know all about making/finding shelters and navigation.

If they for some reason got wrecked on an island somewhere in their planetary system... well, for starters they’d die of exposure really quickly anywhere on the planet Odyssey unless they were fully-equipped with all necessary survival gear, so... let’s just hope they end up on an island either on Iliad or somewhere far away from Eridanus’s equator xD

There would be no animals, and chances are that their only food source would be... algae. Which would be super fun to eat for ages on end, so let’s hope that they would get rescued within a day or two!

Past-times would include:

- Duelling each other with swords

- Duelling hand-to-hand

- Pokey monster (like tag/tigi, but with stakes because they can read each other’s minds if they touch OOPS)

- Arguing about who is in charge (Katya and Resdin... they always decide it’s Ahrin somehow even though she tends to only interrupt the arguments with one short sentence)

- Learning to draw with natural materials (Anoosha)

- Driving everyone crazy with new terrible puns (Resdin)

- Getting group revenge on Resdin for going too far with the puns (revenge options may include: throwing him off a cliff into the ocean, pelting him with rocks, telekinetically throwing him into a tree and taking turns to make sure he stays up there for a good few hours)

16 coming in another answer, I’ll tag you!

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purple-spring · 7 years ago

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The Christmas Letters - BH one-shot

Merry Christmas, one and all, and particularly to my Bughead Secret Santa @rubyventure!

This is a super fluffy holiday one-shot, one that I absolutely loved writing, and hopefully one that you (and everyone else) will enjoy.

Summary: Jughead hated Christmas traditions. Until he created his own.

Includes: Lots of literary references (including Harry Potter! That one was especially for you, @rubyventure!), Jughead’s Underwood typewriter, and a super sweet surprise at the end.

Fic after the cut. Happy reading!

Jughead Jones hated Christmas traditions. Every single one of them. The caroling, the mistletoe, the eggnog, the trimming of the tree, and especially all the shitty movie reruns (he tried banning all Christmas films at the Twilight during his time there, but Riverdale nearly rioted and Mayor McCoy had to step in).

He liked playing it off as a Grinch-like aversion to anything bright or merry, but the truth was that Jughead was wary of most traditions. Because what else was tradition other than another accepted standard that he and his family would fail to live up to?

The Joneses were a mess most of the time, but they were particularly terrible at Christmas. Dinner was always a sad affair of whatever his mom could cobble together from the pantry, gifts were off the table because they were always broke, and his dad would always drink himself to a stupor. So he hated the whole thing, but he repressed his sad childhood story, and passed off his hatred of the season as a belief that it was nothing more than a cheap excuse for consumerism and manufactured joy.

But one year, that all changed.

Maybe it was the fact that everything he once held to be true was coming apart at the seams - Riverdale, his family, his relationship with Betty - and he wanted something consistent and hopeful to hold on to. Or maybe it was the vintage Underwood that now sat proudly at his desk, reminding him of his love of words and literature. Either way, that year, when the Black Hood terrorised Riverdale, he caved in: he unwittingly created his own Christmas traditions.

It started when he tried to write again. On Christmas Day, Jughead eagerly sat in front of his new typewriter and rolled in a blank sheet of paper, waiting for inspiration to strike. But it was no use. He’d been so out of touch with his novel for so long that he couldn’t even remember the last thing he wrote for it.

There was an old adage for writers that Jughead liked repeating to himself: write what you know. It was the reason why he wrote about Riverdale to begin with. But lately, he had been so isolated from that Riverdale - the Northside he had grown up with - that writing it seemed like a far-fetched idea.

What did he know now? What could he write about?

The Serpents? Out of the question.

His family? Too miserable.

As snow fell outside, Jughead’s fingers hovered over the typewriter keys, eager to write something, anything. What’s the story that I want to tell, the one that’s right under my skin?

Before he knew it, he was typing out a letter to Betty Cooper.

…

My beloved,

If you were here right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’d tell me how I’ve misappropriated that word - “beloved” - in the card that accompanied your Christmas present. It’s obviously a beautiful word on its own, but I could almost hear you in my ear, saying that I’ve missed the point, because the word is used in a tragic sense in Toni Morrison’s novel.

I want you to know that I totally get that, and perhaps - in this letter that will probably never see the light of day - I could take the opportunity to explain myself.

I never actually finished the book. It came to me while we were in the middle of being broken up. I knew it was one of your favourites, and one day I came across it in the library. Because I was a sucker for pain, I decided to read it, to try and conjure up a shadow of you to comfort myself.

…which is essentially what Sethe does in the book, right? She meets this young woman, Beloved, and suddenly decides that it’s the daughter that she murdered as a 2-year-old, and spoils and indulges her. She does this because she feels guilty, and also because she misses her.

I don’t know how the story ends, but I know this: that book was a poor substitute for you. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t finish it. Because I realised that I wanted the real Betty Cooper, not just her favourite book.

You are my own beloved - the ghost that I will keep chasing and seeing everywhere until you are mine again.

Merry Christmas. Although I haven’t said this in a while, it still holds true: I love you.

Jug.

…

And so began two Christmas traditions for Jughead.

Every year, come holiday season, he would do two things: on Christmas Eve, he would give Betty a book as a Christmas present. Not just any book, but something that reflected her, or the way that he felt about her. Then, on Christmas Day, he would use his typewriter to write her a letter - one that she would never read - and place it in a box he kept hidden in his room.

The books were easy to explain. Growing up, he and Betty had always loved reading. It was a world of their own that excluded Archie, who found reading difficult and uninteresting. But Jughead’s act of giving her books was more than that: it was a way for him to express how he felt about her through the words of others, when he found his own inadequate.

Which explains the letters.

The letters were Jughead’s own postscript, his crib notes for why he had chosen each book and what it represented of his feelings for Betty. She didn’t know about them, and he imagined that he’d never show her. They were more for his benefit. Through them, he could make sense of how he felt for her, and where their relationship stood during each particular Christmas.

Toni Morrison’s Beloved, given during that first, miserable Christmas, was telling: he missed her, and he had nothing more than the echoes of her to live off.

The following Christmas was better: they were reconciled and thriving after a tumultuous year of working their way back from the fallout of the Black Hood, and he gifted her with his own worn copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Jughead had fond memories of him and Betty sitting quietly in his old treehouse, reading the Harry Potter series together while Archie played with all the other kids in the neighbourhood. At age 12, they raced each other to the end of the series, and debated endlessly about that last sentence (Betty liked it; Jughead thought it was silly and a wasted opportunity).

On Christmas Day that year, he rolled a piece of paper into the Underwood and wrote:

Horcruxes are made out to be this awful, terrible thing in the novel, but in real life, are we not always giving our souls away to different things and different people? This year, I’ve felt mine being stitched back together after all the fracturing that happened last year. And while small pieces of it remain unaccounted for, I can say this wholeheartedly today: so much of it belongs to you, Betty Cooper.

In the Christmas before they went off to college, he gave her a copy of Homer’s Odyssey. Betty was off to Columbia, while he had been accepted to Amherst. Within five minutes of receiving his letter in the mail, he had already mapped out the distance between the two colleges, and calculated the time that it would take for him to drive up to New York during the weekends. They had dreamt of going to college together, but it was not meant to be. That being said, a mere 4-hour drive between Boston and New York on the weekends was the next best thing, and they spent many of their Saturdays over the next four years driving between the two campuses and spending nights at each other’s dorm rooms.

Betty loved his present, saying that Homer’s Odyssey was a quintessential college reading experience. While he agreed with her, that wasn’t the reason he got her the book that year.

In his letter, he wrote, You would think that Odysseus’ story would centre on his heroic role in the Trojan War, in the Iliad, but no: we remember him instead for The Odyssey, for his journey home. For all the hype that Amherst has for me, with my old man proud as punch that I’d be the first in the family to attend college, all I can think of right now is that four-hour drive to New York, climbing the steps up to your dorm room, and knocking on your door. College is my Trojan War, but the true quest for me is the journey home to you.

And on and on it continued, every single year. Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, right before they embarked on an epic road trip to Austin for SXSW. Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News the year that she interned for The New York Times. Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist when she was struggling with her studies and contemplating switching majors.

Each one was accompanied with a letter that she never saw, carefully typed on Christmas Day and tucked away into the secret box in his room. After he wrote each one, he always briefly contemplated sending them all to her. But to do so would be to break tradition, and if he was to do that, he decided that it would have to be for a very special reason.

…

“I don’t get a book this year?”

Jughead was at the Coopers’ House on Christmas Eve, dropping off presents for the family. Alice and Hal had slowly accepted him into the fold over the past ten years, and this year, he felt more welcome than ever to their home. Betty was pouting at the door as she was seeing him off.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jughead said, kissing her on the temple. “Stupid Amazon couldn’t deliver it on time. Apparently it’s in demand.”

Betty eyed him curiously. “A book that’s in demand this time of year? So… either a new release or some sort of Christmas tale.” She looked triumphant.

“Oh, come on, don’t try to guess. You’ll probably end up figuring it out.”

“Alright then,” she said, tiptoeing to put her arms around his neck. “You’ll be okay to drive home? The roads are a bit icy.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he leaned down to kiss her, then remembered something. “By the way, did you get everything in to Trish for that Lilith end-of-year review?” Betty had just become the news editor for Lilith, an alternative online news and culture website aimed towards young women, and she was thriving, making Jughead proud. She deserved it.

“Ugh. Yes. Believe me, if I see another listicle in this lifetime, I might throw it all in and just run the Riverdale Register.” Jughead chuckled at that. “What about you? Did you have to run anything like that for Slate?”

“No, thank god,” he said. “And somehow, I don’t think anyone wants to see a Top Ten True Crimes list.”

She laughed. “You never know.”

“That’s true,” he said. “I mean, you and I would read it.”

“Yes, but that’s because we grew up in this town.” They both laughed at that. Among many things, Riverdale had gifted them with a macabre sense of humour.

“Alright,” he said. “I better get going. I’ll see you at lunch at ours tomorrow?”

“Yes. Also, you’re 100% sure that Jellybean would like the scarf?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled and gave her a last kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you, Jug.”

He walked down to his car and got in, waving at Betty as he drove off. As soon as he turned a corner, he pulled over and called Archie.

“Jug.”

“Hey, Arch. Coast clear?”

“Yep. She just went in. You’re good to go.”

…

At five minutes to midnight, right before Christmas Day, Jughead stood outside Betty’s window.

Snow was starting to fall. He tucked Betty’s Christmas present into his jacket to try and protect it from damage - the one he got her in lieu of a book that year. It was a book, technically, but not quite yet. It was yet to be published.

Jughead couldn’t help it: he had to look at the manuscript cover again. Just this once. Just so he could believe that this was actually happening.

“Of Bulldogs, Serpents and Vixens. A novel by Jughead Jones.”

After so many years of trying (and failing) to pick up from where he left off with his novel, Jughead had spent the past six months smashing it out on his typewriter like a man possessed by the Muses. His Slate editor, Rick, was positively aghast that he was insisting on the typewritten manuscript (“The fact that there is no soft copy of this is giving me hives, Jughead. HIVES!”), but he was firm: the novel would be written on the Underwood, or not at all.

He hadn’t told Betty about the novel. When he started working on it again, the words flowed too fast that he knew that stopping and showing her would only disrupt his momentum. And in her ignorance, he sensed an opportunity.

Jughead looked down at his watch. Two minutes to go.

He was excited to give Betty his manuscript, but it was only one out of the three presents he was planning to give her that night. As nerve-wracking as it was to give her the manuscript, he was actually more nervous about his second gift. Looking up at her window, he saw it propped up on the seat, wrapped with a large red bow.

He had bribed Polly’s twins (with an obscene amount of money - they were crafty Blossoms, after all) to take his box of Christmas letters into Betty’s room after she fell asleep, and to place it neatly on her window seat - the very same one he had stepped onto all those years ago, when he first kissed her. Before handing it over, he made sure that the letters were in the correct order - chronological, with the newest one at the bottom of the pile. He wanted her to read that one last.

He had the letter typed for weeks now, as soon as he had finished the first draft of his manuscript. Unlike the other Christmas letters, which usually took him upwards of an hour to write, this one was written quickly, as if the words were in him all along.

Betty,

This is the gift I wanted to give you this year – the manuscript for my novel, the story I’d been writing since our teens.

It’s the story of our town - or, at least, it started out that way. In the past few months, as each chapter poured out of me as quickly as the rapids of the Sweetwater current, I realised that the story of Riverdale as I saw it was actually OUR story. Of our childhood, of the tenuous beginnings of our relationship, of the rollercoaster it endured, and of how we were brought back together by the sheer force of our love for one another.

I’ve given you a book each Christmas because I felt as though my words were not enough to express how much I felt for you. But that all changed this year as I gained the inspiration to commit this all to paper, using the typewriter that YOU gave me.

Which is a beautiful metaphor, don’t you think? It is YOU who gives me the words, who inspires me to write, to create.

This won’t be your last book from me. Tradition demands that I continue to give you one every Christmas. But this is, I believe, the most important one.

This is me asking you to come with me on a new journey, to write a new chapter in our lives together.

To fill the next pages of this book. With new memories, new stories, perhaps even new characters.

With more of us.

He looked up again at the window.

It really was the perfect spot - symbolic, and practical. His heart started beating faster when he saw the light switch on. The twins were probably bouncing on their aunt’s bed now, screaming that it was Christmas, asking her to open the present on her window seat.

He looked down at his phone. Right on cue, a message came through from Archie. Lights are ready to come on, when you’re ready.

Jughead inhaled sharply, the cold air invigorating him with courage. Hopefully, while sitting there, as she read that final letter, she could see him outside, surrounded by the fairy lights he had set up earlier in the week.

Kneeling in the snow. Holding his third present - the small box inside his jacket pocket.

Asking her to marry him.

#bughead secret santa #paperlesscrown writes #bughead #bughead fanfiction

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ashspren-writes · 3 years ago

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I posted 159 times in 2021

18 posts created (11%)

141 posts reblogged (89%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 7.8 posts.

I added 40 tags in 2021

#ao3 - 6 posts

#tsoa - 5 posts

#patroclus - 4 posts

#fic - 4 posts

#six of crows - 4 posts

#patrochilles - 4 posts

#achilles - 4 posts

#grishaverse - 3 posts

#the iliad - 3 posts

#the song of achilles - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 50 characters

#feel like a lot of characters would vibe with this

My Top Posts in 2021

Wedding Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

At long last, my piece for the @historyinthemakingzine has been posted! Thanks so much to @scone-lover and @caitybug for putting this together––I had an amazing time.

Shout-out to @subparselkie for being the absolute best and collaborating with me. 💛💛💛 Check out her art above!

Here's the link to the fic:

50 notes • Posted 2021-07-25 19:10:40 GMT

☀️ the more things seem to change (the more they stay the same) ☀️

Rating: T | Words: 7.5K | Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Achilles turns back to Patroclus. “So. Not too bad, right? We can keep this up for tomorrow?”

Can Patroclus keep this up? Yes. What will it cost? His sanity, dignity, and potentially a few years off his life.

He grins. “Yeah. We make a pretty handsome couple.”

~~~

When Achilles asks Patroclus to be his date for his rich, eccentric great-uncle’s seventh wedding, Patroclus can see the rationale––they’re best friends, and they’ve been inseparable for years. It's intended as a small favor.

There’s one catch, though: It’s all fake. But Patroclus is actually in love with Achilles, and this very well may kill him.

A Californian, fake-dating, modern high school AU in which Patroclus deals with Achilles’s crazy family and barely survives his not-so-unrequited feelings.

This has been a WIP for a few months now... I’m so excited that it’s finished! I think Patroclus and Achilles deserve literally the entire world a little bit of happiness, so please enjoy this painless, happy one shot (and thank you to @scone-lover for beta-ing) 💛

Read on AO3:

54 notes • Posted 2021-01-31 22:24:03 GMT

no one talk to me, i just finished young royals and will be unable to say anything except “fuck august” for the next 7-10 business days

65 notes • Posted 2021-07-18 07:57:03 GMT

r/AITA: AITA for avenging my boyfriend?

I [26 M] will admit that I’ve made many mistakes in the past. I know for a fact that I have anger issues, and I don’t have the best relationship with either of my parents. I lived with my dad growing up, and my mom lived with her family. My relationship with her became really strained when I started dating my boyfriend [28 M] when we were teenagers. I don’t think Mom is homophobic, but she was definitely unsupportive because of his past and his family.

My boyfriend and I got drafted for war (kind of against my will, but I wanted to fight, so it’s a long story) and my mom was super upset. She wanted me to hide so that I wouldn’t have to fight, so I left my boyfriend at home and let my mom drag me away. She even set me up with a girlfriend––she got pregnant, and I didn’t even know I had a son until recently. Either way, I was discovered, and I left for the war. My boyfriend came with me.

Fast forward 9 years, and I wasn’t being given the respect that I deserved. I argued with a superior and, because he wouldn’t let me have any sort of command, I basically benched myself and refused to fight. My boyfriend agreed that he was in the wrong but told me to stop being difficult and respect my commander’s authority. I refused, and I feel really bad about it now.

Basically, my boyfriend and the strategists decided to dress him in my uniform (I was kind of a big deal and a desirable target for the other side). He eliminated one of their biggest fighters, but he was unfortunately killed by their first-in-command. Understandably, I was super upset and distraught by this, and I wanted revenge for him.

I went out into the field and basically went on a rampage. I found their first-in-command, killed him, and hitched him to my chariot and dragged him around the walls of Troy.

Honestly, I get why people might be upset with me. But I think I’m at least a little bit in the right here. AITA?

107 notes • Posted 2021-10-18 20:25:20 GMT

ao3: *crashes*

me, surrounded by literal books: well now what am i supposed to read

3444 notes • Posted 2021-01-05 04:53:02 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

0 notes

hermdoggydog · 7 years ago

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The Most Beautiful Woman in the World...

Most of you are familiar with Helen of Troy. Some of you may also be familiar with the Helen, a unit of feminine beauty derived from said Helen.

In that article by David Goines, written in 1987, the author proposes to measure the beauty of a woman by two fairly objective standards: Ships Launched and Arson/Destruction of Human Settlements. One Helen (1 h) is fixed at 1000 Greek warships (Goines helpfully ballparked this at 20 tons per ship for a total displacement of 20,000 tons) and the Burning of Troy (about 50 acres, or 0.078 square miles, or 0.2 square kilometers).

(Incidentally, the Iliad has a Catalogue of ships that actually sailed to fight the Trojan War [and thus retrieve Helen]. The Greeks put together 1,186 ships, so the actual Helen of Troy ranks at slightly higher than 1 Helen (h), or 1.186 Helens to be precise).

For the first, Goines puts Eleanor Roosevelt and Mamie Eisenhower as the top women, for christening (and thus launching) large modern naval vessels. The former commissioned the USS Yorktown, with a full-load displacement of 25,500 tons. The latter commissioned the NS Savannah, at 21,800 full-load displacement. If we use the actual Greek fleet, then only Eleanor beats Helen (and in any case, the Yorktown was an actual warship, while the Savannah was not). However, since neither woman even smoked (let alone committed any sort of large-scale arson), they fell short of the original Helen.

For the second, Goines settled on Catherine O’Leary, whose cow (according to legend) caused the Great Chicago Fire, as the top contender. Said fire ravaged 3.33 square miles, 44 times more than the destruction of Troy. Again, Mrs. O’Leary likely did not launch any substantial water vessels, so she falls short of the original Helen.

Goines concludes that, with both standards taken together, Helen of Troy remains the most beautiful woman.

But is he mistaken? Goines chose to maximize only one measure at a time, rather than find the optimum combination between the two. And he wrote his piece 30 years ago.

Below the cut, I’ve detailed my search for some real-life women who can actually beat Helen of Troy, or more precisely, attain more than one Helen (1 h) in beauty.

I started by looking into female pirates. Naturally, a female pirate would be a solid contender for Helen-based beauty, with ample opportunity and means to launch ships and set places on fire.

Anne Bonny

Incidentally, one of the most well-known female pirates (and her partner Mary Read) never actually commanded her own vessel. Nevertheless, she probably did launch some boats in her time, and though we don’t know for sure, I wouldn’t put it past her to set a tavern on fire every so often. A fraction of a millihelen at best.

Jeanne de Clisson, aka The Lioness of Brittany

(Pic from Rejected Princesses)

More of an English privateer hellbent on revenge than a profit-seeking pirate, the Lioness of Brittany commanded three English warships at the height of her rampage, burning settlements on the French coast year after year. Given her tactics, they were likely galleys, and I estimate their tonnage at 150-200 tons each. While 600 tons would put de Clisson at only 0.03 Helens (3 centihelens), remember that the French ships launched to stop her should also be counted (since Helen of Troy did not command or even want to launch the Greek fleet). Unfortunately, we don’t have much info on how many such ships France launched, or how many towns she burned to the ground (supposedly several). Still, with a fleet of 3 centihelens and several towns torched, definitely better than Anne Bonny.

Madame Ching Shih

Enough with the West. Here we have the most successful female pirate of all time, and quite possibly the best rags-to-riches prostitute story too. Despite starting out in the oldest profession, Ching Shih eventually gained command of the Red Flag Fleet, comprised of 300 junks and 20,000 to 40,000 pirates of all ages and genders. Those junks probably weren’t the size of Zheng He’s gigantic treasure ships, so I’d estimate them at 600 tons each. Madame Ching’s fleet, then, clocks in at 180,000 tons, or 9 Helens. And that doesn’t even count the ships the Chinese, the British, and the Portuguese launched to defeat her (and failed).

(Pictured: a lesser version of Ching from Pirates of the Caribbean who did not single-handedly wipe out the East India Company fleet)

As for Arson, I could imagine Ching burning a town or two to set an example, but she also collected taxes from the towns under her control, indicating a shrewd long-term strategy (which worked, considering she retired on a full pardon, kept her spoils, and lived to 69). So, not enough damage to match her fleet’s 9 h (which would require burning down nine cities), but possibly enough to beat Helen’s Troy.

And there I thought my search was over. Honestly, it would be tough to beat Ching Shih’s fleet, especially since after her, most nation-states cracked down hard on pirates and seafaring women committing arson.

But then I came to the 21st century.

First off, the largest warships nowadays are the Nimitz-class nuclear-powered aircraft supercarriers of the US Navy. Each weighs in at over 100,000 tons displacement, and the USA has launched ten of them. So there are ten women who already clock in at 5 Helens just by christening one of these behemoths (though again, Goines’ original point stands. Women who get to christen aircraft carriers also tend to be women who haven’t committed arson). Only a little more than half of Ching Shih’s 9-Helen fleet, since I’m fairly certain they limit women to one warship christening per lifetime.

But I haven’t exactly been limiting myself to christening now, have I?

Meet Nora W. Tyson, Vice Admiral of the US Navy, and currently commander of the US Third Fleet.

Remember how I said that the Nimitz-class carriers are the biggest warships around today? Well, since the very dawn of the aircraft carrier, competent naval commanders recognize that even the best of the best can’t sail solo, so they usually attach several smaller “sidekick” warships to the big boys.

The formation you see above is the Carrier Strike Group. The “small” warships still clock in at about 9,000 tons, usually cruisers or destroyers. So the whole squad weighs in at about 140,000 tons, or 7 Helens (and that’s before adding in the submarines and supply vessels that sometimes tag along). As for Arson, well, the carrier alone holds 65-70 planes, and the cruisers and destroyers pack dozens of guided missiles. So they could probably burn down Troy, Athens, Sparta, Rome, Carthage, and every other city in the ancient Mediterranean fifty times over, in the time it takes to watch the 2004 film Troy. Any woman who launches one of these into a war will easily outstrip Helen of Troy on both counts.

Vice Admiral Nora Tyson commands four of these groups in the Third Fleet.

(Sidenote: The Expeditionary Strike Group is more geared for invading and occupying places rather than burning them down to ash and then burning the ash. That said, occupation requires boots on the ground, and that requires transport ships to get them across the seas to the ground, and that means even more tonnage under Tyson’s command).

But Tyson didn’t command the Third Fleet until 2015, and while we are getting a little antsy with China and North Korea (the former having just launched their very own domestically-built aircraft carrier), the Pacific Ocean hasn’t turned hot (in a combat sense) yet. So she hasn’t had a chance to launch those strike groups yet, and thus cannot count all that tonnage toward her beauty.

Nevertheless, prior to being responsible for containing kaijus, Tyson commanded one carrier strike group, deploying it into actual combat in 2011 in Afghanistan. Her group flew over 2,200 combat sorties (known to lay-people and land-based infantry as “airstrikes”) and dropped over 20 tons of explosives. Before that, she launched by-way-of-command a 40,000 ton amphibious assault ship into the Iraq War (twice).

So, Vice Admiral Nora Tyson, in her decades of service in the US Navy, has cumulatively launched more than Ching Shih’s 9 Helens of tonnage, and likely destroyed enough acreage to match. I’d say that qualifies for 1 Dekahelen (10 Helens) of beauty. Eat your heart out, Helen of Troy (or run off with Nora Tyson instead of Paris. I can’t find her marital status or sexual orientation, so who knows?).

Final note: Vice admiral is a three-star rank. As badass as Nora Tyson is, she is not the highest-ranking woman in the US Navy. That honor belongs to Admiral Michelle Howard, the first woman to attain a four-star naval rank (about a year after Tyson was promoted to her three-star rank).

And yeah, she’s black too (though not the first black admiral, for a reason).

In terms of tonnage launched (though not necessarily tonnage commanded) and acres burned, Nora Tyson might still have her beat, since Tyson was the first woman to command a carrier strike group in actual combat.

Still, Howard is no slouch in ocean-going badassery. She commanded an anti-pirate task force, and famously rescued Captain Richard Phillips during that time. A bit ironic, since prior to the 21st century, a pirate was arguably the most successful female naval commander in history.

Final sidenote: these two badass nautical women might have actually teamed up at some point. The cruiser USS Anzio was part of Tyson’s carrier strike group and the flagship of Howard’s pirate-crushing combined task force around the same time. I’d like to imagine the two of them posed back-to-back on the bridge while wearing aviator shades.

(Pictured: a ship that had the blessed honor of serving under not one but two awesome and objectively beautiful women on the high seas).

#greek history #helen of troy #badass women #standards of beauty #long post #my post #mathematics #pirates #women in the us navy #wikipedia does have a category for female admirals #including not one but two princesses of the british royal family

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consciousowl · 7 years ago

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The Gift of Anger

In all the world’s literature, secular or sacred, conflict is the most essential element, usually ignited by anger. Without conflict you quite simply have no story. Thus, all the great epics, such as Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey and India’s Ramayana and Mahabharata, revolve around continuing conflict, involving danger and death, accompanied by fear and anger.

And the Jews' passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.And found in the temple those that sold oxen and sheep and doves,and the changers of money sitting:

And when he had made a scourge of small cords,

he drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep, and the oxen;

and poured out the changers' money, and overthrew the tables;

And said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence;

make not my Father's house an house of merchandise.

And his disciples remembered that it was written,The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up.

Jesus Christ in the Gospel of John

Conflict is even essential in comedy, where it may not always become violent. Anger is an indispensible component, typically based upon misunderstandings that eventually get sorted out. When the fairy tales assure us that the heroic couple lives “happily ever after,” they usually leave out anger management. As Joseph Campbell, who dearly loved his younger wife, Jean Erdman, put it, “Marriage is an ordeal!”

Why We Get Angry

If the truth be told, anger simply happens. Watch little children together, even at play. They will have disputes and start pushing or even biting each other.

We, as adults, go about it more smoothly. We hide or suppress our anger; whereas children quickly forgive and make up. Anger just happens, but we almost always attribute it to someone or something.

youtube

We all have expectations, as we are rational creatures with acute imaginations. We quickly get a sense of entitlement and start insisting on certain outcomes based on past experience. When they are blocked, we get frustrated and flare up. We are not content with the basics of food, water, shelter and clothing. We require so much more.

Western religions point to our “sin” nature, our innate tendency to rebel against our Creator. From an Eastern perspective, our false sense of self makes us insist that we are confined within this bag of skin and bones, rather than realizing that we are the whole of life, the whole of creation.

Anger as a Blessing

We all admire, and often emulate, fictional characters who keep their cool under all circumstances, such as the many incarnations of James Bond. James has the aplomb to make love to a beautiful counter-agent just before being thrown out of a fast-moving airplane. These make-believe characters seem so professional, powerful and totally together.

Yet anger can actually be a positive force in the face of systematic exploitation, or as Pope Francis I put it, “structural evil.” We disempower ourselves when we pretend that it is all cool when the very ground is falling out from under us.

If our species had been without the fight or flight response, we would never have made it out of the trees. This is the automatic response of fear or anger where we decide to take on the lioness, or run for our lives right back up the tree.

Few Americans were thrilled with the results of the 2016 Presidential election. It seemed nobody got what they really wanted, and the candidates with heart got eliminated in the primaries. The attendant shock and dismay of the public led many Americans to actively protest and seek to change the political system in more fundamental ways than had ever been contemplated. This would not be possible if everyone maintained a “grin-and-bear it” attitude.

How Anger Utterly Transformed Three of the Greatest Men

When we think of saints and sages, let alone avatars, bodhisattvas and messiahs, we think of infinitely pure beings who have transcended their egos, given up all attachments and do nothing but radiate bliss 24-hours a day. Jesus is the “meek and mild” shepherd, Gandhi is the playful grandfather who gives candy to children and Mandela is the ultimate diplomat who brings black and white people together in a World Cup love fest.

It wasn’t always that way!

1. Jesus of Nazareth

Before Jesus threw the moneychangers out of the temple, he had called the Pharisees, the most visibly religious members of His society “whitewashed tombs that look beautiful on the outside, but are inwardly filled with dead men’s bones.” A powerful young man in the prime of His life, Jesus spoke in metaphors and was gifted in shocking people out of their complacency. He was anything but thrilled with the status quo.

2. Mahatma Gandhi

Gandhi’s grandson, Dr. Arun Gandhi, recently wrote a book, The Gift of Anger, based on the early guidance of the Mahatma, when Arun came to Gandhi’s ashram as a child. When Arun would get angry, Gandhi did not try to punish him, but to encourage him to channel his anger in a positive way, just as Gandhi did as a young man when thrown out of the train in South Africa solely on the basis of the color of his skin. Don’t fight the people, fight the oppressive system. Love the perpetrators; hate the system, itself.

3. Nelson Mandela

Madiba Mandela started out life as a tribal chieftain with a good education, prepared to play a positive role in society. However, he couldn’t accept the arbitrary nature of Apartheid, and the indignity that Black Africans suffered in a deeply segregated South Africa. Mandela got involved in the terrorist wing of the African National Congress and was convicted of a car bomb that killed 19 people. For that, Mandela was sentenced for 27 years to an offshore prison breaking stones. Mandela gradually faced his dark side, and developed compassion for the ruling Afrikaans as people. He finally realized the evil was with the system, itself, that ultimately served neither whites nor blacks.

Forgiveness the Flip Side of Anger

Forgiveness is the capstone of Christianity, as Christ taught his students in the Sermon on the Mount to forgive their enemies. Anger is part of life, but we are to let go of our anger before the sun sets and reconcile ourselves with our offender. This wasn’t simply an empty platitude on Christ’s part. When He was tried in the Sanhedrin, He refused to defend Himself. Even on the cross, He prayed that His Father would forgive the very Pharisees who mocked Him “for they know not what they do.”

It is no sin to get upset and angry. It is, however, self-defeating to nurture it and cherish a grudge. Modern medical and psychiatric studies reveal how an unwillingness to forgive is behind many dysfunctions and diseases, such as cancer. Sustained anger is its own “reward,” it devours the body! Consider anger much like pain. It alerts you to needed changes, but it is counterproductive when it persists.

It is no sin to get upset and angry. It is, however, self-defeating to nurture it and cherish a grudge.

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When Christ forgave his enemies, He revealed a powerful insight: They literally didn’t know what they were doing. We are all at various stages of being conscious, and when we are totally unconscious, we end up doing stupid and hurtful things.

Punishing these people for that is inappropriate. We are to have compassion, and see ourselves in them. We would say and do the very same things at their level of consciousness.

Communication Always the Way Out

With anger management, communication is the foundation, especially in intimate relationships. We literally don’t hear each other. When we pretend to listen, we too often compare and contrast and interpret what she says, rather letting her speak for herself. In addition, we often interrupt her or even talk over her.

Werner Erhard revealed the power of sharing withholds. Conflict most often starts out of what is NOT said, what we are unwilling to share with our partner. This typically results in smoldering resentment. Werner taught people in his seminars to HAVE their anger, rather than BE their anger.

If you get your head out of the way, you will find that your upset is often gone in a flash.

Over the years, I have tested out Werner’s insights and realized that he was totally on the mark when he disclosed that love is a function of communication. As he put it, when you have said it all, both the good and the bad, you will find that what you have really been withholding is: I LOVE YOU! Deep listening is the most fulfilling possible price to pay for the love that is just waiting inside you.

Never Put a Person Out of Your Heart

Baba Ram Dass served as a missionary from the East to an entire generation of Westerners, having dropped out as a professor at Harvard through his preoccupation with psychedellics. He traveled to India in search of the truth and stumbled upon Maharaji (Neem Karoli Baba), a spiritual master with very advanced psychic ability and siddhis (inner powers). Ram Dass fell in love with Maharaji when spoke about Ram Dass’s mother.

While Ram Das went through his initiation at the foothills of the Himalayas, Maharaji happened to do something that deeply offended Ram Dass’s standards of right and wrong. Maharaji had harshly fired one of his assistants for making what Ram Dass felt were very minor mistakes. If Maharaji were really the enlightened man everyone says he was, he would never do such a thing.

When Ram Dass eventually confronted his master, he received no apology. Ram Dass then and there had to choose between upholding his standards over a trivial incident, or forgiving the person he loved most in the entire world. It was no contest. Then Maharaji called Ram Dass over to his private quarters with good humor and admonished him that, yes, he can get angry, but never put a person out of his heart.

We can have anger AND love. One doesn’t necessarily cancel out the other.

Far More Loving Than You Ever Imagined

The most important person I have ever met, the woman I have been in love with for nearly 20 years, has often argued with me, and I with her. I can’t count all the times that we have been angry about one thing or another. Looking back it couldn’t matter less. We love each other very deeply. This love has grown over the years. We live within a context where you can love one another and still get angry.

We have gotten a whole lot more skillful with our anger. I am beginning to learn that she is almost always right, and I am getting more than a little tired of my own stupidity. So, I would say that we are making progress.

But what about the truly difficult people, such as President Donald Trump? Where does anger management apply to someone like him? Whether I voted for him or not, he is still the American President. I can hate what he does, and yet still love him. As Voltaire put it, “I may not agree with a word you say, but I will defend to death your right to say it!”

We can actually be thankful for the difficult people of every persuasion. They stretch us spiritually and take us to the edge of enlightenment and sainthood. Christ made no conditions on forgiveness. Why should we? We can continually bless people every morning and evening and realize that the divine love that emerges from this exercise is the most powerful force in the entire Universe.

We can even forgive our own folly along the way. The final gift will be to realize that WHO WE ALL REALLY ARE, our very essence, is ABSOLUTE LOVE.

The Gift of Anger appeared first on http://consciousowl.com.

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asl-scarlet-sorceress · 8 years ago

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For the percy jackson qs All of them bc I'm a slut for u answering questions about the shit u love :3c

Aaaaaah thank you bae!!! This is super long tho because, you know me, I can talk A LOT about this universe. And also, if you have more questions, please ask me so that I can continue to gush about my favourite series in the entire world OTL

1.How old were you when you read the Percy Jackson books?

I was 11 when I first started reading them 😂 I was a tiny bby

2.What year did you read them in?

Does this mean academic year or actual year? Because I read them in year 7 (6th Grade) so that would have been in somewhere around 2010 I think???

3. What caused you to read them?

My older brother had read them and recommended The Lightning Thief to me and a selection of books were being given out at my school for free to encourage kids to read and The Lightning Thief happened to be one of them. And the rest is history 😂

4.Which of the series have you read in the PJO universe?

All of them~ I have read every book in the PJO, HoO, KC, and MCGA series and I’ve just preordered The Dark Prophecy at my local book store so I can keep up to date with ToA. I’ve also read all the side books like Demigod Diaries and Demigods and Magicians, and the two books of Professor Percy and they’re all aligned in chronological order on my book shelve because I’m a fucking nerd OTL

5. What is your favorite series in the PJO universe?

Oh god help me. I don’t know??? I love them all for different reasons??? I find myself ranting most to other people about HoO but the Magnus Chase series is probably my favourite because not only is it a wonderful story but The Hammer of Thor was the first time I had ever read about a genderfluid character and the way Alex was portrayed was just so wonderful to me that I will reread that book over and over again, specifically on his pages because it’s kinda like seeing a little bit of myself in my favourite world. It heightens my sense of escapism and belonging there that’s for sure XD

6.Who is your favorite character?

From the PJO series- Thalia GraceFrom the HoO series- Nico Di Angelo/ Leo Valdez/ Reyna (DO NOT MAKE ME PICK!)From the ToA series- Will SolaceFrom the KC- either Sadie Kane (because I’m always here for another Ribena enthusiast) or AnubisFrom the MCGA series- ALEX FIERRO RULER OF MY LIFE!!!

7.Who is your least favorite character?

Overall?? Either Zeus (because he was the world’s first fuckboi) or Bianca Di Angelo. As an older sibling, I could never imagine leaving my younger sibling all alone just because I wanted a bit more freedom in my life. It’s incredibly selfish and I just can’t ever forgive her for it. She may have been a hero and an interesting character and I was really torn up when she died but I will never forgive her for the way she treated her younger brother.

8.What are your headcanons?

THERE ARE TOO MANY TO LIST!!! But one of my main headcanons that I will list here (I’ll message you others if you ever read the whole universe) is that Nico and Anubis know each other and get along. Now this started because they’re described as looking very similar to each other (black, shaggy hair, dark brown eyes, pale af with a similar fashion sense of just black on black) and it kind of snowballed once I read Son Of Neptune. Because to me, it would make so much sense for Nico to know about other pantheons long before the other demigods. Why? Because Death is universal across mythology. And Nico, as the son of Hades, needs to know about his death rituals which- I think- would lead him to researching the other pantheons and learning that immortality really is forever. But yeah, i just love the idea of Nico and Anubis being friends and looking out for one another because they both understand the stigma around death but they’re both actually kind of dorky the minute they stop being angry??? But yeah, there’s just one of my headcanons and look how long that took to summarise OtL

9.Do you read fanfic for these books?

Yesssssssss all day every day!!

10.Do you write it?

I try to OTL it’s just, with characters i love and adore so much I’m so scared of doing them a disservice??? If that makes sense? I’ve got a thousand scenarios in my head but when I try to write I end up starting at a blank screen for 30 minutes before going back and rereading the books again XD

11.What’s your favorite scene?

From PJO- When Percy offers Pandora’s Pithos to Hestia as an offering. It’s just such an important act at the time and I just love it so much!!!!From HoO- uuuurgh it’s a tie up between Jason comforting Nico after Croatia and then the ending with the two camps and Reyna being a badass. From ToA- I know this isn’t really a scene but when Apollo makes the remarked about Achilles, Briseis and Patroclus because Iliad jokes~~ 😂 but other than that, probably when Apollo starts to realise how shit a parent he actually is and feeling kinda guilty about it. I just love seeing him evolve as a person rather than stay the same immortal fuckboi forever. From KC- THE FUCKING CAN OPENER!!! I laughed for about an hour when I first read the bit when Carter finds out about Horus possessing him. I actually couldn’t read past that bit without laughing over and over again 😂 From MCGA- When Alex was lying down on the Bifrost. I always imagine it as a very beautiful scene because he’s got this rainbow light all around him but it also makes me feel sad for some reason I’ve yet to pin down. But yeah, Alex being pretty and melancholy surrounded by rainbow light~ From Demigods and Magicians- probably when Setne gets sucked into the snow globe. That was a good day reading that.

12.Most memorable quote?

‘With great power comes great need to take a nap’

13.Favourite romantic relationship?

I have a few! Solangelo is my favourite altogether tho because I love the contrast between the two (I’m a sucker for the night/day/death/life symbolism in a relationship) but I also love Percabeth, Jiper, Sam/Amir, Fierrochase, Sadie/Anubis/Walt (what is that relationship called??? I can’t remember OtL)

14.Favourite platonic relationship ?

Annabeth and Piper, Percy and Jason, Annabeth and Sadie, Piper and Hazel, Grover and Percy

15.Favourite familial relationship?

NICO AND HAZEL, NICO AND REYNA, NICO AND HADES, NICO AND JASON, (basically anyone who treats Nico like family and cares about him tbh) Percy and Sally, Thalia and Jason, Piper and Leo, Sadie and Carter, Sam and Magnus, Magnus and Annabeth (the little we’ve been given anyway), Sam and Alex, Apollo and his kids??? Like the way he’s actually starting to genuinely care and he feels mildly guilty at how much they’re supporting and caring about him when he’s done none of that for them???

16.What are your notps?

Reyna and Nico. Can’t stand that ship. Also Octavian and Rachel. Or anyone with Rachel really. Same with Percy and Artemis??? Like, no???? Artemis is a maiden for eternity, she has no interest in men whatsoever??? And Rachel is the oracle of Delphi so she’s sworn to not be with people for as long as she is the oracle??? I just don’t get it.

16.What house do you think Percy is in?

See this is really hard! Percy is certainly brace and noble enough to be in Gryffindor but he is fatally loyal to the people he loves and he works incredibly hard which are more Hufflepuff traits! But at the same time he can be cunning and tricky when he’s in a fight. But he’s not really ambitious enough to be a Slytherin and, while intelligent, he won’t follow up on an idea just because of the allure of knowledge so he’s not really a Ravenclaw…urgh I want to put him in Hufflepuff but idk. Either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

17.What house do you think Annabeth is in?

Either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Like she will battle past her ADHD and dyslexia for the pursuit of knowledge and to better specialise herself in the areas she wants to but at the same time she walked into her worst nightmares, then fell into Tartarus, got out of Tartarus, then went to war all within the span of a month and a half. That takes Gryffindor courage right there. So yeah, either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

18.Thoughts on Luke?

I always feel really bad for Luke. Because he’s so relatable. It’s easy to see how he made the choices he did because he honestly thought that the Titans could be better because the gods mistreatment was all he had ever known. And it hurts what happened to him because he is the classic tragic hero; he made the wrong choices and the minute he realises what a mess he’s made of things, it’s already too late to stop anything. But he was able to do the right thing in the end and I just get really emotional whenever I think of that scene. It hurts too much 😭

19.What race do you think Percy is?

I don’t really know. I mean, we know he’s got a lot of his appearance from Poseidon so that means he should look very Grecian/Mediterranean, maybe he even has a sort of olive skin tone??? Idk. I guess whenever I think of Percy I just think of the kids I used to see on skateboards down at the local park. But yeah, probably Grecian if I had to pick.

20.What do you think of Frank and Hazel’s relationship?

I think it’s really cute. I like how it’s so fresh??? Because with Percabeth that relationship grew out of friendship over five books and Jiper has a natural flow to it with all the fragility and insecurity of a new relationship so it still works. But Hazel and Frank knew each other for such a short period of time before they started crushing on each other and I think it’s sweet to see kind of the love and first sight thing but warped slightly due to the complications that come with their lives. It’s interesting to see them struggle through all the confusion of a brand new relationship but still trying to keep themselves together. It’s nice to see that kind of love rather than the comfortable love of Percabeth or the steady love of Jiper. 21.What do you think of Calypso and Leo’s relationship?

I love it!!! At first I was skeptical but their banter and denial was really funny and the way Leo was determined to make it back to her. I had always wanted someone to treat Calypso right and I’m glad that Leo has someone now who will see underneath all the humour as well as appreciating him for himself :)

22.Do you follow Rick on any social media platforms?

Yes! I follow him on Twitter and on Tumblr~

23.What did you think of the movie?

I liked the visual effects but that was about it. And even then it was like, nice snakes, now where’s the plot??? I really did not like those movies. They need to be buried with the Avatar movie that never existed in my opinion.

24. What are your thoughts on the upcoming musical?

I’m really looking forward to it! I think they cast a really good Percy and I really like what I’m hearing so far. I love musicals and I understand there’s a bigger limit on what you can do on a stage compared to a film so I’m more lenient towards differences between the stage and the book.

25.Do you own any of the books and if so, which ones?

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH…..I have doubles of all of them OTL but there’s a reason for that!! One copy for myself so that I can always read them and then I lend out the second copies to my friends who are curious about this world that I won’t ever shut up about.

26.Which character are you most like, personality wise?

Idk really. Maybe Will??? Because I’m kinda easy going and I try to help out other people but if you piss me off you will know about it??? And it always takes people by surprise if they don’t know me very well at how angry I can be??? But yeah, maybe Will.

27.Which character do you look the most like?

If any of the characters have rainbow hair, I have not been informed of this! Nah but I don’t know. Without my coloured hair I just kinda look like a ghost with brown hair and colour changing eyes OTL Maybe Sadie because I used to be blonde but I dyed my hair so many times it turned brown and she streaks her hair a lot so yeah, Sadie Kane :)

27.If you could cosplay as any character, who would it be?

Okay I have cosplayer Nico before but I’m going to be cosplaying Alex at the next con I’m going to (unfortunately without her heterochromia because I’m allergic to contact lenses OtL)

28.What’s your favorite cover from the series?

Is it bad to say Blood of Olympus because Leo’s got a chainsaw in it? XD but yeah, actually Hammer of Thor because the Wolf mask on that cover with the eerie green glow across it is really cool!!

29.What are some books you would recommend to another fan?

Assuming these are books related to the PJO universe then The Demigod and Magicians crossover collection are definitely worth the read (assuming you’ve read both HoO and KC) and the Magnus Chase series because they are definitely worth branching away from the Greek and Roman gods.

If that means other series in general then His Dark Materials for definite and probably the Iliad.

30.Do you have any merchandise related to the series?

I do! I have a tshirt with Percy’s quote about procrastination on it (deadlines don’t seem real to me until I’m staring one in the face), and I have a matching charm bracelet, hair bow, earrings and necklace set with pendants that all say Camp Half-Blood on them

31.Any fan casts?

Not really. As long as they look the age of the characters *glares at the film* and they have the majority of the same features *again glares at the films* then I don’t really mind too much.

32.What did you think of the ending of Heroes of Olympus, if you read it?

I personally loved it. I agree it did feel a tiny bit anticlimactic over in Greece what with the gods kicking butt for the first time in the entire series but what happened between the camps and Gaia’s forces there was really cool. And the reconciliation of the camps afterwards and how everyone was getting along was really nice. And of course, the fact that Calypso was finally freed was a big A+ in my book.

33.Would you want to be connected to the Greek, Egyptian, Roman, or Norse Gods?

I think, as far as connected in the PJO universe way goes, I’d want to be a Magician for the House of Life. Because at least then I get a choice in whether or not I want a god in my life. If you’re a Demigod you get no choice whatsoever. If you’re just a magician then other than fighting in the apocalypse, you have a choice on what you want to do with your life (plus magicians can use electronics without calling down monsters on their heads)

34.What character from the universe do you think you would be best friends with?

Idk. It’s a tie up between Sadie, Leo and Magnus because they all have a sarcastic wit which I find hilarious but they all have differences that make me want to befriend them. Like with Sadie I could hang out with her any time of the week, and she has a really gives-no-shit attitude that I love (because I give too many shits about things) but at the same time she really cares a lot about her family and her friends which is important to me. Leo is hilarious in general but at the same time really insecure about stuff and I love helping people out and learning from them so I’d probably latch on to Leo and not stop bothering him about machines because all of it is really interesting. And then Magnus is a sarcastic little nerd who tries to be tough but is actually a sunflower and yeah, I have a lot of friends like that 😘😘😘

35.What’s the saddest scene from all the books?

Bob asking whether Percy would say hello to the stars and sun for him. That kills me every time to even think about. Fuck, now I’m crying 😭

36.What scene makes you the happiest?

Any scene of platonic friendship and love is guaranteed to make me happy. But most of all, when Hades told Nico he wanted him to be happy. That just killed me inside because it’s such a difference from the Last Olympian and Nico deserves happiness after all the shit he’s been through.

Thanks bae~

#answering asks #pjo #long post #alex #thanks so much for asking all the questions #these were too much fun to answer!!#cobaltmillefiori #~Answering Asks~

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