#the-savage-nymph

[sunfluerys]

A shock to the senses. That’s all I need.

[bladestormed]

@villainspeech

" Well how THE MIGHTY FALL, " Larxene spoke out, finally allowing her presence to be noticed after being a silent observer. " Waiting for a SINGLE pat on the head has really made you pathetic, you know. "

[void-kissed]

POV: you managed to load in the secret boss that got left in the code but went unused in the final game

This is just an effectless image I saved while in the process of posing Xiara to put her on the carrd more properly, now that I've remade her reference model. I thought it looked pretty cool, so I figured I'd post it ^-^

[lordofobliivion]

Tag dump!

[sixtymillionoverdueideas]

9 [any]

What would be considered a "good dream"? Well,,........

Other than -cough cough- the special kind Hikōkai does actually dream about some of the things they've done and experienced under ANBU fondly-- though they would be more nightmares to other shinobi,,,. (The smell and taste of blood in the air, the heated fluttering adrenaline rush of seeing the fear in the white of his victim's eyes,, the feeling of being high on his job,,,.)

Ferd would... also beyond the "special kind" enjoy romantic fluffy-sappy dreams about nature and his partner(s),,,. He dreams about forests and meadows and rivers,, chasing and long slow kisses with no rush or quicker more frequent ones with lips that taste like burning summer,,,. He dreams about them in different forms, water exchanged like air or the flutter of wings or the sweet juicy burst of fruit...

[luxmoogle]

The Savage Nymph~

[animereaderinsertwriter]

to fuck a god

tags/warnings: smut, ares x nymph!reader, erwin smith x reader, ancient greece au for a hot minute

a/n: this fic is a gift for the lovely, wonderful @bluebellhairpin whom i adore (and is responsible for my schmexy icon!!!!)

There is shouting in the distance.

Your nose wrinkles, your eyes tighten. Darkness, warm and weighted, presses against you, smothering wakefulness. Peace lulls you back to slumber.

Moments later, there is a scream—  you hear it past the darkness, past the weight. It is the lonely, abandoned cry of a wounded soldier. Your heart lurches, your eyes flutter.

Still you sleep. It has been too long since last you had rest.

It is a crash that finally wakes you. Pain blossoms in your abdomen as a bridge collapses, a crushing pressure that forces air from your lungs. You rise, hot, raging, vengeful; your waters churn, boiling wine-dark with the blood of mortal men. Battle has come to your riverbank, unbidden and unwanted. 

The men do not— cannot— see your body as you emerge from foaming rapids, but that does not lessen the doom they face by the outstretching of your hand. This is your river. The silt and sand beneath their feet, the water in their noses and lungs belong to you; they will not savage it without price

They pay with their lives by the dozen. You extract it from them mercilessly, plunging them beneath the water's surface. As your rapids rage, one man reaches, lunging to gouge another with his spear; even in your wrath, you mark the act as strange. What manner of beast is man that even in the throes of his own death, he seeks to cause another's? You find it too foolish to fathom.

 “For Athens!” cries one man just before you fill his lungs with water. “For the noble House of—”

He does not finish. You smother his battle cry with watery death. Athens could burn for all you cared, along with every noble house and home along the way. You cared little for irreverent man; would that the gods would send you power enough to flood them all.

 “Such fury from one so small. Would that I could inspire like rage in even fifty men.”

The voice, though gruff and deep, was quiet, bemused. In your distraction, you allow a man to escape your clutches and crawl back to shore, gagging and sputtering as he went. Furious, you turn and find the true object of your ire lounging beneath the shade of a fig tree, a scroll in hand. Once, it might have amused you to find the god of war reading, of all things— but you were accustomed now to his all-too-frequent visits, and the oddity had worn off its charm.

“Restless vagabond,” you spit, feet slapping as you walked from your place in the water to the shore next to his tree. “Go back to Sparta, Ares—you're not wanted here.”

So saying, you fold your arms, waiting for a response. When the god doesn’t deign to reply, you flick water from the tips of your fingers in his direction. Shiny droplets land in his dark hair, glistening like dew; a single shimmer of water races down the thick bridge of his nose, then dives off the blunt tip of it to land on his scroll.

“Woman.” 

The word is spoken lowly— a warning— but has no real bite. Your words, however, are far from toothless, heedless of how great and terrible is the power that he wields.

“I am no mere woman— no more than you are mere man.”

Dark-bright eyes look up at you, their russet brown edging on red as they sparkle with mischief. As his gaze follows the curves and plains of your body, Ares smiles— the very definition of crude and lascivious.

“You are a woman in all the ways that count.”

That, you supposed, was true enough.

“Why have you come?”

He nods towards the chaos of your river.

“The men brought me.”

“As if mortal man makes his own war.” Your face contorts into a scowl. “I ask again: Why have you come? Why come you to savage my banks, pollute my waters with foul man-blood and stinking mortal shit?”

“I told you the truth, pretty one.” Ares rolled his scroll gently. It crackled under his huge hands, but did not bend. “The men wage war, and whithersoever they wage, there I must be also.”

“Pretty one,” you grumble, angry at how well the compliment pleased you. “Better wrathful one, or vengeful one.”

“Those too, if it pleases you.”

He stands, brushing grass from his toga. The clothing in question, made of crimson fabric, falls just shy of halfway down his bulging, golden thigh, revealing softly curving muscle. The hulking mass of him throws a shadow long enough to cast doubt and fear into your very bones, even more so as he approaches you— but then he is close, so very close, and murmuring sweetly just for you to hear.

“Come, my Lady Wrath, my Darling Vengeance— does my presence really disturb you so greatly?”

You can smell the battle on him. His scent is metallic, like blood, and salty like sweat— and yet there is also the clean scent of the field, the spice of victory wine, and the smoke of burning bodies. Ares is and always has been a study in opposites, both animal magnetism and soft, reasonable attraction.

"Yes," you admit, striving for exasperation and hitting nearer to tremulous want. "You do disturb me." 

A large, warm hand grips your hip. You suddenly become aware of the bareness of your skin, the cool damp of you against the warm heat of him. The contact brings a flush to your cheeks. Your body responds as his hand flexes, squeezing; you can't help but search his gaze, wondering, as ever, what he's thinking. 

"I love that you're naked," he says, at once soft and sharp. "Your form pleases me, lady nymph. Your kind are never shy, but you are the only river-sprite I know that dares brave land baring all."

He touches you further, that large, rough hand sliding up the curve of your waist. He spreads his warmth from your hip to your ribcage to your neck, gently exploring. The touch is electric, yet strangely innocent. He is a god admiring Creation. Admiring you.

As before, you allow it— and how could you not? 

Who were you to say no to the attention and affection of a god?

"The men are dying in my waters," you say as his fingertips trace your jaw. "I'll fall ill, Ares."

"You shall not. I shall send another of my kin to cleanse you, as I did before."

You have nothing to say in return. As if sensing this, he kisses you, busying your mouth with the more pressing business of his want. Both of his hands are on you now, one on your neck, one at the swell of your ass; as he pulls you close, you can feel the hot, hard length of him against you, protected only by the thin fabric of his toga. The sensation is heady, and you pride yourself on keeping your feet through the ordeal. 

"Will you let me have you once more?" he asks against your lips. "What say you, my nymph of rage?"

You consider for a moment. Always, he gives you the choice. You know he needn't— he is stronger, more powerful, and could and had easily taken what he wanted before. It makes you wonder if giving you the choice, allowing you to choose him, is a way for him to conquer you. In the end, it doesn't matter. There was only ever one answer. 

"Yes." Your breath comes quick as a calloused thumb brushes over your nipple. "Yes, Lord Ares. I will have you." 

In the end, there is no shame. Even Aphrodite herself had been unable to say no to the wiles of the war god. As conqueror, it was not in his nature to be refused. 

Having gained your assent, Ares does not waste precious time. Instead, he kisses up your neck, to your ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth and scraping gently. The act sends goosebumps racing down your flesh, and you shiver. Ares kisses lower, down to the hollow of your throat and the plain of your chest, his hands wandering to hardened, sensitive nipple and gently curving breast. He touches you, explores you, holds you like you are precious, and your body opens to him.

"Spread your legs," he says against your neck. "I want to taste you."

So saying, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing himself of a height with your sex. Filthy and impossible, he noses at the apex of your thighs, nudges your legs apart with his hands; it is everything you can do to remain standing as he begins a great and terrible onslaught against your dignity. It is so much. It is not enough. Your hands move to his hair, pulling the soft strands as a long, thick finger finds your entrance, and he groans as he finds that his finger slips easily inside. Still, he does not budge from his task until you're trembling, quaking above him as your orgasm nears— and even then, it is only to look up at you with glistening mouth and fuck-me eyes and say,

"Kneel."

You can do nothing but obey. You kneel before Ares, and he kisses you, letting you taste your own pleasure from his mouth. It's filthy and perverse and everything you've ever wanted as he lowers you gently to the earth, wrapping your legs around his wide hips. You look up at him, awestruck. In this moment, he is soft, beautiful. He is nothing like you would have imagined War to be. 

Ares takes a moment to toss aside his clothing. His sex is even larger than you remember it— or, perhaps his form alters according to his godly will, and he is striving to impress. In any case, your sexes are now aligned— his tip to the very opening of your body— and all that remains is one push before he is fully seated. 

Despite all, you find yourself anxious for that push. 

"Do it," you urge, smothering that feeling. "Fuck me, Ares."

You can tell it pleases him to hear his name from your mouth. Even so, he does not acquiesce immediately, which both frustrates and endears him to you. 

"I'll go slowly," he says. "It is no small thing to fuck a god. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

You have no reply— not when his cockhead is pushing slowly into you, making way for the rest of his large, heavy cock. It is nearly a religious experience, being filled by him. You cry out as he's finally seated deeply within you, and all at once you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. 

"Yes," you tell him as he withdraws to begin another slow thrust. "Yes, yes, yes."

The word becomes a song as he picks up the pace. It is a song of moans and cries and deepest feeling— he kisses you as you keen, and the hot, hard length of him slows to an agonizing pace.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as though you are breakable. "Should I slow down?"

It infuriates you. 

With all your power, you shove at his chest. At first, be doesn't seem to understand, taken aback by your newfound aggression— but eventually, when you use the force of your hips to indicate your desire, he goes easily backwards, landing with a gentle thump on his back so that you can straddle his hips, impaling yourself on his length. Hands braced on the warm softness of his chest, you begin to grind, pushing him ever deeper into you until both of your breaths come heavy and your time is near. 

"You were made to be abed with War," Ares tells you, smiling madly up as you move above him. "Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You barely hear him.

"Lovely creature. I would make you my queen, if I could." His voice pitches upward in a moan of pleasure as you use his body. "I would make you heir to my kingdom of ash and broken bone, would burn worlds for you."

Cogent thought is lost to pleasure, but you feel the meaning of his words. It pushes you closer, so close, so close—

"Come, pretty one," he says, "Awake, destroyer of man. I will catch you if you fall, in this life or the next."

You jerk awake. 

A warm hand rests on your shoulder. You turn, groggy with sleep, and find a pair of shining blue eyes peering into your own. Erwin Smith—your husband and commander— has never looked more handsome than now, with chest bare above pajama pants that fall a little too short at his ankle. 

"Are you alright, love?" he asks you, tender, gentle. "A nightmare?"

The wetness between your legs indicates otherwise. You guide his large, calloused hand there, wordlessly allowing him to feel your answer, and he smiles. 

"In that case, I'm sorry for waking you." He presses a kiss to your temple, a finger pressing into your folds. "You don't get enough downtime as it is."

You hum in agreement and run your hands along the solid, curving lines of his biceps. 

"You could always order me on bed rest, commander," you tease as he shifts, placing himself exactly as Ares had in your dream— between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips. 

"If I did that, nothing would ever get done."

"No? Am I that big of a help, then, that the Scouts couldn't function without me?"

"No," Erwin grinned, mischievous, "It's because if I put you on bed rest, I'd never leave your bed."

You smile, then gasp as he presses against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his pajamas. The feeling is startlingly familiar, and all at once, Ares' words come back to you. 

"You were made to be abed with War. Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You wonder if the dream was entirely that. It felt so raw, so real— and, though Erwin and the Ares of your dream shared little physical similarity, you suspected that they were made of the same parts. Only the paint was different. Ares was bronze and dark where Erwin was pale and blond, but in their hearts— in their dark, violent hearts, capable of more and deeper love than a mortal could imagine— they were the same. They were men made of war, bathed in the blood of innocents.

And they both wanted you. 

"Lay back," you tell your husband, pushing at the soft muscle of his chest. "I want to ride you."

Erwin grins. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

[genericpuff]

Hello, brazilian anon here! So I have been following criticisms of LO for a while now, and Psyche and Eros caught my attention in special, because their relationship is legit a racist trope commonly applied to indigenous people: Woman of color is put in a arranged marriage or pressured into marrying a guy from her village/tribe but "falls in love" with a white dude who "saves" her from her abusive and "uncivilized" family. Think of Disney's Pocahontas. This trope is commonly used to dehumanize non-european/anglo-saxon cultures and portray them as barbaric, and is rooted in colonialism and its direct heir, imperialism, as a means for colonizers to justify and sugarcoat raping and forcing women of color to marry them. So not a good look for Rachel.

OH YEAH IT IS

(you just opened Pandora's Box by mentioning Pocahontas around me LMAO)

It's even more egregious when you consider how Rachel changed the original myth from Psyche undergoing trials on her own to her ... being turned into a nymph servant for Aphrodite. Like huh. Is that really your final draft, Rachel? Have you thought this through?

I made a very spicy post about this like a year and a half ago and honestly I think it's still worth talking about because it's incredibly telling that Psyche had her entire story uprooted and replaced with a version where she's transformed into a non-POC character to disguise herself as a servant to a woman who's already racist towards nymphs. It's got that issue of "take the black character and transform them into an animal/other being that isn't black so that we don't have to have a black character onscreen for more than 10 minutes."

And yeah, you can tell how much Rachel is absentmindedly taking from Disney without challenging what those stories were portraying or asking deeper questions to get to the heart of their messaging. Pocahontas is rightfully panned for being a very white-washed version of a story that was written in the blood shed by Native Americans at the hands of colonizers. "Pocahontas" herself, even, was not some independent native woman who fell in love with the "one good white guy" on the boat, she was a teenage girl, whose life was spared but made worse when she was forced to travel overseas to be used as a prop to justify their continued actions in murdering and colonizing the "savages" overseas; she was then forced into marriage and had to carry the children of her captors, all while being treated as an exotic spectacle by the people around her who would undoubtedly kill her at the first sign of disobedience.

Her name was Matoaka. Her life and story is not something that should be romanticized. It's a tragedy and much of what instigated it is still alive and well today. She only lived to be 21.

I don't know if Rachel intentionally referenced or ripped off Pocahontas in Lore Olympus the same way she clearly has with Hercules and Beauty and the Beast. But it's incredibly telling in how she treats the racial divide between nymphs and gods and how she's twisted the Eros x Psyche myth into what it is that even if she did watch Pocahontas, she probably never realized how problematic it is at its core in the way that it's told.

In the original myth, Psyche is a woman who's meant to represent the fickleness of vanity - the loneliness it can make one feel to be admired and not truly loved, and the destruction that can be brought about in jealousy - and her pursuit in finding genuine love in Eros, a journey she travels alone, thematically with the rest of the story.

In Lore Olympus, she's an illiterate woman of color whose only purpose is to be Eros' wife, robbed of all agency so that she can be a trophy for him to earn, a test for him to pass. It's boring and really icky when you really peel back the layers of it with Psyche's character design in mind. Even when she finally does get more agency in her task to bring down Apollo - or at the very least, keep an eye on him - it's still at the behest of Zeus who gives her immortality not as a reward for overcoming the trials she set out to pass, but so she can be his errand boy. So once again she's not capable of doing anything motivated by her own best interests (especially when she already knows how dangerous Apollo is, why is she the one who has to follow this guy around?)

So yeah, no, not a good look at all LMAO

[tylermileslockett]

POSEIDON

“I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great god, mover of the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of Helicon and wide Aegae. A two-fold office the gods allotted you, O Shaker of the Earth, to be a tamer of horses and a saviour of ships!”  

(-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

POSEIDON(puh-SAI-din) is the God of the seas, earthquakes, droughts, and horses. Pulled along in his seashell chariot by half-horse, half-fish creatures called Hippocampi, he holds his sacred trident high, bringing a tumultuous storm behind him. Standing beside him is his sea nymph wife, Amphitrite, who is the eldest of fifty nereid daughters of Nereus; the “old man of the sea.” 

Amongst the waters are the god’s faithful followers. The half-fish, half-man creature at bottom right is Triton, herald son of Poseidon, who uses a conch shell to calm the waves and announce the God’s arrival. In the middle is a Nereid, a female sea nymph, typically portrayed as a maiden riding a dolphin. Bottom left is Palaimon, sea god and protector of sailors, sometimes depicted as a boy on a dolphin. 

The god of the sea is known for his savage retributions. One fascinating episode involves Poseidon and Athena entering a competition to become the patron god of Athens. Upon the Acropolis, Poseidon produces a salt water spring for the Athenians, while Athena wins by creating the first olive tree. The sea god, in his anger, sends a flood to punish the mortals. In the odyssey, after Odysseus blinds Poseidon’s son, the giant cyclops Polyphemus, the god causes havoc and disaster for the hero and his crew as they attempt to sail home. Poseidon sends Cetusthe sea serpent to punish QueenCassiopa for her hubris in comparing her daughter Andromedato the nereids. And, he sends a bull from the sea to terrorize Theseus’ son Hippolytus’ chariot.

Want to own my Illustrated Greek myth book jam packed with over 130 illustrations like this? Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024. check my bio LINKTREE

Thanks for looking and reading! :)

[muses-of-the-memory]

Sora, Donald and Goofy continued to stay close to Ahsoka Tano throughout the Sith Temple, and swim across the water from within. As they explored, they manage to take down some of the Heartless that might slow them down.

However, the three heroes began to hear some voices, like some of their fallen foes they had defeated like Jafar, Ursula, Hades, Captain Hook, Oogie Boogie, and worse, Maleficent taunting them. “You boys let down your boat boy king... Can’t even stop us in finding that there black box!” An imitation of Pete’s voice  laughed.

 “Was that Pete?” Goofy said. “Knock it off!” Donald shouted about the taunting as he used Fire magic, but it hit nothing. “These voices have to be some kind of trick.” Sora stated. “You really are a hero... A HEARTLESS hero. Letting down Kairi like that.” An imitation of Larxene’s voice taunted at Sora, and it was making Sora angry.

Closed RP w/@muses-of-the-memory

Ahsoka made her way deep inside the Sith Temple. The very place they were told to go to in order to find a way to defeat the Sith. However, it was all in vain. Not only did they find no way of defeating the Sith, but she found out the real truth about her master.

In the back of her mind, she knew the truth, but kept on denying it. She refused to admit the man she looked up, who trained her, taught her all she knew, and saved her, would become the Sith Lord Darth Vader.

The very same Sith who wiped out the Jedi at the Jedi Temple, but serves the Sith Lord himself, Darth Sidious, the Emperor of the Galactic Empire.

Ahsoka had hope she could have saved her master and bring him back to the light, but it seems, even though the two were reunited, there was no bringing him back. She too would have been one of his many victims, had it not been for Ezra Bridger. Who not only saved her, but brought her to a world between worlds. One where they could go through any moment in time and space.

However, they were attacked by Darth Sidious, who was attempting to break into this world. Thankfully, they stopped him and went their separate ways. With Ahsoka returning to the Sith Temple on Malachor, right after the temple was destroyed.

Ahsoka didn't know where these staircases will lead her, but she knew she had to keep her presence hidden. She knew Darth Vader was still alive and is still on the planet. So, she'll need to wait till he leaves so she can find a way off this planet. An easy task, right?

As she heads down the steps, she can feel there's a dark presence waiting for her. Something she's never felt before. So, she kept her guard up. Her hands ready to ignite her lightsabers, just in case she runs into someone or something not friendly down here.

@muses-of-the-memory

[tsublue]

Chiron & wounds ASTROLOGY

Babes is back!

What is Chiron in Greek Mythology?

Credited source.

Chiron, in Greek mythology, one of the Centaurs, the son of the Titan Cronus and Philyra, an Oceanid or sea nymph. Chiron lived at the foot of Mount Pelion in Thessaly. Unlike other Centaurs, who were violent and savage, he was famous for his wisdom and knowledge of medicine.

Chiron astrological explanation:

The asteroid represents the strength of vulnerability, healing wounds (of trauma sometimes), what were given to you from generations before you/ancestors.

Chiron is the strongest in Saturn & Uranus and said to be it’s ruler metaphorically since asteroids do not have an official ruler.

Astrology can point out some things that are possibly relevant to you. Please do not blame it on the placement or anything as such. Astrology is not what, but how. Use this for your advantage and 110% seek help and support if needed.

Chiron in Aries/1st house/1, 13, 25*

You may have been raised to be independent / or have superiors project such quality onto you. You are longing for justice. When going into wounds then there can be a feeling of having an unimportant purpose & uselessness. There is a chance of an unfortunate event in sports has happened on a mental/psychological level that can be hurting you.

Chiron in Taurus/2nd house/2, 14, 26*

You may have an insecurity for your soft side and struggle to either let out feminine energy or even have trouble with things surrounding your voice.(Either for an example struggling to let out your mind for others.)

There can be an insecurity for material possessions like insecure about your house. There will be a fear of losing things surrounding vocal abilities, vulnerability & material possessions.

Chiron in Gemini/3rd house/3, 15, 27*

The feeling of being unintelligent and poorly communicated is the stepping stone. There can come a feeling of being different from others which means you are not meant to fit in, but stand out and shine. It is not an embarrassing thing and should be embraced and used to your advantage. Since gemini is the sign of communication there is a possibility for social anxiety or due to moving to a different country there could he a language barrier troubling you.

Chiron in Cancer/4th house/4, 16, 28*

There is a possibility that you have uncleared connections with a family member/superior or more troubling you, even possibly would that be on a subconscious level that needs to be worked out. You may have a feeling of being unloveable or abandoned in the family. You can feel like you don’t receive as much care as some other members and it can upset and hurt you. This can highly affect self esteem mentally and psychologically and cause emotional pain and feeling of emptiness.

Chiron in Leo/5th house/5, 17, 29*

This placement can make you feel like others don’t see you as an individual and more of a “background” character. Like you may feel like you are not noticed that much. This can show any type of performance anxiety. You can feel unnoticed and ignored mostly. This can show an insecurity about some talent that should be used by you to your advantage and it’s important to find a right kind of social circle for your own good.

Chiron in Virgo/6th house/6, 18*

There can come an unpleasant feeling of being unclean, incompletement, unorganized and it relates to self-worth. You may have an intendancy of trying to “fix” yourself, but it 11/10 times just backfires until you realized you really cannot and that’s okay and normal.

Chiron in Libra/7th house/7, 19*

You seek for close and true relationships of any kind, but mostly have failed in that. You may spend time trying to find things that can complete you. You may feel inept and unsuccessful at communication and that can also create insecurity leading to even more difficulties creating the relationships.

Chiron in Scorpio/8th house/8, 20*

There can be an uncleared or an unpleasant relationship with a deceased individual that you may feel guilt over. You can be really terrified of change and transformations. Risk taking is also a not so relevant theme for you and may sometimes relate to earlier memories with bad causes around such topics that have kept you from doing it yourself.

Chiron in Sagittarius/9th house/9, 21*

There may be a traumatic experience from or just not having an interest in overseas travel. You’ve felt a disconnect in religion and feel like it’s not something for you and feel that it is or has been kept you from some things that you value. You can be very skeptical and non believing of spiritual practices. This can also mean an existential crisis since of finding no point in such themes including higher studies and see that it’s not something for you.

Chiron In Capricorn/10th house/10, 22*

In it’s home.

Can cause anxiety of financial gains. There is an desperate need for achievement. There can come a feeling of being unheard, unrecognized in non beneficial situations. This placement is good since once in a while you will be reminded of your wound and it pushes you to work on it and get it in harmony. You constantly have a need and strategically think of every situation and how beneficial it can be and is for you.

Chiron in Aquarius/11th house/11, 23*

In it’s home.

This can show that you might’ve been raised on a screen or an electronic item has been a part of your childhood. It can show an insecurity in the technological stuff like not knowing how to do something on a computer. This placement can show a struggle of finding what you like and your purpose since it’s something different from the usual. There can also be a possibility of not wanting to show your face on the internet.

Chiron in Pisces/12th house/12, 24*

You don’t like to be alone with yourself in solitude. There can be anxiety surrounding being left out. There can come a feeling of “life is unfair”, but only to realize (when healed) that every individual is on their own path and they do not align with each other. Due to not enjoying your own company and other factors can result in emotional disconnect. You crave the universe/any religion god you believe in approval and as such and when being rejected can cause the person to shut down.

PLEASE DO NOT, COPY, REWORD, REPOST AND ETC ON ANY OF MY POSTS. IF YOU WANT TO USE SOME ASPECTS OF A POST THEN ASK FOR PERMISSION FIRST FROM THE AUTOR AND ALWAYS GIVE CREDITS. - All rights reserved to tsublue

Would love to see your discussion in the comments!!

Love, Tsunami xx

[bladestormed]

@incubabe ⚡ asked: ❝ i’m just an average gal who happens to be quite the ladies’ wo-man. ❞

" Oh you think so, hm ??? " Larxene gave a GENUINE laugh then, too humored in that moment to provide a more witty response. " Your confidence is there, I'll give you THAT MUCH credit. But I wouldn't say that warrants THAT TITLE. You'd have to do a little more to prove yourself !!! "

[neechees]

It's really such a simple thing to love about Prey, but the way they shot all of the village scenes feels real, it didn't feel romantisized like the way a lot of other films shoot Native scenes.

Like comparatively to something like The New World by Terrence Malick, Werowocomoco is frequently called "an Eden" in the script, with its Powhatan inhabitants compared to things like "fairies" and "nymphs" (I'm not joking, I'm quoting). And even in the final version of the film, shots of Werowocomoco are overlaid with narration by John Smith talking about how everything is perfect there, so its STILL coming from a colonizers perspective & prioritizing HIM and how HE sees it. Werowocomoco wasn't a perfect utopia with perfect Powhatan inhabitants, no place is like that. The area had been struggling a little due to a reduction in deer population (their main source of clothing and meat), and a little later they'd had a drought so the crops were bad, and of course they had conflicts with other tribes at the time, like the Massawomeck. But the movie doesn't show that. Nobody in these scenes ever seem to be doing anything or working or just living their lives. Its too... perfect. Movies tend to over romantisize Native people like this & it keeps the Noble Savage idea going.

But then in Prey, it doesn't feel like that. It feels like a real village. It feels like a real community of people going about their business & doing chores & work & relaxing & being together. Naru feels relatable because she's annoyed to wake up early in the morning, and she wants to stay in her warm bed. You see women working on hide tanning and going out early to go foraging (another thing Naru looks annoyed by). Theres moms carrying crying babies not because something bad or scary happened, but because babies cry. Naru brings home dinner and clearly spends time training herself & her dog. They have to send out hunters to deal with a cougar that's been causing problems for them. Naru has to go out and get medicine, almost like going to the pharmacy. There's not really any romantisization, there's no implying that the Comanche's lives were "perfect" at this time, it's just them living their lives and dealing with whatever problems hit them, and they feel real.

[ilions-end]

oh daaamn muse now sing to me the rage of the nymph oenone when her ex husband paris comes literally crawling back begging her to heal him of the poisoned arrow wound he's dying from:

"I wish I had the heart and strength of a savage beast, first to tear your flesh and then to lap your blood for the way you made me suffer with your willful folly. You wretch, where now are your fair-crowned goddess of love and invincible Zeus? Has he forgotten his son-in-law? Keep them as your saviors and remove yourself from my house, you utter ruin of gods and men alike."

🔥🔥

[mask131]

The myth of Dionysos (3)

For the previous posts, see here and here.

V) The cult of Dionysos : Outside the city, inside the city

Such a god apparently does not have his place in the Ancient Greek city. Séchan-Lévêque reminds us that his religion, at the same time joyful and wild, is centered around the “thiasus”, that is to say a gathering of male and female beings joining outside of any civic or familial setting. According to Euripides’ description and to the various visual depictions of Ancient Greece, all the cultural elements surrounding Dionysos are the very opposite of the rational organization of a State. His cult takes place on the countryside, in woods and mountains. It takes place at night. The participants wear an animal skins over their clothes (or replacing their chiton), their hair is wild or crowned by ivy or laurel, their belt is made of a snake or a baby leopard hangs from it ; in one hand they hold the thyrsus and in the other a small animal (hare or young fawn). The music played for Dionysos is strange: flutes, tympanum and castanets. His ceremonies are chaotic: wild dances, convulsions, exhausting races. His sacrifice is performed by ripping apart animals before eating their raw flesh. The thiasus could be made of men, but the most famous of all the thiasus is the female one, and its members are called the Menads, the Bacchants, the Thyads, the Bassarides… Ordinarily, women of Ancient Greece were locked up inside the gynaeceum, so to have them becoming wild and savage makes the cult of Dionysos a unique one, set apart by the official religious events of the city, since he breaks all urban religious rules. Similarly, the mysteries of Dionysos unite together men and women, citizens and slaves, which meant breaking apart the Ancient Greek social hierarchy.

And yet, this Dionysos that destroys the order of the city is greatly honored at Delphi, the domain of the Greekest of all gods, Apollo. The Pythia reminds the audience, in Aeschylus’ Eumenids, that she honors the nymphs over which rules Bromios and his Bacchants, with explicit references to the story of Pentheus. Every year, during the three months of winter, while Apollo leaves for Hyperborea, Dionysos replaces him. And every two years, the Thyads of Delphi and the Bacchants of Athens, holding torches, celebrate on mount Parnassus the son of Semele. In the adyton of Apollo’s temple, legends claimed Dionysos’ tomb could be found. The poets frequently exchanged the names and nicknames of the two deities: Aeschylus wrote in Bassarids of “Apollo with ivy, a bacchant and a seer”, while Euripides in Likymnion wrote of “Lord Bakchos, friend of the laurel, Pean-Apollon with the beautiful lyre”. As such, despite Nietzsche’s strict opposition between the god of harmonious restraint and the deity of savage drunkenness, the two gods are actually far from being polar opposites.

Dionysos also finds a home at Athens. We already saw several of the festivals in his honor there: Apaturia, Anthesteria, Oschophoria… But to those can be added the agrarian Dionysia, the the Lenaia, and especially the great Dionysia: during those, contests of dithyrambic, of tragedies and of comedies were held, gathering an audience coming from all four corners of Greece. Traditionally, the tragedy, the “tragodia”, is read as meaning “the song of the goat”, tragou-ôdè, since the goat was the animal traditionally sacrificed to the god. During the first day of the Great Dionysia, the statue of Dionysos was carried inside the “orchestra”, at the very heart of the city. And during the contests, a place of honor was kept for the priest of Dionysos. The marginal god clearly earned his place among men and Olympians.

Because, according to the Bacchants, inside the Dionysian chaos, there si a superior order, an “eukosmia” that unfortunately Pentheus fails to see, since he is a young tyrant filled with hubris. However the wise rulers of Athens did perceive and honor this superior order – unlike the Roman Senators that, in 186 BCE, harshly repressed any participations to the Bacchanals.

VI) Dionysos in service of political and religious doctrines: various uses

Multiple, complex, contradictory and shapeshifting: the god offered to the political and religious domains a very malleable material. For example, there are obvious links and mutual influences between the eastward journey of Dionysos and the eastward journey of Alexander. Alexander, just like his soldiers, and just like his historians, know of the story of the god’s travel to the East – the Dionysos of Euripides, in the Bacchants, said himself: “I left Lydia with his gold-fertile fields, I left the plains of Phrygia for the sun-burned plateaus of Persia, the walled cities of Bactrian, and the land of the Medes, frozen by winter ; and happy Arabia ; and finally all of Asia, laying by the salted waters…” Alexander took his army on the very steps of Dionysos. Of course, the Great was going to make the god the patron of his expedition, and as such Alexander was celebrated as the “new Dionysos” (a title that future rulers of Alexandria will also bear). The parallel grows stronger with the encounter by Alexander’s army of a town named Nysa, located near the mount Meros (a word that sounds similar to the Greek word for “thigh”) – the prince claimed the people of Nysa were descendants of the Greek people that Dionysos took with his on his own journey. However, in a complete circle, the adventure of Alexander the Great influenced greatly Dionysos’ own travels. India, for example, was never named in the tale of the Bacchants. But after the exploits of Alexander, Dionysos became the conqueror of India. Poets, painters and sculptors all depicted him taking part in this “war of India” that Euripides had never heard about. In the 5th century CE, this tale grew to enormous proportions thanks to Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, an epic in 48 chants, and where the Indian travel is described from chant 13 to 40.

Despite the recent doubts of some scholars, there is a possibility that Cesar and Augustus used for their political agenda the glory of this god celebrated everywhere in the oriental part of the Roman empire, and even in Rome itself – by both the Greco-Oriental population and the administrative elite of the Hellenism. Indeed, the assimilation between Dionysos and the Latium god Liber Pater had been done for a long time by now, and that despite some strong oppositions (such as the stern repression of the cult of Dionysos in 186). And the success of this religion was noticed by the political authorities. Servius commented what Virgil wrote in his Bucolics, about how Daphnis, on a “chariot pulled by Armenian tigers”, was the first to introduce the “thiasos of Bacchus”. Servius reminds his reader that in truth, it was Cesar that first brought the “mysteries of Liber Pater” to Rome – and as such behind the triumph of Daphnis, one reads as much the travels of Alexander as the exploits of Cesar… Two men that Augustus claims to be the heir of.

This “politic of Dionysos” knew its climax between the second and third century CE, through Hadrian the philhellenic, who demanded to be called the “new Dionysos”. In the same tradition as Alexander the Great, and as the many Hellenistic rulers, from Gallian (who, while leading a double fight against the Barbarians and the Christians, wanted to return to the Greek tradition) to Elagabalus (who had the habit of driving a chariot pulled by lions and tigers).

Dionysos was also used for philosophical and religious agendas. As such, the Orphics, reused in their beliefs the myth of the god’s murder by the Titans. Marcel Detienne wrote about how the myth of Dionysos was the perfect illustration for the main teaching of Orpheus: refrain from murder. In its double sense of 1) do not kill your fellow human being ; but also as 2) do not eat meat. On top of that, Dionysos’ resurrection echoed the belief in palingenesis of the disciples of Orpheus.

With this context, it makes sense that Christian writers, such as Clement of Alexandria or Firmicus Maternus, focused their attacks onto a myth that, for them, was a caricature of their beliefs and a parody of the sacraments of their own religion. Passion and Resurrection (Gregory of Nazianzus even used three hundred verses of the Bacchants in his Christus Patiem), Eucharist, and even the concept of Original Sin – because Dion Chrysostom wrote that mankind was born from the ashes of the Titans mixed with the earth. As such, humanity was part at the same time of the crime of the Titans, and of the divinity of Dionysos (who had been eaten by the Titans). The Christian attacks were also very strong because Orphism, through this myth, had brought to the cult of Dionysos the theology that it lacked (since in the Mysteries of Dionysos, the ritual had a larger and stronger place than the theory).

VII) A diversity of interpretations

In front of such a complex and elusive personality, it is impossible to give just one interpretation of the character of Dionysos. From the third millennium BCE to the fall of the Roman Empire, the god constantly played a role – his figure was constantly shaped by societies, governments and people. As such, the interpretations offered by mythologists allow us to better understand Dionysos, but they will never be complete or exhaustive. As much, all they can do is bring to light some key elements of his being.

While the mythologists of the early 20th century were prone to excesses, the interpretations of names such as Frazer, Farnell or Miss Harrison are still very interesting. Dionysos is first and foremost a vegetation god, a fecundity god, a chthonian god. Many of his ceremonies are rituals celebrating renewal. He is a god of plants; his emblem if the thyrsus, a branch or a reed stalk crowned by leaves of ivy/vine, or by a pine cone. All these plants play a important role in both the rites and the myth of Dionysos, even though from the 7th century BCE onward he specializes himself as the god of the grapevine and of wine. Dionysos is the lord of the tree. As we saw before, he is related to the Oriental mother-goddesses and to the Aegean world. His wife is Ariadne – who might have been during the Classical era a human, but that was once an Aegean goddess of vegetation. Dionysos is the master of both animal and human fecundity – his favorite companions, the satyrs, the donkeys, the goats, the bulls, are all depicted with a very large phallus. He went down into the Underworld to bring back his mother Semele, and he presides over the Anthesteria, which was a celebration of the dead. Zagreus was believed to have for a mother Persephone, and for a father either Zeus or Hades – and in fact, Zagreus was sometimes identified as being an alternate identity of Hades. This chthonian side of Dionysos was developed in his mysteries: the initiation, the purifications, the teaches of sacred formulas have for a main purpose to allow the dead to escape all the dangers that threaten their travel to the afterlife ; and ultimately, to allow them to find happiness in the Hades.

The Bacchic drunkenness and the possessios/trances of the Menads have also brought forward numerous psychological, psychoanalytical and ethnological commentaries. The dances of the Bacchants were compared to those of the whirling dervishes, of the Jewish Hasidim, of the Siberian shamans and of the American Shakers. This phenomenon was proven to have been widespread throughout all of the Antique Mediterranean world – and to still be existing today in a part of Africa. Séchan-Lévêque noted that the “delirium of the Bacchants” was in many ways similar to neuropathic manifestations. Convulsive and spasmodic movements, the body bending backwards, the neck being thrown around… Both also involve a feeling of depersonalization, the feeling of the self being invaded by an outside persona or entity. Psychanalysts saw a parallel between the mechanisms of the Dionysian possession and various concepts of child-psychanalysis: they claimed that the ritual of the god had a therapeutic effect. The Dionysos-Hades becomes a Dionsyso-Asclepios.

Another theory that should not be ignored is the theory of the “pharmakos”, or the theory of the “scape-goat”, that was popularized by Frazer and then by René Girard in his interpretation of Euripides’ play. The tragedy of the Bacchants presents itself at first like a ritual bacchanal. All differences are erased: all take part in the celebration, be them old or young, male or female, citizens or slaves. But the party goes wrong, violence arrives. The difference becomes an inversion: women perform martial activities, men disguise themselves into women. Human and animal worlds are confused for one another: the Bacchants rip apart of a herd of cow they mistake for men, Pentheus ties up a bull he thought was Dionysos, Agave murders Pentheus while seeing before her a lion. Pentheus, in his transvestite outfit, is a Carnival prince, a temporary king – as Jeanne Roux notes, he is at the same time the scape-goat carrying with him all the soiling and vices of the past year, and the sacrificial victim to open a new and clean year. The symbolism becomes even more obvious due to the fact that Pentheus, in his female disguise, climbs on top of a pine and falls from it. A. G. Bather, in The Problem of the Bacchae (Journal of Hellenic Studies, 1894), noted that in Russia, during Pentecost Thursday, there was a very similar ritual. Villagers had to cut down a young pine-tree and disguise it as a woman before bringing “her” to the village in great joy. Three days later, on Trinity Sunday, the wooden figure was taken out of the village and thrown in a body of water. In Euripides’ play, at the end of the party, the pine-tree is ripped away, the king is killed and torn apart: Pentheus is inflicted a diasparagmos (a dismemberment) by the hands of his own mother and of his aunts. Which in turn will become new scapegoats, as they will be banished from the city afterwar. A new order will rule over Thebes: as René Girard notes in La Violence et le sacré (Violence and the sacred), Dionysos is the god “of the successful lynching”. However we saw previously that Pentheus is the double of Dionysos. Just like his adversary/reflection, the god, in the myth of the Titans, also suffers a diasparagmos. As such there is an identification between the pine-tree that is uprooted, and Dionysos Dendritès, god of the trees. While in Euripides’ play the god appears as the organizer and the force behind the scapegoat ceremony, it is possible that in ancient times he used to be the victim of said ceremony.

Finally, numerous analogies bring Dionysos close to the “kouroi”, the novices that undergo initiation-trials. Pausanias describes how Cadmos placed Semele and young Dionysos in a chest that was thrown in the water and ended in Brasiai/Prasiai (a port of Laconia). This type of trial was also known by other great heroes – Perseus, Moises, Romulus. Just like the initiated ones of the three first classes of Ancient India (the dvija), Dionysos is “twice-born”. Just like Achilles, Herakles and Jason, who were all raised by the horse-man Chiron, Dionysos knew animal-men during his childhood: the goat-men that were the satyrs and the silenes ; but also wolf-men, such as Lycurgus (whose name means “He who acts as a wolf, from lukos “wolf” and “ergon”, action), or Athamas (that Apollodorus compares to a wolf). Just like Achilles that was disguised as a girl, just like Theseus that was mocked for his dress and braided hair, just like Herakles that had put on a dress before queen Omphalus, Dionysos knew the experience of the feminine cross-dressing. Just like Achilles, Melicertes, Herakles, Pelops and Jason, there is the trial of the cauldron – killed, dismembered and boiled, he was resurrected. (Jeanmaire wrote that it is a legend with a strong initiation symbolism, and that seems to answer to very archaic practices explaining or interpreting the dangers that threaten children and teenagers). Just like in African initiation rituals, the rhombus played a key part in his death-resurrection. Just like Pelops, whose homosexual loves for Poseidon have analogies with the initiation of young Cretans, Dionysos, with the mysterious Prosumnos, acts as the hero of an initiation-adventure. Just like Odysseus, Herakles, Orpheus, Theseus, Aeneas or Jason (the latter only through symbolism), he went into the Underworld. Finally, just like Theseus and Gilgamesh, he plunged in the water (and even twice) to escape Lycurgus and to find his mother in the Hades. All those trials are so many shapes of initiation rituals, of obligatory rites of passages allowing the teenager to leave the world of childhood and to join the world of adults.

As such, despite all the critical efforts to understand Dionysos’ personality, to bring an exhaustive interpretation including both his complexity and diversity, the god keeps escaping our minds, breaking our settings, removing the chains with which we would try to bind him. All the way until the end, he will stay elusive. So let us remember how, in both the Homeric hymn to Dionysos, and the Bacchants, Dionysos is always presented as the “un-binder”, as the “Eleuthereus”, the “Luaios”, the “Lusios”, the one that detaches, that sets free ; the god on who all ropes and all binds fall to the ground, the god who can escape any net without effort, the entity that can never be trapped because all those that think they caught him are in fact not even touching him.

[moonmaiden1996]

Summoned Part 2

Rumours around the absence of the Dream Lord had been circling for the last 100 years or so. Every possibility had been verbalised, not that you believed any of it. Something had happened. It was impossible not to have felt the disturbance, the delicate balance that had completely been thrown off. The world was not the same after that; it became aimless and bitter. Wherever and whyever he disappeared to seemed to be the reason the being wanted to restamp his mark on the universe upon his return.  

The endless were a strange lot but never had they married. Even Night had not married Time. So, the announcement sent shock waves through the waking world. Who he chose would become consort to the Dreaming and restore themselves to their previous glory, if not greater.   

The age of gods and goddesses was long over, and most had perished to Time; most faced annelation in a fury only to whimper out like a damp spark. Others, like yourself, faded, clinging to the last vestige of their power. Your cauldron allowed you to brew your potions and inspire just enough to still exist; others had clung to their earlier fame, trying to retrain what they once had.   

You grimace as you linger on the outside of the crowds. Too far away to see the King astride his throne save for those eyes, like burning stars watching impassively as Mightly Thor thrust up his hammer into the air sending a stream of lightening above the crowds. A great brooding cloud dominated room, sending a savage downpour of frozen rain onto the marble floor, drenching the other gods and goddesses. Aphrodite shrieked at her robes, sagging and crumpling in the water, causing the bulging redhead god to chortle ungracefully as he bowed off.   

One after the other, each God or goddess gifted the Dream Lord with an offering, each in competition with the last. Hermes had gifted a pair of golden wings, Aphrodite a large pearl seashell with nymph attendants who cowered beneath the shell as they proffered it up. Jiurtain Xuanniu offered her own phoenix egg, Inanna her eight-pointed sun. Thor, his thunder. Your offering was so insignificant in comparison. Though you crafted your best potions and elixirs, nested in a twisted basket of purest vines of inspiration nurtured by yourself, it was simply not enough.  

It was not that you did not want to be the future queen; you would be restored, elevated above anything you had previously been. You would lie if you said you hadn't plotted against the others. Being a goddess of knowledge gave you a slight edge in this race. You knew exact strengths and weaknesses of the other contenders and exactly how you wanted to present yourself. 

You had painstakingly weaved traditional robes, tied at the shoulder with your mother's Celtic knot. Not the elegant silks or plush furs of the others but it showed of your comely figure. You even placed your hair perfectly, to reveal your graceful neck and decolletage, even applied one of your own balms to your face and body. You looked beautiful but were not a goddess of beauty or love. Nor held the power that might beguile him. Your skill should be enough to catch the Endless's attention. But a deep sense of unease settled within you.  

The pageantry was sickening, fawning and fighting over a throne that would stop them from going a little further. Peitho had already taunted Eros to tears and had some of her follower's spill wine over Bathsheba's gown, no doubt under Aphrodite's orders. Peitho's outfit was undoubtedly an attempt to seduce, if it could call it an outfit. She wore a thin sheer belt around her waist tied at the hip, just enough to hide the lower regions of her body; her upper body was completely bare bronze breasts stood proudly out, no doubt to gain favour. It was not just them; the others had preened themselves too. The remaining Valkyries wore full flowing gowns and thick leather breastplates; one of their spears had already maimed some deity causing quite a scene, enough to solicit a sharp, steely glare from the King at his thrones. The room was tense, rippling with need and a sense of urgency, a perfect atmosphere for war. You had not fought in the hundreds of battles on earth and had no intention of wanting to fight now, even if that meant you were restored.  

"Lady of the Cauldron, goddess of knowledge, inspiration, witchcraft, and medicine. Daughter of Ceridwen. You may approach and submit your offering." the raven voice rang clear across the throne room.   

You were so lost in thought that you had not realised the line had advanced. Shaking off your thought, you inclined your head before proffering the basket you had made. Forcing your eyes up, you held your gaze demurely.  

Up close, he was nothing like you had imagined. He has been crafted in a star, skin like diamond dust hair as if it had been crafted by Night itself, which of course, it had been. The red of his ruby shone out against the paleness of his cheek where it laid just above his heart, that's if he had a heart, to begin with.  

Mercury's eyes held you. Swirling like a hurricane, you were not blind to the atrocity he has caused, the pain and suffering, what God had not caused that, but there was something hollow in the God. Empty. Desolate   

"I... I offer you my best potions, my knowledge of hearth and home, and the inspiration of every artisan. To aid you in seeking prosperity." The words sounded as weak as you felt. You had this grand gestured speech planned, practised to perfection, but it died on your lips like hopes. 

Bowing your head, you lifted the basket for the attendant, who plucked it from your hands. Like the other, the King remained silent, his gaze burning into you as you retreated backwards till you could no longer see his eyes.  

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  

Upon the dance banquet hall, you pondered who would be chosen. Would it be an embodiment of war or of peace, love or beauty? He may even pick one of the elemental creatures gracing the room. Maybe even a fairy or selkie. The Dream Lord gave nothing away, treating every one of his offerings with indifference. So, when the last offering had been given, and the feast called, there was a certain amount of disappointment that no proposal was made.   

Fountains of nectar and waterfalls of nectar flowed in the great hall. Fruits and pastries glistened under the touches that lined the walls. Steam trailed from palates of boar, suckling pigs, venison, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meats, long wreaths of sausages, pies, barrels of oysters, red hot chestnuts, immense cake, and seething bowls of pudding. There were jugs of mead, negus, ale and beer and tankers of toddy. Food that you had long forgotten even existed piled high like in the times of old.   

Yet you ate nothing, touched nothing. While all around you gouged and made merry, you wished to escape. There was something in his eyes, something bewitching, something that terrified you. Endless magic was, after all, completely different from the magic any of the gods and goddesses possessed. All the knowledge you and your cauldron have amassed it was all useless here, this was unknown. You were not prepared to allow yourself the foolishness and quick tempted reactions that had befell your mother to her fate.   

"Lady of the Cauldron,’’ a strange voice called from an even stranger creature dressed in a heavily embroidered waist coat. ‘’I must say your offering is one of my favourites; the basket style is... unique never seen such interesting wood." A strange creature primely bowed to you. 

"They are vines of inspiration; they used to grow worldwide till... I cultivated these myself, enthused them with my potions; they should still bloom and spread their pollen to bless the King and his new consort’’ you politely dipped your head.  

"Ahh, the flower... I have read about your illustrious flowers. Blooms that inspired some of the greatest minds...’’  

A soft glow flowered within you; it had been years since anyone had even acknowledge your blooms and a need to reward that praise. 

"Then take this..." You smiled unwinding one of the flowers that decorated your hair. 

'My lady...I simply cannot..."  

'You are by far the nicest creature here; take it as a token of apparition for being nice. I hope the bloom inspires you." You offered. 

‘’Thank you" And with that, the pointy ear creature plucked the flower from your hand and placed it in their lapel as an uproar surged in the room.  

"What is happening?"  

"The king is giving out Golden Apples to those he deems agreeable to court for his potential future consort." The creature primely supplied the answer, as they adjusted the flower, smelling the fragrant bloom. 

Straining your neck, you peered above the crowd. Of course, Aphrodite has an apple, held aloft in the air as she was carried on the soldiers of her nymphs. A few other apples shone brightly around the room, though those who had received them were obscured as the rest of the guests crowded around to see the precious apples. Which meant the festivities were over, and you were finally free to return home. 

Free... 

"Will you honour me by accepting this apple," A deep voice pulled through the air despite the calamity around you. 

Beside you, the shadowy figure curled over you, his eyes burning like a dying star as the bared down. Your eyes strained at the brightness of the apple, recoiling as it was held higher by the pale hands. An apple? For you? A shiver of pride or was its terror ran through you as you regard it for moment. A legendary golden apple, like the ones that once graced the silver branches of Ireland and the tree on top of Mount Olympus. 

"Lady of the Cauldron, will you not honour me with your acceptance, or am I unworthy of your affections and to be your future husband?"  

His skin burned into your fingertips as you delicately plucked the golden from his open palm. Mutely staring at it in your cupped hand, so large and plump and so heavy. 

"A gift as a token of goodwill, I hope to find my consort among you.' the Dream Lords voice reverberated against the walls. "Take a bite."   

The others had already sunk their teeth into their apple before he had finished his words, moaning in ecstasy as they devoured their apples.   

"Take a bite, Lady of the Cauldron you wouldn’t want to offend me."  his voice echoed darkly in your ear as hesitantly your teeth sunk into the golden flesh. 

His eyes burnt in you as the fresh sour crunch burst in your mouth, chocking you as the juice tickled down your chin and neck.  

Thank you so much for all your feedback! It really helped me to write this! It’s a mix of legends and myths and hopefully you like the direction it is taking. Please like and leave comments if you can  

Question- who else do you think received an apple? Might be some god/goddess rivalry next :p

@musemaniac42 @aralezinspace @boofy1998 @cipher-needs-2-sleep @avatar4eva (couldn't tag) @sassenach-the-pie-maker @ella33 @suszanne @ladyredstar1991 @alexander-arcturus-black @maripositanoctruna @xushisuxi @imaginovator @dotieeee @honeybeezgobzzzzz @cryban6 @lonelyladyghost