#someone told me it looks like greek poetry art

[sombertide-0]

feesh

[lumosinlove]

Well, this got longer than I thought it would, so I’ll have to publish in a few parts as I write...

But Happy Birthday, Finn, my favorite :)

Find it here on Ao3

~

Of Silence And Slow Time

part i of iii

~

New York City, 1920

~

Everyone told Finn that the statue looked like him, that he simply must go and see it.

“Really, Finn,” his older brother Alex said. “It’s the eyes, the face, it’s the mouth. It’s uncanny.”

Finn had just looked over Alex and the man and woman he seemed to always have at his side ever since the war ended. Natalie, a nurse whom he’d met in France, and Kasey a Canadian from another unit—they’d ended up in the hospital together.

“It’s in France,” Finn said flatly. “I know you’re forgetting about it all, but I’m not exactly keen on going back there. It took me ages to get home.”

It had taken everything for him to get home.

Alex, to Finn’s relief, nodded at Natalie and Kasey to go get themselves a drink at the bar down the street, told them that he’d meet them there. Finn stared down at the book open and unseeing in his lap. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading, on that he wanted to. His mind didn’t seem to follow him just right these days. Cars became bombs sometimes. Sleep was all dreams.

Alex sat beside him on their parents’ old sofa.

“Fish,” Alex said softly, and moved his hand slow, where Finn could see it, before resting it gently around his shoulders. “You can’t sit here all day. That’s not going to help you, and I know you don’t like it. You’ve never sat still like this.”

“I’m not going back to France.”

“It’s Paris,” Alex said, and gently flipped Finn’s wrist over to reveal the tiny globe his friend Jackson had dotted there with a needle and ink. “You’ve always wanted…don’t let this war stop you any longer.”

Finn stared down at the reminder he’d asked his friend for, ink permanent black. He’d never been farther than New England before the war. Paris, he’d always thought, gazing at his collection of books. Rome. Athens, Barcelona—

Finn swallowed hard. “Looks just like me, huh?”

Alex’s grin was enough to pull one out of Finn, just slightly. “It was bizarre.” Alex squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll even meet you there later if you want, once we’re through with Canada.”

Finn sent a wary glance towards where Natalie and Kasey had left.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’d like them. And, who knows who you’ll meet over there. We ran into all sorts of people, people like you’ve never seen. It’s why—” Alex broke off slightly, and looked after the nurse and soldier, too. Finn blinked at the nervous bob of his throat, and then his smile. “There are all sorts of love and art in this world of ours. I know it feels like it’s all war, I felt that too, but it’s not. Please let me help you see that.”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, and closed his book.

Everything felt like war. He was so tired of it he thought he’d be crushed.

He looked up at his brother. “I don’t have much money.”

Alex just grinned and slapped him on the back, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

~

Finn arrived in Paris with a lump in his throat. He stumbled through half-French greetings and requests to his taxi, who looked at him sourly and turned out to have dropped him off four streets away from his hotel—maybe on purpose. Maybe because it was barely six in the morning.

Finn was annoyed at first, and then he began to walk.

Paris’ cobblestones were like those in the West Village, only they weren’t. There were glimpses of his home in the uneven tread of his feet, but these stones were darker, as if soaked with more time and more place. It calmed him, while the brief glance towards France’s rolling hills had sent him back to his cabin on the rocky ship, shaking and gasping for air. He’d barely eaten during the entire journey besides forcing down the occasional breakfast sludge, and his legs had wobbled so fiercely upon stepping back onto land, he’d had to sit down.

Finn paused now, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest building. He’d been so stupid the first time, decked out in his new uniform, eyes on the war like it was some prize to be won. The comfort waned with his scattering mind and Finn tried to draw a steady breath in. The lump in his throat only grew tighter and he squeezed the handle of his small suitcase.

“Monsieur?” came a voice, spilled over with concern.

Finn’s eyes flashed open and he pushed himself straight, blinking through the pale morning light. There was a boy standing there, around his age, with bright blond hair and worried blue eyes. He was tall, with a neat white apron tied around his hips.

“Ça va?” the boy took a hesitant step forward. His eyes glanced towards Finn’s suitcase, and he nodded in realization, then spoke in accented English. “Are you all right?”

Finn looked behind the boy to see the cafe, slowly opening, from which he must have come. There was an abandoned stack of chairs he was putting out for the day, and his apron had an embroidered name at one corner, Finn realized, that matched the sign above.

Le Lion.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, but found himself unable to speak louder. “I’m fine.”

The boy just shook his head, and gestured behind him. “Non. You must sit down. S’il vous plaît. Please.”

Finn didn’t know how to refuse him.

A few minutes later, he found himself stationed at one of the cafe’s tables with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him, a croissant, and a plate of softly scrambled eggs.

“You look like you need more than butter and bread,” the boy had said, wiping strong looking hands on his apron. “You are from America?”

Finn nodded. He had been worried he would be able to stomach the food after the boy went through so much trouble, but upon his first bite of eggs, he felt ravenous.

“Yes,” Finn nodded, brushing his hands off from croissant crumbs. “Sorry, yes,” he held out his hand. “Finn.”

“Leo,” the boy smiled, and took his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

Finn found himself returning that smile with one that, for the first time in a long time, felt like his own. He tried to put coins into Leo’s hand when it was all over, but Leo simply waved him off and said he hoped to see Finn again.

~

The Louvre was more than Finn could have imagined. It was like walking across the ocean floor, new rarities at every corner. And, of course, there was the matter of the statue. Alex had said it would be with all the other works from ancient Greece. He didn’t have trouble following the signs to the correct gallery, walking through the white marble hallways. When he did reach the Greek galleries, his first thought was that the perfectly white statues nearly blended in with everything else, at least until he found a plaque that said it had all been painted once. Finn smiled to himself. Maybe his apparent stony doppelgänger had had red hair, too.

Imagining Alex and his long stride in these halls was easy. And it was quiet here, and distracting, which let Finn close his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of old stone, like a church, or a river’s bank.

When he opened them, he had found it. He was staring into his own face. His eyes were blank. He reached up to feel the shape of his own jaw as he looked at the statue’s, on display in the way the head was slightly turned, jaw set, brow low, as if in focus. Finn blinked, pulled out of the daze of seeing it, and his eyes landed on the museum card beside it. There was a word in ancient Greek, said to have been carved more visibly into the bust’s base. Future, it translated to. Thought to be made in the name of a God, though he may be lost now. There is no other surviving work by this artist.

Finn looked back at the eyes, so much like his own he could have seen brown there in the blank irises, and thought about when this strange statue had been carved. He’d always loved the way ancient Greece was sometimes described in poetry. It had gotten him through many long nights in the trenches. Serene, warm, and with nothing to do but lounge in the olive groves. Working the land and coming home at sundown to wine and honey and spiced meat. He’d longed for it. He longed for it still, this simple-seeming past.

The next thing he felt was warm wind. He smelled salt water.

The museum melted around him and his shoes slipped into sand before disappearing entirely.

~

Finn turned around to the sound of someone shouting, worried it was at him, only to find a brunette boy storming towards him—then past him—a foreign language continuing to fly off of his tongue. But more importantly, the boy was dressed in a simple garment of white cloth that left his strong, tanned legs and arms completely bare, and his feet were sandaled. Finn reached down to smooth his suit, only to find it gone, as well, replaced with a similar getup. He stared down at his bare skin, so pale in the bright sunlight.

And then the foreign language morphed, like a scratched record, and became English to his ears.

“—I’m telling you, Leo, I won’t go. Not without you.”

Leo?

And there the blond boy was, sitting in the shade of low trees at the edge of the beach. He was holding some sort of musical instrument, plucking at its strings almost sadly, head bowed.

“You have to,” Leo replied. “The oath says—“

He stopped mid-sentence, having looked up and spotted Finn. It made the brunette turn, and then Finn’s back was in the sand and there was a thin, rough blade at his throat.

Green eyes bore down into his own, a growl ripping from the boy’s throat. “Spartan.”

Finn choked out a breath, his hand going around the boy’s wrist. “No—no.”

“Logan,” came Leo’s voice, and then the knife’s pressure was released, pulled back by Leo, but the boy—Logan—was still sitting firmly on Finn’s hips. Finn felt his entire body flush with the sheer lack of fabric between them, but Logan didn’t seem to either mind or notice.

“I’m not a—Spartan,” Finn managed. “What the hell, I…” He looked to his left, at the sparkling waves lapping there, and then to the two boys looming above him. “Where am I?”

That made both of them freeze, the knife twitching in Logan’s hand.

“Ithaca,” Leo offered timidly, then glanced out at sea, as if that was where Finn had come from. Finn just stared at him.

He was the boy from the cafe. He was sure of it. His blue eyes filled with the same concern as they had on that early morning cobblestone street.

“Are you all right?” Leo asked.

“He is a spy,” Logan said, and went for him again.

Finn was ready this time. He knocked a leg around Logan’s waist, putting him on his back, and then rolled away from him and to his feet, knife in hand. He raised it for the two of them to see and then tossed it a little ways down the beach. “I’m not a spy. I…I’m just lost.”

It was true. In more ways than he’d even thought before.

“Please,” he managed more quietly.

He watched Leo and Logan exchange a look, unsure of what it meant, until Logan turned on his heel and Leo gestured for Finn to follow.

~

“Are you at war?” Finn asked he was led through the city streets. It had been a hot walk up a long road built into a steep hill, all the way up to what Finn assumed was the inner city and acropolis. Water ran along the side of the street—no doubt with sewage—and they crossed via stepping stones, pressing themselves against the walls whenever carts rattled by—carts filled with men with shields and swords or spears.

Logan, who brought up the rear behind him, having retrieved his knife, scoffed. “Aren’t we always?”

“And where are you taking me?”

“Where we take any question we can’t answer,” Leo said from in front of him, golden hair gleaming. “Pascal.”

[mothandpidgeon]

Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

[emsie-belleguarde]

concept

a book that combines the main strands of the Academia aesthetic through a group of university friends, closely knit and inseparable

Clara - Darkest Academia (studying Classics) - She’s aloof, arrogant and sometimes cruel. She grew up in England on an old estate in the country, an only child who carries herself with the confidence of one thousand men. perhaps she can be wicked, but could you blame her? she grew up on the wild mores with no companion or play mate, her sole entertainer was the wind blowing the seasons past her watchful gaze. she found company in her studies, and now she finds joy in hours of Latin and Greek translations by the candlelight of her dimly lit university room. she curls up on an armchair, brushing her unmissable auburn hair from her face so she can squint harder at the words she is tracing with her finger, murmuring them as she reads. she scribbles with her fountain pen and deep down she is afraid (although she will never show it) that one day people will discover what they all did last summer. 

Isabella - Light Academia (studying Ancient History) - coming from an old Italian family, Isabella is used to the long summers in Sicily where she would lie by the river making daisy chains. She’s soft and kind, with big, round, bella-donna berry eyes and a wonderful sense of fun. her curly dark hair falls to just above her shoulders and she daydreams incessantly and sketches her friends when they all go to Alfie’s beach house. she is far more wilful than her brother, Dante, and she admires his relaxed and considered ability to deal with situations without getting upset (she always cries when she’s angry). there’s an understated beauty to her which is untouchable. she wishes to move back to Sicily and become an Architect, but for now she is contented with her dear friends and her long elegantly written history essays that sometimes accidentally slip into Italian when she is writing late at night and feeling tired.

Alfie - Chaotic Academia (studying Philosophy) - he has sharp brilliant eyes that sparkle with trouble. Notorious for his gorgeous laugh and his painfully perfect good looks, Alfie wears soft corduroy trousers and can often be found sitting on the grass in the summer or in the library in the winter with Dante, hypothesising over strange and radical pieces of modern philosophy that no one’s ever heard of before. He gets on Dante’s nerves by talking incessantly and being so insufferably loud whilst Dante is trying to read or write, but Dante adores him really. Alfie always arrives late, with a skateboard under his arm and a cigarette between his lips. He’s quick with a joke and even quicker with a clever dare or an idea for a new and complicated game. no one really knows anything about his family, he never talks about them and it’s the one topic he will never smile about if someone else brings it up. He’s irritated by Daphne, he rather frightens Isabella, Clara owns all of his respect but it will always be the quiet and considered Dante that Alfie has the most time for. Alfie may come across as fun and charming but it is his cleverly assembled exterior - he is cunning and far more clever than he’d like people to know. And, more than once now, Isabella has walked in on Alfie and Clara having serious whispered conversations. Alfie is an artistic composition of wry smiles and sly winks, a scuffed up tweed jacket that he stole from Dante’s wardrobe (Dante pretends to be annoyed but it just looks so good on Alfie), and a look on his face that you can only spot if you look closely. A look that tells you those eyes that sparkle with trouble have seen some horrible things, and that face that is more beautiful than any sculpture has been treated cruelly.

Daphne - Art Academia (studying Fine Art) - Daphne is a golden aristocrat. Her father is an Opera singer and her mother was a French woman, an actress who left Daphne’s father and moved back to the French Riviera. Neglected at a young age, Daphne discovered Art. Now, she craves beauty and adores getting involved in scandalous affairs with many young men and women, she never falls in love because it does not suit her style of living - she thrives on passion. she is always clad in ridiculously eccentric designer clothes, it’s hardly a waste of money though, for the only thing more eccentric than her shopping habits are her parties which make the likes of Gatsby look like mothers meetings. She and Isabella are surprisingly good friends, perhaps because Isabella doesn’t require the constant attention that female close friends usually do, and Daphne likes the fact that if she simply isn’t in the mood for Isabella she can tell her so. She finds Alfie fascinating, and hates the fact that he doesn’t treat her with the same adoration that men normally do. More than anything, however, her passion is Art. She lives for the most raging and powerful pieces that exist, and despite her beautiful clothes, her most prized possession is her copy of ‘Ribera: The Art of Violence’. the earth is her canvas, the people she sleeps with are her muses, she is her paintbrush and she wants to see the world burn in a raging fire of beauty. 

Dante - Romantic Academia (studying Poetry and Classical Literature) - he can come across as aloof and serious to those who don’t know him, but his friends know Dante to be considered yet absent minded, firm but fair. there is a quiet peaceful air that surrounds Dante. He never gets exasperated or angry, he is forgiving and patient and will always listen. In the summer terms he can be found lying on the grass of the university in a secluded and private place, reading avidly or writing. he will never show anyone his work (except maybe Alfie, not that Alfie would ever ask), but the last person who he would ever confide in is Daphne. She is the light of his world and the topic of all of his exquisite poems, everyone who knows him can see that Dante is completely infatuated with her. Alfie has told Dante more than once now that Dante only likes the idea of Daphne because she’s like something out of a fairytale. Dante ignores him and feels somewhat jealous of the attention that Daphne gives Alfie. Blinded by love, he is convinced that they are seeing each other in secret. 

comment your favourites and any theories you have about them Let me know if you want to see more content like this/about these characters xx

[dreamywriterinthedark]

Museum Dates: part 2

Part one

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (no specific pronouns used, Reader wears a dress)

Resume: Reader surprises Spencer for their first year anniversary, the same way he did with Reader, at an art gallery at night. They dance and it’s just too romantic (dream with me💕).

Category: so fluffy!

Trigger warnings: mention of alcohol (please let me know if i forgot something)

It has been one year since you and Spencer have been together. You have been together ever since you went on a date at that nocturne exhibition. To honour your love, he gifted you a bracelet with the time of when you first kissed engraved on it with a heart. This time you were the one who decided to surprise him. Your friend has this art gallery in the historic center; therefore, close to the historical museum where you originally went on your first date. You made her an offer to rent the gallery for the night, an offer she gladly accepted excited to hear your updates the next morning. 

It took weeks of preparation since you wanted it to be perfect. It was highly challenging for you to keep this surprise a surprise; you were dating a profiler! He asked you to move in with him which you half declined. It would have been impossible to plan your surprise and move in with him at the same time especially if he gave you a hand, which he most definitely would’ve. He would’ve noticed all of the evidence therefore it would’ve been ruined! No body, no crime… Plus him feeling disappointed or left out was perfect to amplify the joy overcoming him when he discovers your entire mascarade just like in movies when the characters would pretend to forget someone’s birthday to surprise them later on. You told him you simply weren’t ready to move in with him which he completely understood. 

However, since you were scared of getting profiled by him at work, you would make excuses to decline plans, you would panic and avoid to answer questions. It most definitely did not go unnoticed by him who took it as a clue you didn’t trust him or worse. Each time you lied to him a little piece of his heart broke. So he sat there at the edge of his desk hands in his pocket staring blankly at the ground, the last one in the bureau illuminated by the static flickering light above him. Those lights reminded him of hospitals, specifically the one where he stayed after getting shot, you would bring him jello and would read to him his favorite books. 

He sat there, deep in thoughts, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes slightly open as if the truth was right in front of his eyes but he just couldn’t see it clearly and it was. His phone buzzed, it was you; “John Keats, p113.” He rose to his feet to grab the copy of poetry collection on his desk. The title of the poem was “An ode to autumn” and that’s when it hit him. In between the pages was a raven wax sealed envelope. He opened it full of apprehension, it read in your beautiful italic handwriting; “Meet me at the Melrose art gallery at 10PM sharp.” He grabbed his coat hurrying out of the office, a small smile displayed on his face as the elevator door slowly shut.

Once Spencer arrived he texted you because there was no way in, the doors were locked (safety measures). You started panicking adjusting the lights so they were dimmed. You checked your reflection, you were stunning. You wore a black dress with some sultry perfume that could be smelled from across the room. He waited in front of the door hearing your Mary Jane clicks progressively louder as you made your way to the door opening it up for him. 

He walked in his eyes fixated on you, his cheeks flushed, you flet the tip of his nose cold on your cheek when he leaned in to kiss you. You turned your head grabbing his hand to lead him toward the biggest room in the entire gallery. There were peonies in white and blue vases along with many vanilla candles. The record player played soft muffled sounds, the song it was on was “Old enough to love” by Ricky Nelson. It matched you well, being the babies of the BAU.

“Will you dance with me ?” he responded by nodding because he was smiling too hard to be able to form any word. There you were slow dancing in the dimly lit room. He held your hand squeezing it from time to time, you felt his warm breathe fan over your neck. He pulled you in closer thanks to his arm being snaked around your waist. The next song to play was “Say Yes To Heaven” by Lana Del Rey. It reminded you of him, you found the lyrics quite touching; if you fight, I’ll fight//Give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away. Spencer made you twirl watching your dress move gracefully in sink with your body. You almost fell from tripping on your shoes but he reaffirmed his gentle grip on you. You both chuckled. 

Once the music stopped, the one you carefully chose since each part of your romantic evening was planned. You sat down on a pile of pillows while sipping on peach white wine. You handed him a heart shaped box that recollected all your favorite memories, from the museum tickets, to pressed flowers you made with the bouquets he would gift you (you made a journal of them where you would analyse them: the etymology behind their names, what they meant, for example lilies were symbolised death), to pictures, to love letters. Until he found a remote, you asked him to click on it, nothing happened. 

You got up helping him up as well. You hand turned the lights off. The room didn’t have a ceiling but tinted windows in a sphere shape which was perfect for what he turned on; a projection of the sky on the night you first kissed. He looked up at the stars in awe of the beauty right in front of his eyes. You explained to him where this sky was from and why you were projecting it.

“Spencer, what time is it ?” You asked.

“11:29PM” he shut his eyes a second too long; again, it hit him, you first kissed at 11:31PM. He made his way toward you cupping your cheeks in hands while your hands rested on his waist. The kiss was passionate, slow, harmonious; everything you wanted it to be. You smiled out of it pointing at a constellation; “Look, it’s Cygnus!” Purposely expecting him to start his rambling.

“Cygnus is a northern constellation lying on the plane of the Milky Way, deriving its name from the Latinized Greek word for swan. Cygnus is one of the most recognizable constellations of the northern summer and autumn. It is symbolises weddings, romance, love, anniversaries…” his gaze drifted back to you. You were already staring at him an eyebrow cocked smirking at him. Again, it hit him. This date night was a game of chess which you were many moves ahead of him.

“I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“Oh but I’m not done yet!”

“What? Seriously?!”

You nodded leaving, he froze for a second before trotting to you like a lost puppy. He followed you to a staircase which led to the roof. There was not much space on the roof since it was mostly occupied by the sphere like windows but the edges were big enough to let you walk through them, sit and even for a telescope…

“See the sparkly dot right next to Scorpio ?”

“I guess…”

“Here take a look” you said to him gesturing toward the telescope.

“It is beautiful, Y/n, it truly is but what about it ?” He knew you weren’t the one that was going to give him a class on the universe. Spencer was one of kind, the most brilliant scientist you’ve ever met, he gave you the scientific facts about the stars and constellations, you would give him the spiritual meanings behind them. You would complete each other in knowledge just like that. You fished out a tube of paper with a bow tied around it. He took it and after a split second of shock which showed on his face started freaking out. He squeezed you so tight.

“Oh my god, Y/n, I can’t believe you got me a star! This is the best gift I’ve ever received!” His voice was so high from the excitement he almost squealed.

“The brightest star for the brightest mind.”

To top it off, you saw a shooting star and you could swear in this instance you both made the same wish.

[every1studio]

REQUESTED: “ateez x greek gods” [ateez]

genre: misc. + GREEK GOD ! AU (reincarnation version) + fem reader

ficstyle: bulletpoints + reactions

requested by @svteencarat : “ Hi! I was wondering if you still take request? If you are still doing requests, then could I ask for a greek god! ateez and a human! fem reader angst (Of course i'd like it if you can make me cry, UwU) nd that if the oneshot could have a fluff ending? Thanks! This isi my first request ever so i don't really know how to since I'm kinda new to tumblr?? (I'm literary requested this from alot of kpop au writers out there because I never see any Greek god aus, and I JUST. NEED. MORE. GREEK GOD AUS!!) “

note: I’m kinda depressed about my WayV fic so I’m shifting my attention back to ATEEZ before I get any motivation to continue that series ): + I didn’t have a lot of ideas for angst because I didn’t want them to be too long but I hope this is good?? + information from: Meet the Greek Gods & Greek Gods and Goddesses 

HONGJOONG X APOLLO

reincarnation of: APOLLO (god of music, poetry, prophecy, and medicine; later known as the god of sun)

in every lifetime, there is a reincarnation of APOLLO in the Kim family

Hongjoong was the present-day god of sun; there was a lot of pressure that was placed on his shoulders because of it 

but even through all the stress, he still couldn’t ignore the passion he had for music or for poetry 

or the unquenchable desire for more knowledge 

or the love he has for the sun rays peeping through the day clouds

he’s known to be the “doctor” of his friend group because no matter what problem they have medically, emotionally or physically, he’s able to help them and succeed  

Hongjoong still has the lyre that was passed down to him from his ancestors 

it’s an unusual instrument to play nowadays but that’s probably what made him stand out at the arts and music festival that held place at the college square 

the guy’s performance was a self-composed piece and he somehow altered the lyre to make it an electric instrument; a stryre 

you were working as the sounds person; so you had the honors of listening to his whole performance with no disturbance

and it didn’t help that he was so handsome

if you didn’t know any better, you thought he was a Greek god 

little did you know

you didn’t think anything of it after his performance until you felt a tap on your shoulders 

“hey can you tell me what kind of amps you use for the show today? they were really compatible with my stryre!” 

your eyes were met with his 

“oh yeah.. um.. I used my own amps for the show today, which is why everyone who had to perform had to sign a waiver.. but they’re Goldmund Telos 5000.. my uncle offered them to me for a lower price...”

the boy grabbed both your hands in excitement, “oh you know about music? are you a music major too? what’s your major? 

the way he radiated, it was like you were in the presence of the sun 

how could someone emit such energy?

“nothing fancy.. I’m in music technology-”

“you’re the T.A. for Dr. Trumbridge!” 

“you know me?” you were surprised that he knew you, then again you are the only T.A. for the most strict professor in the university 

“yeah.. you graded my paper for composition of electric instruments... you gave me a lot of feedback and I really appreciate it..” 

Hongjoong had to take that class because it was a requirement for his major in music composition 

but he began to like it 

why?

because you were there 

at first he thought you were quiet yet snobby T.A. for a strict teacher

then he received the first paper you graded for him 

there was so much care and incredible feedback; it was like he could see the true you through your grading 

after that paper, he couldn’t help but notice every little thing about you 

he slowly began to fall for you; his own version of Aphrodite  

his voice was so soothing, you forgot where you were and what you were doing for a moment 

“of course.. hey, um.. I have to get back to work, the next performance is in 5 minutes...” 

you let your hands slip away from his grasp when you realized how long you two were there, just holding hands 

“oh yeah sorry...I’ll let you get to that then...”

you nodded before turning away 

“Y/N!” 

you turned to hear him call your name, “are you free after the performances? I know the food courts are gonna be open until 1AM...so you wanna.. grab a bite?”

how could you say no to that sunny smile, “yeah sure.. uh here’s my phone number.. send me a text or something.. I’ll see you later..umm..”

“I’m Hongjoong.. go on, I’ll see you later!” he repeats 

when you had time, you checked your phone for any messages 

there was only a voicemail; you held it up to your ear 

“hey Y/N, it’s Hongjoong.. I don’t know what you like to eat.. but I hope you like Greek food?”

SEONGHWA X EROS

reincarnation of: EROS (god of love) 

Seonghwa always help this friends with their love life 

but it had it’s drawbacks 

being as good looking as him; the girls would be more interested in him than his friends 

which caused riffs in his friendships 

in the end, he didn’t have any friends 

as the reincarnation of the epitome of love himself, he couldn’t help but excrete pheromones and he used that to his advantage 

he began to have an addiction with fake love; one night stands, hookups, leading girls on, 

any sorts of a short-term romance 

anything for to not feel lonely anymore

but that wasn’t enough

the void in his heart grew larger and larger, to the point where anything he tried to fill it with just fell through into an abyss 

Seonghwa was just leaving the cafe; dripping wet because he didn’t want to meet up with one of his hookups anymore and she tossed water in his face 

which made him even more hot BUT ANYWAYS 

you were in an irritated mood

you just quit your job because your stupid boss won’t advocate for fair pay for the hardworking females in your workplace

so you stormed into the cafe and tried to calm yourself down 

there was a commotion in the cafe but you were too busy getting your order of iced latte 

something about no one will ever be good enough to satisfy someone, followed by the sound of splashing water; then something about being rich and handsome will only get him so far 

on your way out, you bump your whole order onto a man that already seemed like he was soaked with water 

at first glance, he seemed like a puppy someone left in the rain 

but the more you looked at him, the more entranced you were by his visuals

you didn’t let your thoughts diverge you from dumping your whole cup of latte on him 

���sir? are you okay? excuse me, can I get some napkins?” you took some napkins from the worker and dabbed where ever you could and where ever wouldn’t get you arrested 

the guy looked at you with his empty eyes

why are you helping him?

a hopeless guy like him?

a sick-minded disappointment of the god of love?

“it’s okay.. I deserve it..” he gently pushed your helping hands away 

you furrowed your brows at him and sternly told him, “look, mister.. I don’t know what you did for you to “deserve” this but I’m just apologizing for the coffee okay?”

he was kind of taken back by the sudden sassiness and let you continue to wipe it off

“what’d you do to get in this mess anyways, handsome?” you murmured as you offered him napkins to dry his hair 

“a girl I was fwb with wanted to take it further but I told her that’s not for me... plus I have some other fwbs I don’t want to let go off...” 

he seemed kind of embarrassed afterwards, it sounded better in his head 

“oookay.. maybe you did deserve it..” you rolled your eyes in a joking manner and wiped your hands clean

you seemed different than all the other girls; sassy and quirky, independent and was probably not the type to fall in love at first sight 

“now that my business is over, I’m gonna order another latte-”

“let me!” Seonghwa said kind of loud, which caused you and some of the other people in the cafe to whip their heads towards him, “let me.. get it for you.. I mean it’s my fault you have to get another cup anyways..”

“so I can be another fwb? no thanks.. that’s not my type of relationship..” 

you took his silence for feeling shameful and felt bad, “that offer was really sweet but I’m sure I can get a free cup since everyone saw what happen..”

you grabbed the readied cup of latte and smiled at him, “I’m sure you’re not a bad person... but maybe you should think twice about being in a relationship.. any relationship. it takes two to tango.. remember that, ciao~”

and with that you left the cafe 

leaving Seonghwa collecting puddles and thoughts about the new side of love he’s never seen or experienced before 

the next day, you got a job interview with one of the most well-known companies in the whole world

you couldn’t afford to mess it up 

you entered the elevator and hit the button of the highest level of the building 

people came and left the elevator but someone REALLY caught your eyes 

it was the sad “puppy left in the rain” fuckboy; in a suit 

“what a coincidence, boy wonder. you work here?” 

he was fixing his tie, he gave you a small smile, “you could say that..”

you nudged him in the side; which caught him off-guard because he was ticklish 

“you’re working for one of the best companies with some of the best working condition, you should be more proud of your position!”

your floor dings and you adjust your lanyard, “how do I look?”

your question flustered Seonghwa, “g-great.. go-good.. beautiful..” 

that last part was mumbled but you heard it

“oh.. thank you.. well gonna go to ace my interview, maybe we’ll be cube buddies or something.. wish me luck~” 

you trotted down the hall towards the room the interview was held in; you sat for your turn, you couldn’t stop fidgeting from adrenaline 

“Ms. Y/N? we’re ready for you~” an older lady shot you a reassuring smile 

you took one last deep breath before walking in the room

you thought you were prepared for this interview..

UNTIL YOU SAW BOY WONDER, MR. HANDSOME FACE AKA THE SAD “PUPPY LEFT OUT IN THE RAIN” FUCKBOY 

SITTING IN FRONT OF THE PLAQUE THAT SAYS CEO 

oh what a time to be alive 

“so, Ms. Y/N, shall we beginning?” Seonghwa smirked as he opened your portfolio 

YUNHO X TYCHE 

reincarnation of: TYCHE (goddess of chance, fate and fortune)

Yunho was bored with his life; he was bored with his riches

this was the consequence of his luck 

sure; he always won all the games at the casino, got the winning ticket to the lottery, anything that had zero to no chance of winning? he won them 

he won them all 

it was always like this; ever since he was little 

it made him kind of depressed  

he would get himself in every life-threatening situations but by a stroke of miracle, he would be saved by the bell 

people only wanted to be around him because he would bring luck to everyone around him 

so he holed himself up in his house; his very big and very empty house 

because he was sick of being used, sick of winning, sick of being lucky 

the doorbell rung; he checked his door security camera

it was probably his food he ordered 

surprised to see someone still waiting there with his food

he scurried downstairs and swung the door open

there you were, frowning at him, “Mr. Yunho? I don’t mean to be rude or out of line, but you’ve been ordering nothing but the unhealthiest options from our place.. I’m worried about your health, SO I included some healthy options.. it’s not included in your payment... HAVE A GOOD DAY!”

you hoped that he wouldn’t think too much about your kind offer 

but Yunho places his big, firm hand on your shoulder, slightly tugging you back 

“why are you worried about my health? what do you want from me??”

you turned to him meekly, “I’m NOT stalking you! it’s just that... you’re always ordering from us, at least 4 days out of 7.. and you always order the MOST unhealthiest options.. I’m assigned to this area of town and there’s not a day or time where I don’t deliver food to your house..so I suspected that you don’t leave your house often..”

you looked to him for any social cue that he was uncomfortable by you 

but he just looked sad, “no one’s... ever cared for me like that before.. people are always asking things of me, they never do things for me..”

in that moment, he caught your eyes

they were glassy and filled with worry

“thank you..” he says softly with a smile

you smiled back, “I gotta get back to work.. have a nice day, Mr. Yunho..”

“Yunho!” he calls out

“call me Yunho..”

“you can call me Y/N!” 

now that Yunho knew that you were assigned to this area, maybe it wouldn’t be weird to order more often than he already does 

to you know.. make a friend? or did you do that because you like him? but you never even seen his face until now....

you know? maybe this was just an act of kindness, right? is what he thought 

which was true, at first

but when you saw heard what he said about how no one has ever done anything for him, you wanted to change that

you went to his place the next day on your day off

you could hear the thumping sounds of his footsteps, “Y/N? I didn’t order anything.. yet... you’re not wearing your uniform..”

Yunho ears turned pink at the sight of you so dolled up; periwinkle form-fitting dress with a light denim cropped jacket and white platformed sneakers; your hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail  

“wh-what’s the occasion?”

you smiled at him, “I’m kidnapping you for a day.. you’re cooped in your big house 24/7, you’re too pale! let’s go get some sunshine and some food!”

you dragged him out of the house, “my wallet-”

“I’m paying! I don’t care what you say about “guys always paying for girls,” I’m different!”

Yunho didn’t know that his heart could feel so full, “that you are..”

maybe his luck wasn’t just catered towards riches and fortune

maybe you were his lucky charm 

YEOSANG X HERMES 

reincarnation of: HERMES (god of travelers and trade, the trickster, the messenger of the gods)  

everyone would think that Yeosang is such an angel; how could he ever do anything wrong?

that’s where everyone is wrong

he is the king of tricksters; the devil on your left shoulder 

but he would never face the consequences for his actions because before anyone realizes what he’s done, he’s gone in a snap

that was the life he was used to 

that was until he came across you 

you had just moved into a new townhouse complex; a nice area 

you thought it was nice until you met the troublemaker of a neighbor

you caught him spray painting the side of your house

there was a walkway in between your house and his house, so the side of your house was completely bare 

sure it was beautiful BUT you weren’t going to live there long so you didn’t want to go through the trouble of cleaning it yourself when you knew who the culprit was 

little did he know, you were outside watering your plants

you sprayed him with water

“young lady! what are you doing to that poor young man!” the elderly lady who lived a couple of houses down was scolding you 

“ma’am he was vandalizing my house!”

“well all I see is that he’s helping you clean it, isn’t that right Yeosang?”

you turned to see his mischievous smirk turn into an angelic one

“of course ma’am, I saw some kids spraying up the place and I wanted to help out our new neighbor~”

“she probably thought you were those kids, though I know you would NEVER do something so terrible.. what a sweet, sweet boy.. you two have a good day now~”

and with that she left

you caught the guy before he had the chance to run away and grabbed him by the collar

“I don’t know who you think you are, sweetheart.. but I hope you keep your promise and clean YOUR mess..you’re not fooling me..”

Yeosang sulks as he’s scrubbing your walls 

you sprayed him with water, “whoops, I was trying to spray the wall.. must’ve slipped..”

“I’m gonna get you back...”

you sneaked right behind him

“probably wasn’t a good idea to say what your planning.. I’ll be ready.. you better count on it. now get to cleaning, sweetheart~” you said in the same tone as the elderly lady 

since then, you and Yeosang have been in childish fights to get back at one another 

everything on the lines of ding-dong ditching to stealing things from your property small things 

this went on for days, weeks, almost over 3 months! 

you don’t HATE him but you definitely don’t like his alter personality or his real one whatever it is 

it was golden hour when you saw him lurking in your front lawn, you swung the door open

“WHAT do are YOU stealing this time, Yeosang?” 

he grabs your wrist

“I’m stealing your time”

you rolled your eyes at him, “and what’s that gonna do?”

“hopefully succeed in stealing your heart” 

SAN X HADES 

reincarnation of: HADES (god of the underworld) 

San lives and has lived a sad life; with each reincarnation, his life goes through the cycle of the whole story of Hades and Persephone 

only to be in a “forced” relationship that runs in clockwork 

he’s done everything to try to get away from this cursed life 

he’s chained, shackled to lifestyle of his predecessor 

but he wants to switch Hade’s selfishness into his own selflessness 

he lives in black 

he lives in chaos

he lives like how Hades would 

like his life, you are also stuck in a loop; the only thing is, you are unaware of it 

you are the reincarnation of Persephone; youthful even if you age, beautiful without any effort and brighter than any star in the sky

if he was the darkest twilight, you were the sun at it’s highest peak

San could always find you, even if he didn’t tried

it was destiny, no matter how he to evade it 

he locked himself inside his dark home; having 3 black shibas as his companions 

played chess by himself

cook meals to eat at his large and empty table

roasted his own coffee beans and drank black coffee to past time  

didn’t even watch TV

only leaving at night when the stars are brighter than the streetlights and shadows are enveloping everything in sight

he wanted you to live every life with purpose and however you wanted 

you deserve that at the very least 

he didn’t want you to be apart of his terrible life 

but there’s no way to dodge destiny, you were like a magnet

San was walking his dogs, his usual routine; same thing and everything 

until you ran into him at the corner

there was no time for an exchange of words before his dogs all trampled on you with kisses 

“Cy! Bear! Russ! get off of her!!” he tugs them off and he knew he was in trouble 

even through reincarnations, you still looked the same; the same beautiful you 

“I’m so sorry.. here..” he offers a hand to help you up but were you still playing with the dogs 

“it’s all good, it’s my fault for going not paying attention on a jog! look at your little fluffy, woofy faces~” that’s when you finally look up at him and the reflection of the streetlights flickered in your eyes 

“do I.. do I know you? you look familiar?” 

you took his hand, bewitched by his striking features, as he helped you up, “you’re probably mistaking me for someone else...”

he looks around, it’s a sketchy area for you to be jogging so late in the night

“why are you jogging so late in such a dangerous area.. there no cameras, streetlights are dim and there’s little to no one awake right now?”

you truly didn’t know who he was, but you felt same with him

you felt like you probably knew him in another life; it made you feel sentimental

“I just got a new job and my new work schedule doesn’t allow me to have the time for my daily jog-”

“so you jog at night where it’s most dangerous?!” San slightly raised his voice at you

which startled you, “I-I’m sorry...”

San took out his phone, “what area to do you live in? I’m gonna call a cab to take you home..”

“you don’t have to! I live close by...”

you waited for him to offer walking you home but the silence just prolonged longer than you expected

“you could walk me home?” you asked

how could San ever say no to you; it was like he was programmed not to 

“sure...” you led the way and he followed you as closely as he could without letting your hands brush against each other 

“I’m Y/N”

“San..”  

“do you live around here too?”

“yeah”

you tried to make small talk with him but he kept his answers short  

“this is me..” you showed him the gate to your place

“stay safe, Y/N..don’t run out so late..” he said before leaving

but you held him back, “you know.. maybe I could walk your dogs or something... so that I can feel safer.. or maybe we can go on nightly walks?” 

San turns to walk back to where you were; Cy, Bear and Russ followed him after 

“if fate allows us, we’ll meet again... please take care and be safe, Y/N.. goodnight..”

maybe destiny is inevitable 

maybe he’s miserable because he doesn’t want to force this destiny onto you and make you miserable

but maybe you aren’t actually miserable when you’re with him 

but he can’t take those chances

and he won’t 

MINGI X POSEIDON 

reincarnation of: POSEIDON (god of the sea) 

Mingi was your childhood friend; a complete moody, edgy son of a gun

his personality wavered like water itself

he can be calm as a pond on a silent night or he can be as violent as a roaring hurricane 

you learned how to deal with all of his mood swings 

you thought you knew all about him 

you basically knew all about him

except for the fact that he’s actually the reincarnation of the god of moody waves himself, Poseidon

because of his mood swings, he always had a hard time with dating 

if the girls thought their mood swings were bad, they had no idea what they signed up for when they were dating him 

they all ended badly 

you felt bad for Mingi

you knew him the most

you knew how he was

you knew the kinks in his gears

today was another day, another break up for Mingi 

so the real question is, why didn’t you and Mingi ever dated each other?

you pushed feelings and thoughts to the side because, you knew that dating would be different 

he’s seen you through all your hard times and much as you have been there for him 

what if you lose him and any relationship you have with him?

so you locked those feelings away and pretended like everything was fine

except everything wasn’t fine

you began to cough petals of blue hydrangeas; the more you suppressed your feelings the worst it got

and every time Mingi was involved in another relationship, you could feel the branches curling around your lungs 

you didn’t want to go through with the surgery to get the flowers out because if you did, you would forget about the feelings you ever had for Mingi

your whole relationship with Mingi relied on those feelings; you couldn’t toss those away 

so you hid all of this from him

well, you thought you did 

“what happened this time?” you asked as you tossed him a hoodie you borrowed from him

“she didn’t like you.. so I broke up with her..” 

that reeled in some of those locked away feelings but you kept them in the back of your head and out of your heart

“it seemed like she was good for you.. I could just back away-”

“NO!”

Mingi tossed the hoodie and slammed you up into the wall

you were so startled; he never resulted into hurting you before so it made you scared 

he was never the physically violent type; especially towards people

but this was different, he was acting different 

scared to the point where tears welted up in your eyes

it made everything blurry but the sight of Mingi in front of you was still clear 

in that moment, Mingi realized what he did and remorse washed over 

“I-I’m sorry don’t cry..” he wiped your tears away; you were so overwhelmed you didn’t realized that he turned your tears into aerosolized mist 

he held your head as he caged into a hug 

your favorite hugs 

“I can’t live without you.. I don’t know what I’d do without you... even when I’m with other girls, I can stop thinking about you..”

those locked feelings that you had for him were trickling into your heart

it got a little bit easier to breathe 

you cupped his face, “Mingi..what are you trying to say?”

you needed to hear him say it with his own mouth 

“I love you, Y/N... I can’t be with you..”

your eyes wavered and your hands trembled 

“why? is it something that I did or something that I said? am I... am I not good enough for you?”

Mingi shook his head furiously, “no. no.. Y/N, you are perfect. you are everything I want.. everything that I need... but I can’t let you be apart of the life that I live.. deal with the family that I have...”

you didn’t know about Mingi’s family but Mingi never seemed to want to talk about

“this is why I have to do this.. I hope.. I hope you understand..”

he kissed your forehead and then everything became black 

when you woke up, you were in the hospital and you had no recollection of where you were and how you lived you life up until now 

Mingi was moving out of his house next to your; he had been crying because he knew about your condition

he distracted himself with other girls because he couldn’t get you involved with his family

those girls were short-term relationships to distract him from his long-term crush on you 

which worked then but it probably won’t work now

because you will never remember him 

you will never love him again 

and now he’s coughing up blue hydrangeas; but in your memory, he’ll keep it until the day he dies 

WOOYOUNG X DIONYSUS 

reincarnation of: DIONYSUS (god of wine)

the sun was peeking through the window; stirring you awake

when you opened your eyes, it hit you

you weren’t in your bed

or your room

or even your clothes

you looked to your right and put 2 and 2 together

you were in the same bed as the “sweetheart” of a frat boy, Wooyoung

you couldn’t help but scream 

which caused Wooyoung to scream and fall out of bed 

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!” 

“WHAT? NOTHING! NOTHING!” 

Wooyoung was sleeping with a black tank top and grey sweatpants 

you were in his shirt and boxers for shorts 

Wooyoung stares at you as you stare back at him

“can I sit on the bed and tell you what happened?”

“only if you don’t touch me-”

“I’m not going to touch you, not without consent anyw-”

“OKAY WHAT HAPPENED?”

Wooyoung pointed to the living room which was visible from where you and Wooyoung were

“we were studying because we’re in the same literature class..” he dragged out his sentence

“uh-huh~” you motioned your hands to move along 

“you wanted a break and I brought out some wine...”

“uh-huh”

“and then you talked about your love life and you started getting out of hand..”

“WHAT?! I DON’T REMEMBER THAT PART!”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “you CHUG 2 glasses without even talking to me and then you started to talk about Lucas-”

“OK OK OK!” you could feel your face getting red and your head started to feel tight 

he noticed your discomfort and got up from the bed

“where’re you going” you slurred

“getting your dumdum head some water and advil”

when he came back, you were still laying in bed but you had tossed your hair up in a messy bun 

“you started to get hysterical; saying that you’re a great gal and why don’t you have a boyfriend and spilled wine on yourself. I told you to go take a shower and gave you some of my clothes to borrow..” he handed you the water and bottle of advil 

you nodded and took them from him; still embarrassed 

“you called for me in the bathroom. you showered and changed but you didn’t want to walk. complained that you were sleepy.. so I carried you to the bed..”

“you carried my fat-ass?!” you were conscious about your weight 

“like a princess..” he smiled at you

“I was going to sleep on the couch but you BEGGED me not to leave you, so I slept NEXT to you and there was a nice amount of space between us..okay? NOTHING happened..”

“okay..” you murmured

you weren’t confident in your looks and always worried about your appearance but Wooyoung didn’t care about any of that 

“Y/N.. are you okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable..” 

“you don’t make me uncomfortable..” you pulled the blanket up to cover your body, “I don’t want to you to be uncomfortable..by me..”

Wooyoung held your hand, “you don’t.. I hope you know that..” 

you were about to slide your hand away but Wooyoung held on

“I know what the others say about me, but that’s not me... I’m not some frat guy who goes around sleeping with other girls..or a guy who’s known for going to the bars and clubs every other night... I’m just a guy who’s too wimp to actually tell the girl he actually likes that he wants to be with her and make her feel loved and make her love herself..so...”

you felt him lift your chin up to meet him eye to eye

“will you let me get the chance to do that?”

JONGHO X HERACLES

reincarnation of: HERACLES (son of Zeus)

Jongho was just minding his business

he JUST had to go to the store to get some more protein shake powder before going to the gym 

he was JUST taking off his helmet that went with his motorcycle when he heard you yelling someone to back off 

he turns to you across the street in an alley cornered by a moderately fit guys 

sure he was always saving the damsel in distress but this time was different

“ma’am are you in any trouble?” he shouts out to you and it catches the attention of the other guy

“a girl can take care of her own and take care of this fool myself..” you tried to wave him off but the guy grabbed your arm quite forcefully

“take care of this fool? Y/N.. aren’t you such a doll?” 

no words were able to leave your lips when Jongho rips the guy’s hand from you and slams his fist into his face

it takes more than a couple seconds for the guy to get up from the ground 

he glares at Jongho with terrified eyes

“this isn’t the last you’ll see from me!” the moment the guy is up on his feet he’s running

“wow.. if he was a dog, he’d be running with his tail between his legs..”

you looked at the guy who just saved you, he had on a leather jacket and his black hair was slicked back like he was in Grease 

“what are you some type of modern-day Hercules, biker boy?” you joked

Jongho gave an awkward cough, “you could say.. but.. are you okay?”

you nodded as you rubbed your arm

“a little shaken up but I’ll live..” you started to look around; you were slightly paranoid at this point

“you wanna go for a ride? we can go anywhere you wanna go” he asked as he pointed to his bike 

“in that?!” you’ve never rode anything of that sort 

he took your hand and handed you his extra helmet, “it’s a little scary at first but she drives like a dream”

weary but you trusted him, “what’s your name?”

“I’m Jongho”

“well, Jongho..” you started to adjust the helmet on your head, “I’m gonna take your word for it..” you held your hand out for him to take 

he takes it, you didn’t expect him to kiss it but he does

“what a gentleman..” you tried to hide the trembling of your voice

you hated rollercoaster or any rides of that kind

anything that involved a rush of adrenaline scared you 

but when Jongho wrapped your arms around his waist, you felt safe and you weren’t as scared  

“where to, princess?” he asks as he turns to shoot you the most adorable smile 

“know any good food carts?”

“buckle up, because I know just the place”

[ masterlist + guidelines ]

[cultofbeatles]

beginners guide to the members of led zeppelin (kind of)

a disclaimer before anyone starts reading: we all know led zeppelin is shady as hell and we hardly ever get anything confirmed or denied around here. so some stuff is up for speculation. everything in this post are things i've read in books, heard in interviews, or got from some other source. when it comes to “facts about led zeppelin” sometimes you gotta take it with a grain of salt. but honestly it’s led zeppelin we’re talking about, anything is possible. also this is all in good fun and giggles. with that being said, let’s get started with introductions to the members themselves.

jimmy page 

james patrick page 

born on January 9, 1944 

he’s a capricorn sun, cancer moon, and scorpio rising so you just know he’s a crazy motherfucker 

was an amazing session guitarist and basically everyone wanted him 

went to art school bc he’s just talented at everything i guess 

if you didn't know already he played the guitar for Joe cocker’s ‘with a little help from my friends’

declined his first offer to join the yardbirds but later decided to join 

was the last member to leave the group

basically was the leader of led zeppelin 

was gifted a telecaster guitar by his friend jeff beck and he adored it 

and he painted a cool dragon design on it 

played on it for the first led zeppelin album 

when he was on tour one of his friends painted over his dragon design and ruined the guitar 

he produced all of led zeppelin’s albums and is responsible for the remastering of those same albums 

paid for led zeppelin’s first album to be produced with his own money

deadass would have whips and handcuffs around with him on tour for the groupies 

but was apparently an amazing lover and cared for the people he slept with

one time he got naked on a food cart thingy, put whip cream over his body, and had john bonham push him into a room with groupies in it 

has such a small and soft voice 

was fascinated in aleister crowley and his work

would collect crowely memorabilia 

even bought crowley’s boleskine house 

had a bookstore at one point so he could get books easier 

struggled with addiction to drugs for most of the seventies 

went on a liquid diet late seventies and refused to eat solid food 

he got really skinny bc of it :( 

miss pamela (one of his girlfriends/lovers) once said that jimmy cried on the phone to her over her playboy photoshoot lmaoo

once flied pamela’s pet raccoon in first class 

allegedly had a relationship with lori maddox who was about 15 years old 

laughed as two of his girlfriends were fighting each other 

was kind of constantly nervous about his and the band’s image

has amazing guitar solos and improvisation but damn sometimes they drag on foreverrrr

deadass scared the shit out of david bowie so much that he had his house exorcised and would avoid jimmy at parties 

we love demons 

zoso

he’ll never tell us what zoso means and I'm mad

had two people die in his home. one was a friend who died from a drug overdose, and the other was john bonham when he died from choking on his vomit.  

has been accused for the deaths of john bonham and robert plant’s son karac bc of that stupid “curse” rumor

deserves critiques for several things but doesn't deserve hate for that 

has been through a lot and come out pretty okay

produced his current girlfriend’s, scarlett sabet, spoken poetry vinyl 

check out scarlett’s work bc it’s amazing

would probably always be down for another led zeppelin reunion 

robert plant

robert anthony plant 

born on august 20, 1948

this is the most attractive man ever. do not argue with me. 

nicknamed percy 

wasnt jimmy’s first pick for a singer 

jerry reid suggested robert to jimmy. and when jimmy asked what he looked like jerry said, “like a greek god.”

jimmy thought something was wrong with robert when he first found him bc he was such a good singer and hadn't been signed yet 

after a practice together jimmy knew he had his singer 

he would call robert “the young guy with the powerful voice.”

he thought about leaving the band early on bc he was so nervous about being in it 

convinced john bonham to join the group bc they were the bestest of buddies 

he’s not credited on the first album bc he was still under another contract 

started song writing for the second album by jimmy’s memory 

it didn't take long for him to gain confidence and start owning the stage 

once when he was performing a dove flew in his hands 

there’s an audio of him singing john bonham happy birthday and it makes me so happy 

he would call himself a greek god 

would party with john bonham a lot 

kind of the hippy of the group 

moans moans moans and even louder moans into the microphone 

would wear women’s shirts and looked amazing in them 

nurses do it better 

not to mention his super tight jeans 

we all know his dick is huge and he’s just showing it off 

has the prettiest, fluffiest blonde hair 

and the sweetest smile 

can you tell that i find him attractive yet?

has a fear of earthquakes 

also supposedly had some sort of a relationship to an underage groupie named sable starr (14)

also has a fear of led zeppelin nowadays 

either fear or amnesia 

it’s likely that he’s the reason we’ll never get another led zeppelin reunion 

though a close friend thinks that if the show went to charity robert would probably do it 

robert loved john bonham too much to play in led zeppelin without him

and i respect that a lot 

no matter how much he’s offered for a show he turns it down every time

in 1975 he got in a severe car crash and ended up being in a wheelchair 

still went on to record zeppelin’s album 

once while recording on crutches and started to fall and jimmy apparently zoomed in to save him. robert never saw him move that fast before

his five year old son (karac) died from a sudden stomach illness while he was in america on tour

absolutely crushed him 

was deeply upset that neither jimmy page or john paul jones reached out to him during that time of his life 

john bonham was there for him though 

robert apparently never forgave them for that 

a car he was working on fell on top of him and crushed some of his ribs as well 

late seventies was not a good time for robert plant 

but he got through it all like a champ

hates stairway to heaven with a passion lmao  

one time he paid a radio station a shit ton of money just to make sure they'd never play stairway to heaven again 

almost didn't sing stairway for the 2007 reunion but ended up agreeing to it after all 

he said he breaks out in hives when he has to play that song 

he and jimmy made their own symbols. robert’s is the feather inside the circle 

in 2007 he won beard of the year 

john bonham

john bonham 

born on may 31, 1948

nickname is bonzo

oh boy, there’s a lot of stories about bonzo 

he was known as the nicest and sweetest guy ever 

unless he was drunk 

he drank a lot :/

denied jimmy’s offer to join the group and continued to deny it until robert convinced him 

once flew the starship (led zeppelin’s plane) even though he didn't have a license to 

hated touring so much 

he always missed his family 

so he drank 

he was so damn crazy when drunk that the other members would book rooms floors above where his was so he wouldn't disturb them

tore about his hotel rooms like no other 

he has a son named jason bonham who he loved a lot 

bought him a nice drum kit when he was younger 

jason is just about led zeppelin’s biggest fan next to jimmy page 

one time bonzo broke a girl’s vibrator when drunk

also punched a girl in the face when drunk once bc she waved at him 

partly responsible for the famous mud shark story where a girl was apparently fucked with a dead shark by him and zeppelin’s tour manager 

liked cars a lot 

really really loved his family. cannot stress it enough

was irked that john paul jones got out of playing shows during the christmas holiday and he didn't 

punched robert in the face once too 

him and john paul jones equals the best rhythm section ever 

jimmy would call it magic how well him and bonzo got along 

bonzo could handle anything jimmy threw at him 

he wasn't really a part of it, but he had to go to jail bc peter grant and two other dudes almost killing a man (long story omfg, but apparently the doctors had to put the dude’s eyeball back into his socket)

was there for robert when karac died 

they were really good friends 

there’s an interview with them together where bonzo is laughing at robert about his little farm 

gave good hugs apparently 

played drums like no other could and knew he was good 

but still sometimes got insecure and got upset when someone he looked up to said his drumming wasn't all that special 

his symbol is the three rings and he picked it out of a book like john paul jones did his 

he died in jimmy page’s house (not the crowley house btw)

he had to drink the equivalent of 40 shots of vodka and choked on his vomit in his sleep 

led zeppelin died on the same day 

nobody can replace john bonham 

his son filled in his role for the 2007 reunion show and did an amazing job of it. the whole show is on youtube, go check it out

john paul jones

 john richard baldwin 

born on january 3, 1946

nickname is jonesy 

was also a session guitarist like jimmy 

they had worked together before 

when he found out jimmy was forming a group he called jimmy and was basically given the spot immediately 

not only was the bassist but also the keyboardist 

and could play the recorder 

insanely talented. put some respect on his name 

he talks in italics i swear to god 

i don't have mainly crazy stories about jonesy bc he wasn't about that life 

deadass he would go on stage, perform, walk off stage and go to a whole separate hotel from the other

he would only tell one person where he was at and told them not to call unless for super urgent emergencies 

pissed peter grant off so much lmao 

wasn't really super close to anyone in the band tbh 

but bonzo was probably his greatest friend in the band 

jimmy and robert kind of leave him out in my opinion 

or they use to 

when he found out that jimmy and robert were making their own symbols instead of picking out of a book like he was he said “of course!”  and laughed 

was pretty much left out of the live aid show 

he had to squeeze himself on the stage and wasn't even able to play bass. he had to play the keyboard 

“and thank you to my friends for finally remembering my phone number” -savage as hell john paul jones 

he was one of the two people who found john bonham dead 

it’s sad to think about

is actually quite funny

he has this kind of dry humor?? idk but it’s amazing 10/10 content 

when john paul jones walks into the room interviewers break into a sweat

managed to look like a completely different person every year throughout the seventies or is it just my eyes?

has an Instagram account now go follow it for cute throwback photos lol

that’s all i really have for generic useless information about led zeppelin members for beginners. i hope it was somewhat entertaining. i'll make some more beginners stuff for led zeppelin. i will make y'all stan them lmao. i'm tagging @babygotblueeyes​ bc i know for a fact you want to get into them <3

[brighternite-a]

mamma   mia,   here   i   go   again   !   admin   c   here,   with   my   second   character,   miss   lal   who   looks   like   a   burning   flame   but   feels   ice   cold.   lal   is   a   new   one   and   she   is   already   growing   on   me,   i'm   just   ??   excited   ??   let   me   turn   up   my   narrator   vc,   once   upon   a   time    ...  

★ APP   !

✨ elçin sangu, cis woman, she/her    —    agnes street wouldn’t be the same today if it wasn’t the curtain call. do you know that lal ışık works there as the owner ? they are thirty-eight and they look like the kind of person who has stories to tell ; the kind of stories you have never heard of, whenever i see them, greek tragedy by the wombats starts to play inside my head.  maybe it is the vibe they give off, an invisible wall built around you that keeps you in your own world no matter how hard the outsiders try to collapse it down, pointy toe pumps with stiletto heels worn in an elegant fashion that somehow makes them look easy to wear, an accent that melts within words through an unfamiliar warmth when caught in feelings only explainable in your native tongue  ; you know ?  ( c, 23, gmt + 3, they / them )

★ STORY   !

TRIGGERS AHEAD  : identity crisis.

it begins serenely. you are one of those kids, born with luck. luck though, it is not everlasting. it sometimes is even deceptive. a truth lal had to face. lal means garnet in turkish, but in ottoman poetry it has been used to carry the meaning of lips of a lover or red wine. surely lal is a love child. ' we want the best for you, my child. ' wonder how many times lal had heard these words falling from the lips of her beloved parents as they smiled at her with warmth and compassion. that must be the truest form of love, she would think to herself.

an eccentric kid. one who asks too many questions. one who dares to be different. the striking flame red of strands don’t make it any easier for her to go unnoticed. confidence is built within her, strong at the core of her heart. no, that has nothing to do with the wealth her parents have, it is all about the love they’ve given. lal always knew they’d be by her side even if the world was ending.

but who would’ve thought ? it’s been a delusion, all along. the love she had belief in. -- they reveal the truth when lal comes of age as now they are obligated to give lal her share. the people she knew as her parents all along are not her biological parents. who are these people ? her real parents, are they even alive ? all the questions of sorts, asked while tears stream down her face. it’s part of the deal, they vowed to her parents before taking lal that they were never ever going to let her know about who her real parents are. her parents left her. left her to strangers. and what her real parents left for her ? money, lots of money. no answers, no photographs. no anything. suddenly, she has no roots. how could they accept to be the ones they were not meant to be ? but those people did and took lal as their child. perhaps humans were capable of everything when it was for the money. did they reall love her ? did they ? not like any answer could satisfy lal now. in lal’s eyes, they had been just playing the roles her real parents written for them. a written script, artificial feelings. 

what is my name ? who i am ? is this who i was supposed to be ? questions surface, questions suffocate you. you disintegrate. the person you see when you look in the mirror, it makes you only wonder. do i have my mother’s eyes or is it the flame red of hair what i inherited from her ? what would my name be if they could’ve chosen it ? ---- lal feels the need to rebuild herself as everything that made her who she is turns out to be foul. it almost drives her mad. identity crisis comes to her in its rawest and garbed form. 

she feels foreign to herself. she becomes a foreigner to everything surrounding her. her decision to leave the country comes to her at a night. she is only nineteen when she leaves istanbul. maybe far from her so-called home, it would make sense to feel this alone. she needed to get to know herself, she needed to rewrite her story and make it a real one. her devotion to telling stories of life begins this way, with her devotion to try and tell her own as she realizes she is devoid of a true one. 

education in the top-ranked schools of the united states is nothing her mysterious parents’ inherited money couldn’t buy. so she fills herself in with everything she could about the movie industry. her dream is to tell every story that yearns to be told like hers. and what can be a better tool than the art of cinema ? her career as a director begins, her career that guarantees her a permanent stay in the country. symbolism runs deep in every movie directed by her. she gets compared to david lynch a lot with her work. movies after movies, she has her very own audience. today she is the owner of her own theatre, the curtain call. it is a dream project of hers that came true. there is something she can’t quite pinpoint but love about agnes street, that’s why of all places she chose agnes for her cinema project.  she is still actively working as a director and also as the owner of the curtain call. if you are into movies one way or another, there is a chance you’ve heard her name during one of those award seasons. -- her genuine psyche doesn’t get to shine through the self-built walls around her. you may think she is peculiar and cold and perhaps to a certain extent she might be, but if you treat her patiently, what lies beneath is a gem that waits to be discovered. 

★ CONNECTION   IDEAS   !

her FIRST FRIEND after moving to us. PLEASE I BEG OF YOU. someone who guided her. someone who was probably very friendly that voluntarily helped her. someone that makes her laugh the most, someone that knows the way her laugh sounds. someone who knows she is actually capable of laughing. PLS. 

someone who is a critic of her work. someone who adores her work. someone who thinks her movies are bullshit. just all types of criticism. 

i’m dying to have an opposites attract thing going on for lal maybe, someone whose disposition radiates quite different vibes from her as a lover would be such an interesting for her to handle. i’d love to see it tbqh.

[fresafresitawrites]

hemera: goddess of the day

my second vignette in my creative writing class! posting this here so everyone can have fun reading and also cuz i havent posted anything in a while. it’s not that long, so if u can read thatd be so appreciated !!! inspirations: a party i went to with my art history friends and anne carson’s eros the bittersweet 

rest of the vignette is under the read more

I waited outside Hemera’s apartment building, wiping my shoes on the doormat and holding the champagne bottle she asked me to get. She was still 20 until next March and I turned 21 back in June, so for the next few months this would be my job.

The October air was crisp and sharp. The occasional gust of wind felt like needles on my skin. I’m glad that before heading to Hemera’s, my mom convinced me to wear the Sherpa-lined Levi’s jacket she bought me at a Black Friday sale last year—- 70% off.

 The door swung open.

“Andrew!” Hemera’s sudden embrace knocked me back a little. The rollers in her hair scratched the surface of my cheeks when she hugged me, and I was hit with the scent of coconut milk shampoo. A tropical wave juxtaposed with the autumn breeze.

“Hey, is no one else here yet?”

She didn’t let go of me. She hadn’t seen me in a while ever since she started a new job at an Italian restaurant near Union Square, and I’ve been working late-shifts at the bookstore since the holidays were around the corner. “Oh, here.” I gave the liquor store bag.

“You got it!” I closed the door behind me as I entered the lobby. “They use this brand at work, so I wanted to try it.” Her black nails tapped against the green bottle before handing it back to me. “And no, I actually told them to come at seven because I know if I asked you to come early you wouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh really?” I wasn’t actually surprised but I wasn’t going to argue with her either. She’s probably right anyway. I followed her up the three flights of stairs and into her studio, hanging my coat behind the door. She went back to unraveling her curls in front of the bathroom mirror. I leaned against the doorway. Her sink was covered in hair and make-up products.

“You would’ve said, vos! Jou’re gonna make me clean your room while jou do jour make-up again.” She exaggerated my accent. I’ve been a New Yorker for eleven years, but Argentina will always ring in my voice. “Anyway, can you clean you room? I have to brush out my hair.”

“No.” I started peeling off the foil of the bottle.

She turned around, snatching the bottle away from me.

“Not until everyone’s here!”

“All right, whatever.”

I was going to help her straighten the place out anyway. Hemera lived in a studio apartment that she moved into just last year, despite her mom’s disapproval. On the night of her move-in day, we lay down on the hardwood-- since she hadn’t gotten her couch yet-- and shared a bag of Doritos.

“Do you think she’ll be okay? All she has is the cat now.” She meant her mom. “Maybe things should be like they were back in like, the old times. She always talks about how full the house back in Mexico used to be, even my great-grandmother lived there. Three generations! With the kids and everything. There was so much noise… and now it’s just Pepino.” She rolled over to face me. “I miss my kitty already!”   

Hemera sometimes had this way of speaking where nostalgia tinted her voice with memories that weren’t hers. I could name more people in her family than my own.

The entire apartment was the size of my mom’s bedroom. The hardwood creaked with every other step, the pipes under the kitchen sink moaned like ghosts, and the walls were covered with floral wallpaper tearing at the edges, but Hemera treated her apartment as if everything was made of gold. I would too, honestly.

I cleared up the wooden coffee table by removing piles of open mail—mostly bills and Target coupons—printed recipes, and scripts from her theater classes. I didn’t know what else to do with them, so I just hid everything under her pull-out couch. On the kitchen counter, she had those trays of assorted cheeses and meats—to be fancy for her college friends. I rummaged through the cabinets and found her supply of Hot Cheetos to snack on while I reheated the pasta on the stove she made for the guests.

“Okay, how do I look?”

I followed her voice. Her hair was curled up in short rings, like black garden roses, and her eyes were dusted with purple and black eyeshadow. Or eyeliner, I didn’t know, but the glitter illuminated her tan skin. She was dressed in her signature all-black style. In a lace, spidery dress that hugged her curves and ended at her thighs. She sparkled under the dim lighting of her apartment, like a crystal in a cave. In Greek mythology, Hemera was the goddess of the day, but Hemera always reminded me more of Nyx, crowned in dark mist and black-winged.

In high school, Hemera spent most of her time woven in the arms of the upright bass player from our orchestra class. He was long haired and mysterious, as she liked them. She would ask me to French braid her hair before their dates, having me incorporate the artificial flowers he’d give her into her strands. This was something my mom taught me how to do so it’d take less time to get my sisters ready in the morning when they were younger. Maybe it was Hemera’s smooth hair, or the scent of her Jasmine perfume, or watching her finally leave, but my thoughts turned to poetry. The night he broke up with her she cried on the edge of my bed.

This was when she crawled towards me, placed her hand on the calculus textbook on my lap, and kissed me.

And in that moment, any romantic feelings I had towards her dissolved into a fog.

I read in an essay once how unrequited love is a form of escapism. Briefly, perfection exists in the form of a person who you believe is immaculate. Once the feeling is returned, you realize their judgment is flawed because they’ve decided to like you of all people. They lose their divinity. The Greeks spoke of a similar sentiment, Eros: the desire for what is missing. You desire only what you lack. Once something, or someone, is finally in your possession, you can no longer want it.

And where’s the fun in that?

“Hello? Andrew? Andrés Ibarra? Do I have to say it in Spanish? Does my ass look fat or not?”

She walked over to the full-length mirror, answering her own question and taking pictures on her phone. “Also, can you not be weird around my friends? You always talk about that time you swore you saw a UFO and I don’t think you realize how much of a weirdo you sound like telling that story.”

            I sprinkled some of the Hot Cheetos dust from the bag onto her pasta and stirred.

            “No problem.”

[iwachans-beefyarms]

i know this is kinda really detailed and specific idea for a scenario so i hope that this is okay! it turns out tsuki is only really good at english because he kept his english penpal from primary school and they talk everyday and ft and she surprises him by turning up before the shiratorizawa match!! just some fluffy platonic feels please maybe she goes out with the team for dinner afterwards too? 💕💕💖

Omg, I really love this scenario! I’ve had my fair share of penpals so I was really excited to write this (: I remember having an Italian penpal 2 years ago and interacting with her inspired me to learn Italian on my own because she would often give me amazing Italian book recommendations hehe (I might have gone a bit overboard when writing about Tsukki training for the match lmao)

BTW for those interested, the quote from the beginning is from Donna Tartt’s ‘The Secret History’! It’s one of my favourite books of all time and it’s what made me start learning Latin, highly recommend it to all of you! Also, I love writing about platonic friendships soooo much so if any of you would like to request similar things in the future, please do!

Note*** Reader will be speaking to the team in Japanese, which will be indicated by bolded words

Okay, I’ll stop talking now, enjoy!

“I had said goodbye to her once before, but it took everything I had to say goodbye to her then, again, for the last time, like poor Orpheus turning for a last backwards glance at the ghost of his only love and in the same heartbeat losing her forever: hinc iliac lacrimae, hence those tears.”

Tsukishima sighed and put the book down. Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was a bittersweet feeling he often experienced when nearing the end of a compelling novel. This particular one, especially, had had him completely enamored. He almost felt wistful when he realised he was almost done with it.

He opened the book back up and carefully highlighted the phrase “Orpheus turning for a last backward glance”, making a mental note to look up the reference. It sounded like a literary allusion to a Greek myth of some sort, but he had to check to be sure. He glanced at his phone and opened his e-mail to type a quick message to you.

“I am almost done with this book… Honestly, what a ride! I can’t even bring myself to finish it because of how attached I am. I learnt so many new phrases and literary allusions too! I’m seriously considering reading all the pieces of work the author had referenced throughout the novel haha. But, it’s gonna have to wait until after my volleyball season ends because we have finals coming up soon… Anyway, talk to you later! BTW, how did you enjoy the poetry collection I sent you?”

He signed off as he usually did, packed his things up and left for after-school volleyball practice. He couldn’t help but feel that today was a particularly lovely day. When Yamaguchi approached him and draped his arm around his shoulder, he welcomed his friend’s affectionate gesture with a genuine smile of his own.

“Wow, that’s a big smile! Did something good happen?” Yamaguchi questioned curiously. He glanced down at Tsukkishima’s hands and noticed the book he was holding.

“Ah! Y/n’s book huh? Is it any good?” He asked, excitedly grabbing it from his friend and flipping through the pages. His eager expression morphed into one of complete confusion as he squinted his eyes at the flurry of words before him. “How do you even read this? It’s so hard…” He blurted out.

“Tsk, you just don’t have enough practice, dumbass,” Tsukkishima retorted jokingly. It was true, though, what he said. His regular emails to and from you since his primary school days had greatly improved his English linguistic skills. Even more so, it had made him more knowledgeable in the art of writing and analysis. Everytime he got a comment on his essays about his exceptional way with words, he would silently thank your influence in his head. It was quite ironic that Tsukishima, someone who found it immensely difficult to forge meaningful relationships with those around him, would have shared such a close friendship with a girl living on the other side of the world, but such was life.

As the highly anticipated match against Shiratorizawa loomed closer, Tsukishima’s mind drifted from you and the book he had yet to finish. His heart, soul and entire being was devoted to his team. While he greatly appreciated the daily messages of encouragement you graced him with every morning, he simply did not have the time to respond properly. For now, all that mattered was volleyball.

He trained everyday, much like his teammates. Where once he would have scoffed at the level of fervor he demonstrated in his journey towards becoming the best player he could be, he now relished in the passion that flooded him everytime he held the ball between his hands, or when he jumped in tandem with his teammates to form a block. He would be prepared for Shiratorizawa, for Ushijima Wakatoshi, and for whatever force that dared to reckon with him.

That was what he told himself before the match, repeating it in his heart like a mantra, with the hopes that the belief would materialise in the court. And, that was exactly what his teammates and he did. They won. They actually won. Tsukishima never viewed himself as a sadistic person, but dear God, the look of defeat in the faces of his opponents sent him to a high he had never experienced before. It wasn’t that he was glad they lost; they were decently nice people. It was that they had won; a game that, by all expectations, should have been lost. He was euphoric. In that moment, amidst the chaos surrounding him and the cheers resounding through the stadium, he felt an immense wave of love rush over him. Love for his sport, his opponents, and most importantly, his team; his family outside of his family.

After the match, as the team made their way out of the locker rooms, he let himself bask in the triumph of their victory as his friends cheered boisterously. Suddenly, he caught the eyes of a very familiar face approaching him with a slight jog. His eyes widened. Impossible.

“Tsukki!” You wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to engulf you in a hug of equal intensity. It was either the excitement of winning, or the shock from seeing you in front of him that made him so easily reciprocate your affection, but at that moment he didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, incredulously, ignoring the gawking stares of his team. “My parents wanted to go to Japan for the holidays, and of course I had to come see you at your big match! You were amazing! I mean, Amazing, with a capital A!” you rambled off excitedly. Tsukishima almost let you continue your enthusiastic rant but he was interrupted by Daichi’s hesitant tap to his back. He cleared his throat and announced, “Everyone, this is Y/n, my good friend from Y/c.”

“Hello everyone! It is so wonderful to meet all of you! Tsukki has said so much about you that I feel like I know all of you already,” you addressed them, bowing slightly. Your nervous blush made Tsukki smile softly to himself. Immediately, you were attacked with questions.

“How does Tsukishima know such a pretty girl?”

“Where are you from? Are you here on holiday? How do you know Japanese?”

“Do you play volleyball?”

You did your absolute best to answer all their questions, and in the process, gave the team a brief summary of your friendship with Tsukishima. Yamaguchi, in particular, was wonderfully excited to make your acquaintance. Eventually, the boys and their managers invited you to have dinner with them. You graciously took their offer and left the stadium with them.

The evening was filled with laughter and jubilation. Everybody was still riding the high from their win, and spent dinner reminiscing moments during the match, and of course, talking about Tsukishima and his pretty friend. Stories about his childhood self, his emo-phase and, for a brief tw months, k-pop phase, were shared by Yamaguchi and yourself. Usually, Tsukishima would have been incredibly annoyed at being the object of a joke, but tonight, he settled for a half-hearted shove to Yamaguchi’s shoulder and a teasing comment. “At least I pulled it off… Not like your cosplay phase, remember?” Cue another round of hearty laughter.

As he watched you and his team bond, he sat back and gently rubbed his chest. His heart felt so full at the moment, and although he knew it wouldn’t last, he cherished the feeling and took a mental picture of the scene in front of him. He leaned towards your ear and whispered, “Thank you so much for coming, it meant a lot.” You squeeze his arm gently and replied, “That’s what friends are for, Tsukki!”

[thenightling]

The first Raven (a very short Sandman fan fiction)

           The First Raven  

 Disclaimer:  This is a very short Sandman fan fiction.  The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman and DC comics.

This short one shot story is very loosely based on this piece by @artwinsdraws​ but I was a little kinder to Lucien.   I think he’s going through enough right now with the current The Dreaming comics.

The First Raven:  

 “Milord, I have served you loyally and faithfully this past millennium…”  The speech was well practiced but the tone still revealed a certain nervousness and lack of ease.  His voice trembled with uncertainty.

           “What is your point, Lucien?” The Dreamlord sounded weary.    

            Morpheus was seated on his Nightmare Throne.  The whole of it looked to be carved from dark wood and had a Gothic aesthetic to its design.  There were three steps leading up to the ornate throne itself and upon those steps, on either side, were small pumpkins.   Pumpkins had not yet been introduced to Europe at this point but Morpheus and his raven were not in Europe.  They were in The Dreaming.  And he rather liked the look of them.

           The throne was well designed and candles were fixed on the high back of the seat.  Spider-webs made of silk dandled at certain parts as part of the decorative intention.

           Morpheus, himself, matched the throne in his own, long, black robes. His eyes were almost entirely black save for the tiny star-like pupils.  And he had wild, dark hair. He was painfully thin and his skin was as white as bone.  The sleeves of his robes were belled and as such easily fell down his skinny arm when he rested his elbow on the armrest of the throne so that his hand was under his own chin.

            He looked at the black bird that stood on the ground in front of him.  He watched the bird with intent and perhaps some discrete affection.

           “Sire,” The raven said, “I have become weary of my post.  I wish to continue to serve you in some capacity but…”

           “But no longer as my raven?”  The Dreamlord sounded disappointed.

           “Well… Uh…   Yes.” He said meekly, fearing his lord’s well-known wrath.  

           “I see.”

The raven cringed with dread, knowing his lord’s temper.  The cringe came when he saw that Morpheus was rising from his seat on the throne.  

Morpheus descended down the stairs of the throne and stopped at the raven.  He knelt down and offered his arm for the raven to perch on the dark sleeve of the robe.  

“Lucien, you have served me well this past millennia, it is true.   And if you wish to retire from your post, I owe you a boon as payment for your service to me.  Perhaps I can see to that boon benefit us both.”

           “But I-“

           Morpheus made a “Shhhh.” sound as he placed a finger to the black beak, without fear of being bitten by his raven.  

“If you wish to continue to serve me that can be arranged.  But I have had time, Lucien, ample time to prepare for your inevitable retirement and what is owed to you and what shall be done with you, provided your consent, of course.”

            The raven was considerably worried now.  Was he angry and just toying with him?  Was he secretly furious that his raven would want to no longer be his raven?   Nervously he took perch on Morpheus arm, careful not to let his talons pierce the soft, black velvet of the sleeve, and Morpheus rose to stand.

           He walked with Lucien toward a staircase that had not been there a moment before.

  Morpheus walked with his raven, up a long, curving, staircase, to a set of grand doubled doors that almost appeared to be made of gold, and maybe something far stronger than gold hidden under the gilded platting. These were doors Lucien had never seen before but some part of him felt a rush of excitement at what might be behind them.

           Morpheus placed his hand against the heavy, gilded, doors and the doors easily gave way to his touch.  

           Beyond the doors was a room that seemed as wide and expansive as the castle as itself, if not more so.   There were stone tablets with carvings engraved into them, resting against the walls. There were slotted shelves, with perfect square openings.  And in each square was a perfect Greek or Roman scroll.   There were texts from Mesopotamia written on untreated lamb’s skin. There were hand-bound volumes of the new and gorgeous invention, the book.  There were many books already.   More than what Lucien imagined existed in the Waking world.

           These were things that Lucien loved dearly.  Poetry, art, plays, history…  All compiled here in this grand repository.  He had never seen such a thing.  

           The raven flew from his perch and began to fly through the stacks and shelves, exploring the texts that were easy to see, the ones pinned to walls or in display cases of transparent glass.

           He flew back to Morpheus and flapped his wings to stay at face level with him.   This grand collection of stories and knowledge was all he could ever dream of, all his little heart had desired.

            “My Lord… Is this- is this Heaven?”

           “No. But it could be your Heaven.  Do you want it?”

           “Me?”  Lucien’s little raven eyes seemed to swell to double their size.  Had he been human they might have been welling with tears. Even now they seemed glassy with emotion.  

           “This new library will house all the stories that are dreamed of.   Every tale that was never told and yet dreamed of by the potential author will be here.  Along with their Waking works, of course.”

           “My lord, I- I don’t know what to say…”

           “Say you will be my librarian.   Consent to this change of position and this library will be yours forever.”

           “Oooh, yes.”  

           “Very good.”  There was a twinge of something like a smile on the edges of Morpheus’ mouth.          “What form would you like to have?”

           “What form?”

           “Yes.  You are no longer my raven.  You could physically remain a raven but I am under the impression you don’t want that. And it would make your new duty somewhat difficult, though not necessarily impossible…”

           “Do you want to be human?”

           “Well, not exactly…” Lucien said with careful thought.  “Humanish, I suppose.   It’s been so long I don’t think I know how to be a human.  But I wouldn’t mind thumbs, and hair.   And…   Ooooh, may I be tall?”

           “You may.”  Morpheus actually looked amused.   He imagined it could sometimes get frustrating to have the size of a bird and not be able to reach things without the aid of flight.

           “Taller than you?” he asked cautiously.  “Say… about a head taller thank you?”

           Morpheus walked from him and ran a pale, bony finger over one of the book spines to his left.  “You would have to be tall to reach some of the higher shelves with ease.”  He said thoughtfully.

           “I don’t want to look the way I did… before I was your raven.  I want to be someone new.  Can you make me a body specific to being your librarian?” Lucien had not always been a raven but he was not fond of remembering who or what he had been before then and Morpheus was obliged to not remind him.  Though Lucien had been the first raven, Morpheus had consciously decided that if he sought new ravens to serve him, he would pick souls that had not quite like being human anyway.

           “I can.”

            Morpheus moved to the raven.  He reached for the leather pouch that hung at his own hip and drew out a fistful of the glittering, magical sand.  He scattered this over the raven. Lucien shut his eyes with uneasy anticipation.  

Morpheus’ cunning fingers went to work as if he was sculpting soft clay.

 Lucien barely felt the transformation but as he changed, each aspect of the metamorphoses seemed perfectly natural.  White fingers lightly stroked the feathers on top of Lucien’s head.   Before he realized it he had hair the color of dry, autumn leaves.  It was very much brown.

His nose, though human, was still somewhat beak-like. He felt the nimble fingers lightly tugging at what was fast becoming human-like (or elf-like) ears. The ears were pointed as many of Morpheus’ creations had pointed ears.  Morpheus rather liked pointed ears.   The skin tone was Caucasian and light.  The eyes were brown, like the hair.

 Lucien knew his eyes were changing when he felt the fingertips lightly rest against his eyelids.  The magick tingled through him.  When the tingling faded Lucien finally opened his eyes.  He moved toward a mirror that hung on the wall and he was certain had not been there a moment before. He examined himself, the new face- quite different from his original human one.  He approved of the beak-like nose.  And the soft, expressive, brown eyes.  He even liked the hair, it almost felt like feathers.

 He was wearing a suit of new clothing.  And he looked down at his hands, flexing the fingers.  They felt good.  They felt natural.   He turned to his side, where his lord now stood.  And he looked down at Morpheus.  How small and child-like his lord looked to him from this height!  He looked around himself in wonder and then grimaced.

“What’s wrong?”  Morpheus asked, like a painter who might have just learned his latest masterpiece had a flaw.

“It’s- It’s nothing… It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Lucien lightly touched the eyelids.  “It’s all satisfactory, milord.  And I don’t want to sound ungrateful…  I very much appreciate the height. But...”

“But?”

“It’s the eyes…   I saw so much clearer as a raven, so far, and with impeccable detail.  These eyes are weak and the words in the spines blur from a distance.”  He frowned. “It’s rather blurred and faded compared to how I saw as a raven.”  

“You would prefer to have kept your raven eyes?”  Morpheus raised his hand as if to ready himself to undo some of his work. Raven eyes sized to fit a human head-like wouldn’t be too difficult.

Lucien shook his head.  “No.   I like the look of them.  I just...”

“You just want to see as you saw as a raven but retain those eyes?”

Lucien nodded, reluctant to ask for such a thing.

 Morpheus reached into the pouch at his hip and took out a fistful of glittering dreamsand.  He scattered this into the air and caught the thing that was taking form.   He placed the round spectacles on the bridge of Lucien’s nose.  “There.”

Lucien pushed the spectacles the rest of the way up his face.  From behind the glass he saw precisely as he had with his raven eyes.  “Oh!  Oh, that is much better!  Thank you, Milord!”

 There was that trace of a smile again on Morpheus’ face.   “Does this make you happy, my librarian?”

“It is all I have ever wanted.”

“Then it is yours.   This is your reward for serving me as my raven.  You will serve me now as my librarian.”

 And so Lucien the Librarian was born.

The End

[godofsunandselfies]

When Apollo woke, his first thought was that everything was a dream. It couldn't be real. After all, he remembered fading. He remembered the weakness of his limbs, how his strength just faded away with every breath, with every word that he said to... to...

He furrowed his brows. Was someone with him when he faded? (Tears running down a face - a face he loved and made his days brighter. Arms held tightly - silently begging him to stay. He hated seeing him cry.)

He couldn't recall.

Slowly he sat up; his skin registering the familiar chill of Olympus's stone floor. This was not a dream, he was beginning to realize. The realization only strengthened as he took in the room - the throne room- where his fellow Olympians were too, gawking, amazed at this miracle. Some, namely Hermes, had even taken to running across the room, embracing others as he cried in jubilation. Ares and Aphrodite sat clung together (and for some reason the sight tugged at his heart). Demeter and Hestia were smiling and rejoicing. Even his father and step-mother seemed go be sharing a rare moment of honest affection with one another.

They... They all lived. They had returned from...well... nothing. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Just as he found his feet, a weight slammed hard against him, near sending him careening back to the ground. He smelled the scent of nature - of dew-speckled grass fields and a forest of cypresses - and he held tight, a bright smile spread wide across his face. "Artemis! "

She pulled away from him, but only enough for them to truly see one another, not at all leaving the embrace. Not yet. There were tears in her eyes - tears of joy and relief. "Apollo, you're okay."

He nodded, and even he could not help but tear up. "Yes. Yes. I'm okay. I'm alive. And so are you. "

His words only seemed to make his beloved sister sob, and he felt sorry for it. Then she slapped his chest, hard.

"Agh! What was that for? " He recoiled from her, shocked.

Artemis glared at him. "For not coming home when everything... when everyone started to... " Fade was the word, but she could not bring herself to say it, to recall those times. Apollo didn't blame her. "You risked your life, choosing to stay out of Olympus. It would have made you fade faster! You... I didn't even know if you were already gone or not and I... "

He stopped her from speaking any more when obviously the memories only brought her more and more pain. Embracing his sister again, he shushed her as she cried. They clung tight to one another. Glad and relieved to be together once more.

"I'm sorry," he said in a hush, though he knew an apology likely would not be enough for leaving her be in what they had all feared to be their final moments in existence. "I'm sorry I made you worry. I'm so sorry I left you alone but... I had to be with... "

His words faltered as did his thoughts. Who did he had to be with? Who did he choose over his own sister - his twin? His mind hazed. He couldn't recall. (And his heart ached so much. Why?)

Artemis regarded him with a look of concern. "Apollo? Are you alright? "

"Oh, uh" - he shook his mind free of the odd thoughts - "I'm fine. Just... Just still in shock, I guess. "

She nodded. Believing his words, she then went on to grab his hand and lead him out if the throne room, babbling excitedly on wanting to see how much the world had changed in their absence. He allowed her to drag him, but only because he still... he still couldn't understand.

Why did it feel like something was missing?

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

A millennium. They had been gone for a millennium. A thousand years had passed while they slept in the void.

Apollo's heart ached as he stood in the heart of the city - the capital of the new point of power of civilization, and where Olympus now resided over - surrounded by strangers who spoke in a strange language in this new strange world.

I wonder if he's okay, he thought, only to frown, confused. Just who was he thinking of?

The ache in his chest grew stronger every day.

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

Apollo fell back into his old ways. He roamed the changed world and marveled at its innovations - at the art, the music, the poetry! And he quickly learned that it was because of art that he and his family, as well as the other gods, had been restored. (Something both he and Dionysus were quite smug over.)

He also fell back to his norm of socializing with mortals - making friends; inspiring some and healing many (though prayers were close to nonexistent now, he still felt the need to do his work). Chatting and flirting as he did in the past.

But it...wasn't the same. Not really. When he found a mortal he fancied and pursued then as he does, it felt... wrong. Like he was making a grave mistake. That he was betraying something (someone).

None of his relationships lasted long. Not unusual for him, but this time, it's him who walks away. The relationships rarely last long enough to sire demigods.

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

He fell in love again.

A sweet young woman - Mary. While to most she was nothing more than a peasant girl in the middle of nowhere, to Apollo he saw a spark. She was curious... so curious of the world beyond her little home; her little village with such a long name. (An eagerness to learn; bright eyes they should be blue... It just drew him in. Familiar.)

It was his music that caught her eye to him. He had played a rather somber piece - the tragedy of two lovers whose love was ended by Time.

He adored her and spent spring and summer at her side. He spun her stories of, well, himself... The "myths" of the Greeks - both the known and the not.

But... It still felt wrong. He loved her. He did. (Did he? Or did he love how much she reminded him of him?) He cared about her. Wanted to see her happy.

She wanted to see the world. Perhaps he could give it to her - whisk her away...

Why did the thought make him so cold with guilt? Why did he feel this way?

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

He left her. He just....

It didn't feel right to be with her when it was clear he did not feel quite the same as she. It was likely she knew. Her eyes... She always looked at him with such sadness. Like she knew something that he didn't and...pitied him for it.

A day before he left, Mary had asked him, "Who was the song for? "

"I don't know what you mean," he had laughed.

Then her eyes had that look again, and his heart ached, like a knife had embedded itself deep. "The song you sang when we met? The one about the lovers separated by Time... It's obvious it's a story about you and someone else. And that the song is, well... It sounded like you were singing to them. "

He had no answer for her.

He couldn't stay after that.

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

"Where are your bracelets?"

"Hmm? " Blinking out from his daydream, Apollo regarded his sister with a lazy turn of his head. One that earned him a particularly annoyed look form her. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that. "

Her eyes rolled. "Your bracelets. The ones we made for one another." She held up her hands, showing off the two bracelets that were adorned on each of her wrists. Each a simple band - one gold and bearing a slightly lopsided sun; and one silver, this one with a crooked crescent. "I've been meaning to ask about them. Noticed you haven't worn them since, well... " She shrugged. And he knew what she was getting at. The day they "woke up".

"That's silly. I always... I always wear them." Yet when he pulled back the sleeves to his shirt, he found his right wrist, where his gold bracelet should be, bare. His brow burrowed. "I... What? Where are they? "

How could he have not noticed that they were gone? It's been years since they all had woken from that place of nothing!

Artemis sighed. She looked disappointed, and hurt. It only made him feel worse.

"You lost them, didn't you?"

"No, no, I... " What was there for him to say? He... He couldn't remember what happened to them. "I... I suppose I did. "

"It's okay," said Artemis; though Apollo certainly felt otherwise. "Bound to happen at some point. You always had a bad habit of losing things. Oh! Like that time when--"

And she prattled on with her story about the "good old days". Seemed that was all everyone ever did since the woke.

As he listened, Apollo heard a voice in his ear. At first, he figured it was a rare follower - someone who still believed, if only a bit, in them. Likely it was some hopeful artist or desperate doctor seeking out his aid. But then... Then the voice, a man, started to just... go on and converse with him. No prayer. No pleas. Just... a conversation.

It was so strange. The voice... He sounded so familiar. (And his heart ached and ached with every word he spoke. Practically crying out to this strange man.)

He couldn't help but laugh, amazed, as the man began to list his titles. He was impressed. Whoever this was, he knew his stuff.

Then...

“I miss your birds. My birds,” the voice chuckled. “Got chased out of town for trying to raise a few. They call ravens a bad omen now, but I see they’re still looking out for me."

It all came crashing down on him, slamming into his head like a lightning strike. Years - centuries worth - of memories flooded his mind. And he remembered.

A smile that made his heart flutter; a voice that filled his days with laughter and love. A face that could brighten even his worst days... and a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

He remembered the silly circumstances of their first fighting. (Picking up a snake with his bare hands? What a silly mortal.) He remembered the painful struggle with how he felt about this wonderful man - how he had ignored how much he loved him; so scared to be hurt - and the absolute joy that flooded him when he told him "I love you". He remembered how he feared losing him to a prophecy that kept them apart... And he remembered the pain, the despair, when he left him, faded - the feeling of his arms around his neck, his body beside his, the last he felt before disappearing into the void.

He remembered. He remembered Kleitos.

"How could I have forgotten?" he gasped, breathless and with tears pooling his eyes.

Artemis sat up from her throne. "Apollo? "

But he ignored her. He sought out the raven his Kleitos spoke to and, with a quick gesture, gave a command for it to go to him. Then, ignoring yet another call from his sister, he went to him in a flash of bright light.

Opening his eyes, Apollo found himself on a path leading on to... well... he wasn't quite sure. But where he was didn't matter. What did was the man standing just a foot away.

The clouds parted for this moment, and the sun shone brighter. As it should, Apollo thought, a watery smile on his face. He was with his love again.

When he had woke on Olympus to find the world unfamiliar, so completely changed, he felt incomplete - that something was missing. Now, Apollo knew. He found that missing piece.

Apollo felt whole again.

Blinking back his tears, Apollo called out to the love of his life:

"Hopefully, I'm not a bad omen myself... "

[tangodancerxxxmumu]

meet... niobe bulstrode ( the prince of demons, asmodeus )

age: 25 / ageless

pronouns: she / her

birthplace: gerrard’s cross, england, uk

species: demon ( former banshee )

sexuality: bisexual ( demiromantic )

occupation: none

faceclaim: margaret qualley

&. “you have my permission not to love me; i am a cathedral of deadbolts and i’d rather burn myself down than change the locks.” --rachel mckibbens, “letter from my brain to my heart”

under the cut are multiple triggers, including ( tw death, tw grief, tw loss, tw violence, tw depression ). if i seem to have missed anything, please let me know.

niobe was born into moderate wealth in a town in south buckinghamshire. ( ironically, given her last name, near bulstrode park itself ). the only girl, middle child stuck inbetween a set of twin older brothers and a baby brother, she never quite found her footing in her family or the world at large. whatever her mother had wanted in her daughter, niobe was anything but. even as a child, the girl was rambunctious, short-tempered, and had an obsessive need to prove herself beyond her brothers. she rejected femininity, possibly because her mother endorsed it so heavily. there was, however, one way in which the mother and daughter could relate--they were both banshees.

her father had wanted all sons. while her older brothers pleased him, he wanted more. sons brought with the family power, carried on the bulstrode name. despite this, niobe was her father’s favorite child, and he remarked one day that she would’ve made a better son than a daughter. after that, niobe took on several more masculine traits–independence, leadership within her groups, an assertive nature that didn’t go unnoticed, arrogance.

it wasn’t until she was six years old that she met someone who truly understood her--corban, the son of a family friend. while he’d initially been brought in to befriend her older brothers, the pair of them clearly hit it off right away. they spent most of their time together, writing to each other when they were apart. niobe had never been fanciful about emotions and didn’t use the term lightly, but believed they were soulmates. she even told him about her abilities, and while she was sure he didn’t believe her, he didn’t mock her or run.

the older she got, the more her mother desperately wanted to make her look more... presentable to society. after all, her friends would have lavish parties, and she couldn’t parade her daughter around if her daughter refused to wear dresses and smile prettily. there became this routine where niobe would be allowed to dress as she wishes at home, at the boarding school they went to... but her mother would make her dress up to leave the house. niobe felt like a joke in the outfits, and a burning rage began to grow in her. she started getting into fights at school, at home, in public... anywhere. corban usually joined in, though she learned she was much better with her fists than him. no matter. she’d do a good chunk of the damage, and he’d be backup.

as niobe grew, so did her love of sports--soccer, specifically. she practiced every day, learned tactics, eventually trying out for teams. she ended up making a professional british league at twenty one. her mother wanted her to go to university and meet a nice man. her father, as much as he loved his daughter, wanted his wife happy. it caused a huge fight, and, in the dead of the night, niobe packed a bag, grabbed corban from his house, and the pair of them left. their families begged for them to return, but they’d long decided that all they needed to get by was each other.

the shitty flat they were living in was worth it for the freedom it gave them. corban was able to bring home men and women without judgement, and niobe was able to dress as she wished and come into her own more. the fights still happened, but less frequently. more often, they were provoked. they were happy, for a change. she’d been training her banshee abilities with her mother while she was younger, and occasionally she’d receive a text from the woman begging her to come home so she could continue, but she never did. being a banshee... never fit in with the plan.

two years after running off, niobe and corban were celebrating his twenty-fourth birthday by bar hopping, just the pair of them. around two in the morning, they decided to walk back to their apartment, taking a shortcut through their typical alley. normally, it was empty, but that night, a few men had been waiting for them. men they’d fought before. men who were angry. they were in no state for a fair fight, and they were outnumbered. it didn’t take long before two men were restraining niobe, the other two knocking corban around until he was on the ground. they kept hitting him, and hitting him, and this strange feeling was flooding niobe’s body. this awful sort of energy... then they began to bash his skull in against the concrete. she shrieked, this inhuman wail that made the men let go of her, and as they ran off, she knew her friend was gone. she’d felt it. 

niobe became a mere shell of herself after that night. she stopped leaving the apartment, not for practice or anything. she was kicked off of the team, which should’ve hurt, but she felt nothing. nothing but this ebb and flow of intense sorrow to intense apathy... and then back. she’d always been thin, but she lost her muscle, her definition. she spent hours in his room, staring at the art on the walls. she cried until she shook, then wailed until her voice was sore, but nothing helped. she could remember how it felt when he died. and it went on for months, this pain. the better part of a year she spent, losing herself... until a dark witch showed up.

if this were anyone else’s story, perhaps the witch that showed up might have taken advantage of her state. perhaps, in another tale, the witch would’ve heard about her and played her for a fool. but niobe... she was ready to be gone. she’d found the witch, a darker one, begging her to let something else take control. she wanted power, wanted to be rid of this grief... she didn’t want to think about corban anymore. and the witch took pity on her, invoking a powerful demon to inhabit her body as niobe, for the first time in almost a year, smiled.

asmodeus was the prince of demons, and an ancient being. biblical. he was the very snake that seduced eve into eating the apple in eden. he’s a demon of wrath, of sex, of prophecies, of treasures. married to the demon lilith, his wife. the demon found a sort of beauty as he possessed niobe, one he hadn’t seen in a while. a sad poetry to the tragic greek name. as the pair fused, niobe fading within herself, he decided to take on the persona.

niobe hasn’t been within herself for years, but that’s what she wanted. the demon within her has adopted her body, her identity, her sex. she eventually settled in bellport, maine, drawn by the magnetic pull of the small town. now, she’s exploring. niobe isn’t home, but you wouldn’t know that looking at her.

[palegengarsiloved]

Buddhism, Existentialism, Dark Souls

Fromsoft's games revolve around a core idea, one that other Japanese auteurs like Hideo Kojima, Fumito Ueda, Yoko Taro also touch on: the cycle of life and death, the suffering inherent in that natural system, and the connections we can still form and the meaning we can still find within them. It's obviously rooted in Buddhist and Shintoist beliefs, as well as other East Asian philosophies that acknowledge the supremacy of nature (and natural processes), accept the impermanence and imperfection of the world, and yet (therefore?) also the beauty found therein. First, how do other forms of media try to communicate these ideas? In traditional East Asian visual arts, humans are oftentimes either ignored or viewed as very small, distant figures, entirely dwarfed by nature. Early Buddhist art avoided human depiction at all, using instead icons like wheels and lotuses/cherries to communicate ideas of the cyclic nature of the world and the impermanence of the moment (it's argued that human depictions of religious figures only came into prominence after the whole Greco-Bactrian thing where Greeks set up shop in what is now Afghanistan/Pakistan and started carving gods-as-people, and I mean, you gotta compete with that seductive reification of divinity). Shintoist poetry is brief, fragile, incomplete, often summoning a brief moment of nature ("this dewdrop world / is a dewdrop world / and yet, and yet--"). Kurosawa's deep love of rain and bamboo, Ozu's pillow shots of landscapes and rooms devoid of people. All of these use tools unique to their respective mediums to manifest a sensation or emotion into the audience: Ozu focusing on an empty street for 10+ seconds wouldn't be possible in painting or sculpture; architecture's capacity towards grandness and sense of proportion to a person inside it can't be communicated through photographs. Think about the tools unique to video games, now. Think of all the ways you interact with a game: user interface, input controls, gameplay loops, level design, etc, and how those connect to create a totality of experience. All of these drastically affect the interplay between audience and art; think of if a Jeff Koons balloon animal sculpture were installed in some small garage versus a giant New International-style skyscraper lobby. (Imagine if Dark Souls was presented as a visual novel or whatever genre Undertale is.) Now think about how Dark Souls approaches each of those tools. User interface and item management is one that is quite clever: you are given an item, and you have zero idea of what it is, so you find a brief safe moment and take a look at its item description. It's vague and honestly impenetrable, with a little bit of equally-impenetrable lore on it. You only have one so far, so you're afraid to use it, but you have the feeling that not only could it be useful, but perhaps even necessary for some encounter. You see that you can carry up to 99 (and store 600) of them, so maybe there'll be more later? You know that you've picked up stuff that you thought might be one-off and found more later, or a merchant who sells it. Fuck it, might as well try it out - after all, this user interface is almost begging you to think about the lore meanings, the possible item use, and exploring for more of them, or how/where you could best use it. It's designed so that you acknowledge the rarity of it, but also are assured to not to worry too much about it and just try it out for whatever benefit you can get in this dangerous world. What's the worst thing that happens - you die and waste it? You've lost thousands of souls (the precious in-game currency) before, what's one lightning paper or green blossom whatever? You know this game is famously difficult; "It's like Dark Souls" is industry shorthand for "It's a fucking hard game" at this point. Might as well try something new in this brief cycle you have before the next inevitable death. That leads me to the next tool: the corpse-running / death mechanic. You'll die a lot, sure, but then you'll learn more, have the opportunity to think about what you might be doing wrong or not seeing, maybe even find a shortcut or trick or use a different item this time to make it easier. It's another ostensible punishment that's actually an opportunity for you to get better at the game, and to think about maybe using that one item for a boost or trying out a different weapon, but also it starts teaching you something very important to the series plot and themes: it's okay to die - natural, even. A part of life. It's not a waste any more than anything else in life is a waste - the only waste is if you don't learn from it, appreciate it, bask in the purifying fire of failure to find yourself in something close to Zen gameflow. Even then, it's not the game disrespecting your time; I would say that it's the player disrespecting their own experiences, discarding any outcome other than an easy victory as a waste, as pointless, as if progress is the only marker of a life well lived. Resisting death, panicking, generally facing it in an undignified manner... all of these are counter-productive. To do so is to miss the philosophy of why there isn't an instant boss restart button! The brief little life as you scurry to your undistinguished death is, perhaps, the point. I mean this in a game sense, too. If you are deeply reluctant and fearful of death, you won't have as much success exploring dangerous and unfamiliar areas. Once you accept that you might lose some paltry number of souls in exchange for new items, new shortcuts, new areas... the game becomes less of a hostile slog and more of this world that you want to explore and understand. Yes, there'll be some suffering; that's to be expected. But there's still rewards you can find, NPCs you can ogle, vistas you can enjoy. Kind of a blunt metaphor, huh? That leads to the level design. By that I mean not only shortcuts and verticality/horizonality, which are ingenious from a design perspective, but in how the levels evoke two major things: one is the lived-in nature of the world; the other is how small you are in comparison to it. Cathedrals are prominently featured throughout the games. Historically they were specifically designed to make laypersons feel small in the presence of divinity, to make their eyes look upward, and to contemplate the sheer power (physical and social) necessary to create these things. Think of how small you are, then, that there are even greater powers in nature that can make these monuments to humanity fall. As for the lived-in aspect, think of how strange the items you find are, how fragmentary their lore, and yet how they start to fit together, even from their placement in the world. (Why is a Choir investigator-assassin hiding out in the School of Mensis? Why does he drop sedatives?) There's this giant world taking place around you and you're so unimportant that no one really bothers to tell you anything more than vague prophecies and allusions. Anyone who points you somewhere concrete sees you as the pawn you are; you're also literally smaller than many other NPCs (Non-Player Characters) to illustrate this point. The NPCs are yet another way that the game acutely communicates its existential ideas to you. Everyone in the Dark Souls world is cursed to not die, but rather turn Hollow – that is, to lose their minds in lieu of death. The only way to fight against this curse is to commit to a purpose and use that willpower to stave off insanity. This is strongly absurdist in nature, as a cursed undead either completes their goal and then, newly purposeless, goes insane, or the goal is unfulfillable, and the goal-seeker is doomed to an eternity of Sisyphean torment. Some NPCs appear broken under this will, crestfallen or twisted or gleeful upon recognizing the sheer injustice of their burden; some soldier bravely on; some offer unconditional kindness; some perform a mixture of all three. There are startlingly few characters in this game, each almost hidden by the landscapes, and each clearly dwarfed – both literally by the environments they are lost in, and by the staggering difficulty of the tasks they took up. It’s almost easy to attack all the NPCs you come across, as you’re conditioned to be fearful of any other entity you encounter; many players kill a certain peaceful demonic entity because they’ve slain so many similar-looking monsters defending her. It’s easy to miss these connections, and the game makes no effort to protect them. It’s the hedgehog’s dilemma: can you let down your guard towards someone who very well may hurt you, in a world that has done nothing but hurt you? Will others do the same? The multiplayer component of this game adds a corollary to this social experiment: there will, inevitably, be those who seek to invade and destroy you, those who will defend and avenge you, those who will help you, and those who will dabble in all three. You see every day in real life: the wounded lashing out in pain, the happy few just trying to help others along the way, the people who want to create some sense of justice in an indifferent universe. Oftentimes, one human will try out all three roles in their life. Why do we do this? Perhaps it’s how we work through the cosmic injustice of our existence, in a form of primitive dialogue that we need to act out. The human condition, after all, is reconciling oneself with the fact that we, and everyone we know, are fated to someday die. That's where the plot intersects with the gameplay and themes to make the whole greater than the sum of its parts. The directive you’re given at the beginning of the game is to extend the Age of Fire, the era you are currently living in; you are told that this is because with Fire there’s light, and time, and the creative spark of divinity on high. However, it turns out that unnaturally prolonging the Age of Fire is actually pretty bad, and results in all sorts of upheaval and foul consequences (including, possibly, the undead curse itself, unless you believe a certain scholar in DS2…). We learn as we venture through this game and interface with its mechanics that death must be a part of life and dark must accompany light. We also know that something can arise out of nothing (as we know there was a “time” before the Age of Fire; think pre-Big Bang), so it turns out that even if you don’t extend the Age of Fire, the larger cycle of death and rebirth perhaps never ends. In any case: fighting against this inevitability, fighting against the possibility of pain and loss caused the Gwyn, the Lord of Fire and Light, to ultimately sacrifice and thus lose everything he defended in tragic irony; similarly, trying too hard to lean into the turn caused Oolacile/New Londo/Farron Keep to be lost in the Dark forever. By dying over and over in-game, by investigating the subtle hints of lore found in the items and the sparse dialogue, and by witnessing the sad existence of these once-great powers of Fire that have long-since shriveled up under the infinite and inescapable wheel of nature, you begin to internalize the themes these games try, through all the tools at their disposal, to make you feel. You can live, however briefly, and value it, but also learn to let it go. You can love nature and respect its impersonal processes, understand that ultimately it will reclaim us, and find some comfort that the end isn't necessarily the end. There will be suffering, but there will be moments of total (if brief) triumph. There will be moments of tenderness with NPCs that can only be generated by a video game world where life is immensely fragile and nothing but the curse of insanity permanent. Will you allow yourself to try and help them, knowing how difficult and obtuse it will be, and how little it might seem to matter? Will you extend the Age of Fire to uphold the lie, because this Age is the only thing you and the rest of the world has ever known? Will you be brave – or perhaps, human – enough to reach out to others in this brief moment before the end of the world, and when the time comes, to let the Age of Fire fade? Can you live, and perhaps just as importantly, die with dignity? The totality of the experience gets the player to directly feel these themes in a way that can't be done in other media. By showing - through the death mechanic, NPC quests that can permanently be failed or missed, unforgiving and vast levels with tons of secrets and shortcuts, obscure item descriptions and the resultant need for exploration and player-driven introspection and experimentation, and not by telling through cutscenes, everything works together to evoke a mood that the player directly feels like they're helping create. The sheer unity - the, ahem, ludonarrative assonance - of the design is beautiful to consider on an intellectual level but also satisfying on an interactive, practical level. You have fun not despite these things, any of which alone may be disheartening, but because together they're so thematically consistent. Taken by itself the corpse run mechanic might be considered unnecessary or anti-fun, but when placed among the larger picture it not only makes sense but makes the player consider that there might be something they're missing, that there may be more to explore elsewhere or some item that will help, because the game is so mysterious and rewards exploration and experimentation so much. This is in addition to how much it reinforces the themes of the game! I could expand on about how such well-executed unity of purpose and audience-medium interplay makes it high art, like, true fucking Michaelangelo's David type shit, but I don't want to get swept up in the hype, so I'll leave you with a classic Dark Souls quote: "therefore try tongue but hole"

[suketchilt]

19 Questions

tagged by @l-y-r-i-u-m-g-h-o-s-t

…:U!

Rules: Answer 19 questions and then tag 19 people who you want to get to know better.

Nickname: Sketch

Zodiac: Virgo (I blanked and was like ‘Year of the Snake…?’)

Height: Almost 4’11”

Last movie I saw: All the way through? ………….. I think it was Little Nemo on YouTube. But random clips I’ve seen more recently? Pieces of the BNHA movie with Spanish subtitles…

Last thing I googled: Zodiac. Because I forgot which things were the Zodiac. 8);;; Before that, I think it was the first line of a police station’s address ‘cause I needed the full address to Uber there for some paperwork. BY THE WAY…. Uber has NO IDEA where that address is and kept sending the poor Uber drivers in circles. I had to use Google Maps to direct them.

Favourite musician: WAIT, DO GROUPS COUNT? ………………………. I don’t have a favorite single person. :C

Song stuck in my head: Nothing. I’m listening to 10 Minute Power Hours and thus NO MUSIC CAN HURT ME… But a few days ago it was Pentagon’s song Humph! ‘cause y’know. YouTube told me it exists and there is orange eye shadow and I had to process that.

Other blogs: I only have one Tumblr. I get asked if I have an adult one for adult art and I’M SORRY TO SAY THAT I JUST DON’T MAKE ADULT ART… Are Twitters blogs? I have one, but I forget about it every other day ‘cause I don’t follow a lot of people and the way it chooses the posts I see and their order confuses me.

Do I get asks: Not normally since I haven’t been doing anything Dragon Age related, but some Lindrel stuff is going around again and someone told me Lindrel is sexy.

Following: Idon’tunderstandthequestion.

Amount of sleep: I usually get about six hours and then wake up feeling sick. I’m not good at sleeping. xD;;

Lucky number: Numbers don’t give me luck, but I like 4, 2, and their multiples. EXCEPT FOR 36. ‘Cause I don’t like 3 and I also don’t like 9. (36 is 9x4.) ‘CAUSE 9 IS 3 TIMES 3 AND YOU CAN’T DO THAT.

What I’m wearing: Long-sleeved, black shirt by Carhartt ‘cause it has a SHIRT POCKET. Also black pants that are probably for yoga. Spoilers: This is what I always wear at home. I literally have eight sets of the same clothes. Then for work it’s Armachillo shirts and Lee’s blue jeans (jeans I bought from SEARS). I’m simple and can’t handle thinking about fashion. If I like it, I buy a week’s worth and that’s that for two years and then I try to rebuy the same stuff as my wardrobe disintegrates around me. Next step is for my next set of Armachillo shirts to all be blue… Currently, Monday and Thursday are blue, Tuesday and Friday are red, and Wednesday is green. I can’t go to Publix on Wednesdays or else people think I work there ‘cause it’s almost the exact same green and looks like the manager attire.

Dream job: I just want to be comfortable. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.

Dream trip: I don’t like traveling. Dream trip is to not take a trip. >->

Play any instruments: Not anymore. I used to play a little piano and I was good at French horn and eventually got a double horn (plays French horn and B flat horn- you use the thumb key to switch the set of pipes you’re using), but this was back in middle school. I’m turning 30 this year. xD;;;; OH. I learned a tiny bit of guitar in college, but it hurts my hands, so I have NOT pursued that.

Languages: English. I used to be okay with Spanish, I just had too low of a vocabulary in the topics I was interested in. I’ve also taken a TINY BIT of French and I’ve had a semester of Russian, German, Latin, Modern Greek, Chinese, and Japanese. I’ve derped with Norwegian Bokmål on Duolingo, but I stopped using Duolingo. I tested too high in its Spanish course, so I still didn’t know the darn vocab. xD;;;;;; I want to learn a little Korean and ASL. Haven’t practiced anything, though. I barely speak freakin’ English now. >8V

Favourite songs: I don’t know. I’m not sure I have any favorites, and it’d be weird to say them given that I pay more attention to the sound/feeling of a song than the words. Usually when I say I like something someone will either say they think it’s dumb or try to discuss the meaning and I’m there like, “I can’t even hear the words clearly and I don’t understand poetry and then half of what I listen to isn’t English so I don’t know what you want from me.”

Random fact: I’ve barely been drawing these past two years ‘cause of work and mental health, but I’m trying. >8I…!! I feel super guilty that people want to see more Lindrel, though, ‘cause I’ve been focusing on other characters who aren’t in the DA universe. I’m sorry. ;o;

Tagging: I haven’t been talking to anyone, but I’ll tag @smuttine and @hobovampire if you haven’t done this recently. >8U! Anyone else can feel free to consider yourself tagged and tag me back so I can read about you. Just ‘cause I rarely initiate doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about you. I’ve clicked through the first few pages of all of your blogs. B) KEEP MAKING ART (THAT INCLUDES WRITING) AND WORKING TO IMPROVE YOURSELVES AND THE WORLD WE LIVE IN. KEEP RESEARCHING AND LEARNING. DON’T BE AFRAID TO HELP OTHERS. DON’T BE AFRAID TO BE WRONG. LEARN AND GROW. >8U!!!

[thiskryptonite]

When in Rome

Tagging: Xander Drakos & August Knight

Time Frame: January 13th - 19th, 2019

Word Count: 1945

Trigger Warning: Alcohol, Slavery, Dark Themes

Notes: August breaks away from the party and finds Vitalis (Xander) who proceeds to give him a small tour of some of the ancient world. INCOMPLETE.

August

The evening had moved past him in a blur, how long had it been? August could not say. Time felt different here, the spring weather made him exuberant and excitable, though perhaps that was the wine and the very fine faerie food he’d indulged in previously. August lay, languid across the lap of someone  he barely knew as the fae recited poetry he implied was a work of his own. August tasted grapes and wine and smiled, despite himself. 

 “The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly - by all this I mean love,” fingers caressed his cheek and absently August cringed. Was he reciting Chaucer? “...which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep.” 

Yeah, he definitely was. Absently August had to wonder how many had succumbed to that tactic. How many had swooned at stolen, honeyed words. Barf. The fae leaned in and from the corner of his eye, August caught the sight of a familiar face and sat up immediately. Hungry for an excuse to get away from this particularly grating plagiarist. “Where are you going?” The fae asked as August stood to leave without so much as a goodbye, “sobriety calls.” August dismissed, not looking back as he made his way towards Vitalis. “Tell me about late Rome? Tell me again about how it fell.”

Xander

Xander had been enjoying his time at the sarau for as long as he could; entertaining the other fae that he didn't know well enough to care about. He missed his old friends, but even now, faces were always missing, and the gatherings got smaller and smaller. He nearly ran off to hide until he heard a familiar voice, glancing over his shoulder to see August running after him. "Don't you have someone else to bother?" The air fae tried not to laugh, wrinkling his nose at the question, "Everyone says Rome fell. No one seems to remember that it split into two – while Western Rome fell, Constantinople thrived. Either way, what do you want to know? What it looked like?" He turned to walk backwards, his eyes glowing brighter for a few moments as the reality between the two of them began to morph. "Rome was all....magnificent archways, shining marble – and conquest. Rome was shitty, but everyone seems to love it. If you want beauty, you should've asked for the shores of the Nile, and the golden pathways of Thebes. How much do you know about the ancient world, kid?"

August

Vitalis’ greeting was predictable, but warm in that it was familiar. The party, however grand and entertaining, was far removed from anything August had yet to experience. The fights were more gilded than the ones he’d experienced, the wine was stronger, the food was richer, and the fae, however blessed among their own. Were embodiments of the disharmonious elements that they each represented. It had been a rich experience, but like any, he began to see the cracks below the surface quickly. The resentment in the eyes of some, the longing in the eyes of others, the sorrow and grief that stained the empty seats. “At the moment? No.” August said, absently wondering where Aria might have gotten off to, but so far everything the witch had seen was -relatively- safe, he was sure she was fine, whereever she was right now.  He followed Vitalis' as the fae's eyes shone more brilliantly, “I know as much as one can find through books and the like, and from what you’ve shown me in the past.” The witch said thoughtfully, “I don’t think there has ever been a great society without some rot, some perhaps more than others, but I would be eager to see the Coliseum, you’ve yet to take me there.” 

Xander

"What, you've never been there to see it crumbling a little? They take pretty good care of it – but huge monuments like theaters are always the longest to last. People just live around it. How do you think Cairo grew to be so big? They took stone from the pyramids. It's why they look like they're made of steps. The tops used to be made of pure gold, and the outside was beautiful white stone. Now, it's the old stone underneath that's shown because over time, people just starting taking stones from the pyramids. It's why I hate the human world. They can't take care of the beautiful monuments left behind from their own ancestors. It's ridiculous." Alexander created a new scene around them, one that was filled with the sounds of a typical Agora. The cobbled streets of Rome were dusty and dirty; children running, guards patrolling – it was everything he'd seen when he was there. "Rome was filled with people. They praised the gods they found in Greece; hailed for treasures that they thought would please their gods." The Colosseum was in front of them now, restored in all of its former glory. "Titus took all the credit for finishing it. They used to play out sea battles, believe it or not. My favorites were the gladiators. You know, you'd think they'd be strong and glorious – most of the time they were missing fingers or an eye and some teeth. Definitely not worth your time. Every now and then they'd bring in an exotic from the East, and I have to say they were the attractive ones. Which is why I'd save them when I could. No one that pretty deserves to die like that."

August

“Sadly no, most of my experiences were scattered between casinos in Vegas, and road trips through the Midwest.” August said easily, “I’d hoped I’d end up in Rome eventually, it was on the list of things I’d like to see, next to the pyramids actually. It is detestable, that such marvels could be created only to be stripped bare.I  read that the ancient Egyptians used slaves to transport the stones from a great distance,” August paused for a moment, he imagined that they were quite the sight to see once. “It seems to be the case for all great human structures that they were built upon the backs of those who endured great and long suffering.” He saw the jewels and the gold in his mind’s eye but somehow underneath, he just saw how it rot. The street that Vitalis transformed before him was bustling, full, exciting. He wondered what magics this era might have offered, if they went back millennia further to ask mythical Circe the legendary secrets of transformation. Absently, August sighed. “They must have been grateful to you,” August chimed, though it was a shame that Vitalis was not able to save more, though August imagined that the air fae much felt the same. “Where did you sit? In the times that you came here.” 

Xander

“Vegas and the Midwest?” Alexander found himself laughing, wrinkling his nose as he looked fondly at the young witch. “North America built on top of everything that was once held sacred by a people who had been there far longer than the Spanish and other Europeans who claimed the land. They were curious as to why the land was barren when they got here and built on skeletons.” He waved his hand, getting completely off topic as he tried to steer the conversation back towards Rome. “Slaves were the norm; anyone could become a slave. If you were the son of a noble and were captured by Spartans, you would have no titles in Laconia. You would simply be another Greek tragedy. Gladiators were slaves - and I could only save so many. And the lives they all lived? Some were good, some were not worth saving. I took care of the ones who weren’t.” He pulled August up onto one of the stands, the echoes of the fight reaching even the highest section. “Wherever I wanted. But here was nice.” The people of Rome were just as he remembered, and the colors of the fabric woven in to the clothes of the nobles compared to the middle class was evident as well. “What do you think?” He asked curiously, changing their scenery to the banks of the Nile.

August

August smiled in return, it was nice to hear the acknowledgment from another. “Colonialism,” August said, the word rolled off his tongue somewhat disdainfully. “My aunt told me our families’ coven had its origins among those people who called the land sacred. My ancestor walked among banks of roses at night, and became known as a man who did such things. The colonists shortened it to just ‘Knight’ for census.” Now an entire coven thrived under it. “Did you have opportunity to see it beforehand?” He imagined desserts that ran uninterrupted for miles, evergreens that rolled the hills and mountains of the Pacific Northwest. He’d always wanted to go north, the thought made him smile despite that it was impossible now. “I suppose,” August hummed as Vitalis went into greater explanation, it was true, when society was stratified class systems made such things common. Practical even. And it wasn’t limited strictly to human society, how else would such pyres of human sacrifice be built. Aptly, August took in the sights as Vitalis unveiled them, sand that rolled through the floor, raucous cheers and laughter that became more contained the higher the two of them climbed. The fae never failed to disappoint, though to him this was just another in a long line of memories - apparently one of lesser interest to Vitalis. The division was clear as they stood at the summit, absently, August wondered where he himself might have sat. Absently he could spy a dark corner, suitable for a social pariah to gaze up at everything that was out of his reach someday he’d say.

It was a relief when the scenery changed, the waters, the richest he’d ever seen. Water rolled across vast and rich, lush sights and settlements and creatures of all forms sculpted the landscape. Lazy amphibians rolled in the muck, or lurked waiting in its depths, monuments in the distance greater and more beautiful than any he’d seen prior; a cornucopia of life as exuberance lifted into the sky. August smiled, it was beautiful, but he was still considering the fae’s question. “I think it is sad,” he hummed lightly before he wandered to the beach, not fearing harm by any of the many-toothed animals that called the banks of the Nile their home. Absently he knelt and felt the grains of fertile sand beneath his fingers, it seemed so real. So powerful was the fae’s magic, but it was still different from what August had expected.

 “The court had many beauties, but here I can say I almost prefer the illusion,” August said, pausing for a moment before he looked at Vitalis- he looked different from what the witch had known him as before. But still he felt the same. He could not help but think he preferred him this way, here, he was in his element, but absently they were frozen in time. It would be too easy to stay here forever, a million questions puddled and pooled in the witches mind, but he was grateful to be with someone he thought of fondly. Someone who answered his questions with only some scathing tones. “But I suspect you feel the same, does it trouble you to bring me here?”