#me: the olympian spirit is a beautiful thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melissalencioni · 3 months

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In the tranquil gardens of Mount Olympus, where the sweet scent of roses mingled with the whispers of the wind, Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, reclined upon a bed of soft petals. Her golden locks cascaded around her shoulders, framing a face of timeless allure, while her gaze danced with the flickering light of eternal mischief. Nearby, Hermes, the fleet-footed messenger of the gods, approached with an air of boundless energy, his eyes twinkling with the promise of adventure.

"Ah, Aphrodite," Hermes called out, his voice carrying the lighthearted melody of the heavens, "what brings you to this tranquil corner of Olympus?"

Aphrodite smiled, a knowing glimmer in her eyes as she beckoned Hermes to join her amidst the fragrant blooms. "Oh, Hermes, ever the curious one," she replied, her voice a melodic symphony that stirred the very essence of love itself. "I am simply drawn to the beauty of these flowers, each petal a testament to nature's infinite grace."

Hermes chuckled, his laughter echoing through the garden like the gentle patter of rain upon springtime blossoms. "Indeed, the beauty of this place rivals even your own, my lady," he remarked, his eyes alight with playful mischief. "But tell me true, is there not another reason for your presence here? Perhaps a certain mortal has captured your attention?"

Aphrodite's laughter danced upon the breeze, a melodious echo of timeless enchantment. "Ah, you know me too well, Hermes," she confessed, her smile as beguiling as the dawn's first light. "Yes, there is a mortal whose heart I seek to ensnare with my charms. But alas, he remains steadfast in his resistance to love's sweet embrace."

Hermes' grin widened, his mind already spinning with the possibilities that lay ahead. "Fear not, my lady," he declared, his voice brimming with confidence. "For if there is one thing I excel at, it is the art of persuasion. Allow me to lend a helping hand, and together we shall kindle the flames of passion within his heart."

Aphrodite's eyes sparkled with anticipation, a tantalizing promise of love's eternal dance. "Very well, Hermes," she agreed, her voice a gentle caress upon the wind. "But remember, we must tread lightly, for the path to love is fraught with perilous twists and turns."

With a nod of understanding, Hermes vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving Aphrodite to ponder the mysteries of love's enchanting embrace. In the realm of gods and mortals alike, the dance of love knew no bounds, and with the aid of her fellow Olympians, Aphrodite was determined to weave her magic once more.

The man who had captured Aphrodite's attention was unlike any other mortal she had encountered. His stature was that of a warrior, tall and commanding, with sinewy muscles honed by countless battles. Yet it was not his physical prowess alone that drew Aphrodite to him, but rather the depths of his soul, as elusive and mysterious as the ocean's depths.

His eyes were like twin pools of liquid gold, reflecting the wisdom of ages past and the promise of adventures yet to come. In their depths, Aphrodite glimpsed a kindred spirit, a soul yearning for connection amidst the chaos of the mortal realm. His voice carried the weight of ancient truths, each word a melody that stirred her very essence, awakening desires long dormant within her heart.

But it was not only his strength and wisdom that captivated Aphrodite, for there was a gentleness to him, a tender vulnerability hidden beneath the armor of his stoic demeanor. In moments of quiet solitude, she watched him from afar, marveling at the way he tended to wounded souls with a kindness born of compassion.

Yet despite his noble qualities, the man remained oblivious to Aphrodite's presence, his heart shielded by walls of doubt and fear. It was this challenge that intrigued her most, for she knew that beneath his exterior lay a heart yearning to be set free, a soul longing for the warmth of love's embrace.

And so, with a determined spirit and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Aphrodite set her sights on the man, determined to awaken the dormant passions within his heart and ignite a love that would transcend the boundaries of time and space.

Nearby, amidst the verdant beauty of the garden, stood a woman whose presence radiated an ethereal grace that rivaled even the goddess herself. Her hair cascaded in waves of midnight black, framing a face of delicate beauty, with features so refined they seemed sculpted by the hand of a master artisan.

Her eyes, the color of the midnight sky, sparkled with a quiet intensity, their depths betraying a wisdom far beyond her years. In their gaze, one could glimpse the secrets of the universe, whispered in hushed tones by the stars themselves.

She moved with a fluidity that spoke of grace and strength intertwined, each step a dance of elegance that captivated all who beheld her. Her attire was simple yet elegant, a flowing gown of azure silk that billowed around her like a cloud, accentuating the curves of her form with subtle allure.

But it was not only her outward beauty that captivated those around her, for within her heart burned a fire of passion and determination that could rival even the brightest flame. She was a woman of substance, with a spirit as indomitable as the raging sea and a heart as boundless as the heavens above.

Though her name was known to few, her presence left an indelible mark upon the world, a testament to the power of love and the enduring strength of the human spirit. In her, Aphrodite saw a kindred soul, a sister in arms in the eternal quest for love's elusive embrace.

Aphrodite, determined to kindle the flames of love within the heart of the man she had set her sights on, called upon Hermes, the ever-resourceful messenger of the gods, to deliver her message.

"Hermes," she said, her voice a melodious symphony that echoed through the gardens of Olympus, "I beseech you, go forth and speak to the man whose heart I seek to enrapture. His name is Alexander, a warrior of noble lineage, yet his soul remains untouched by love's gentle caress."

Hermes nodded, his eyes alight with the thrill of the task at hand. "Fear not, my lady," he declared, his voice brimming with confidence. "I shall journey to the mortal realm and deliver your message unto Alexander, that he may know the depths of your affection."

With a flash of golden light, Hermes vanished from sight, leaving Aphrodite to await the outcome of his mission with bated breath. In the realm of gods and mortals alike, the whims of love knew no bounds, and with the aid of her faithful messenger, Aphrodite was determined to weave her magic once more.

Hermes, the swift-footed messenger of the gods, descended from Mount Olympus to the mortal realm, where he sought out Alexander, the noble warrior whose heart Aphrodite longed to ensnare. Finding Alexander amidst the bustle of a bustling marketplace, Hermes approached with a charismatic charm that few could resist.

"Alexander," Hermes called out, his voice carrying the lighthearted melody of the heavens, "I come bearing a message from the gods themselves, a message of love and longing that knows no bounds."

Alexander turned to face Hermes, his gaze alight with curiosity as he beheld the divine messenger before him. "Speak, messenger of the gods," he replied, his voice resonating with a quiet strength born of countless battles. "What message do the heavens wish to impart unto me?"

Hermes smiled, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he surveyed the scene before him. "Behold," he exclaimed, his voice carrying across the crowded marketplace, "for amidst the throngs of mortals, there stands a woman whose beauty rivals even that of the goddess herself."

With a flourish of his hand, Hermes gestured toward the woman, whose name was Isabella, a vision of grace and elegance amidst the chaos of the mortal world. Her eyes met Alexander's with a quiet intensity, their depths betraying a warmth and compassion that stirred something deep within his soul.

"Isabella," Hermes continued, his voice filled with a sense of reverence, "a name whispered upon the lips of gods and mortals alike, a name that carries with it the promise of love's eternal embrace. Look upon her, Alexander, and see the reflection of your own heart's desire."

Alexander's gaze lingered upon Isabella, his heart stirred by the sight of her radiant beauty. In that moment, he felt a longing unlike any he had ever known, a yearning to know the depths of her soul and bask in the warmth of her love.

With a nod of understanding, Alexander turned to Hermes, his eyes alight with newfound determination. "Thank you, messenger of the gods," he declared, his voice filled with resolve. "I shall heed your words and follow the path that leads to love's enduring embrace."

And so, guided by the wisdom of the gods and the whispers of his own heart, Alexander embarked upon a journey of love and discovery, his destiny intertwined with that of Isabella, the woman whose name would forever be etched upon his soul.

As Alexander stood before Isabella, his heart torn between duty and desire, he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Though he was drawn to her with an intensity he could not deny, a voice within him whispered of the dangers of love's intoxicating embrace.

With a heavy heart, Alexander shook off the feelings of love, believing them to be nothing more than a distraction, a cloud that threatened to obscure his warrior's mind. He reminded himself of the solemn oath he had sworn to protect his people, to defend his kingdom against the looming threat of war.

Turning away from Isabella, Alexander bid her farewell with a voice that carried the weight of his resolve. "Forgive me, Isabella," he said, his tone tinged with regret. "But duty calls, and I must answer."

As he walked away, Alexander felt the ache of longing gnawing at his heart, a bittersweet reminder of the love he had chosen to forsake. Yet he knew that in order to fulfill his destiny as a warrior, he must steel himself against the temptations of love's fleeting embrace.

And so, with each step he took away from Isabella, Alexander reaffirmed his commitment to his people and his kingdom, vowing to return to her side only once the threat of war had been vanquished and peace restored to the land.

In the aftermath of his encounter with Isabella, Alexander immersed himself in preparations for the impending war that loomed on the horizon. As a seasoned warrior, he knew the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders and the sacrifices that must be made for the greater good of his people.

Gathering his troops, Alexander stood at the forefront of his army, his gaze unwavering as he addressed his men with a voice filled with conviction. He spoke of honor, duty, and the relentless pursuit of victory, rallying their spirits for the battles that lay ahead.

The air was charged with anticipation as Alexander led his forces into the heart of the conflict, each step bringing them closer to the clash of swords and the roar of battle. Amidst the chaos of war, he fought with a ferocity born of desperation, determined to defend his homeland against the encroaching darkness.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Alexander's resolve was put to the test as he confronted the harsh realities of warfare. He witnessed the devastation wrought upon the land and the toll it took on the lives of those he held dear.

But amidst the bloodshed and the chaos, Alexander remained steadfast in his determination to emerge victorious, drawing strength from the courage of his comrades and the knowledge that the fate of his kingdom hung in the balance.

And so, with every battle fought and every victory won, Alexander edged closer to his ultimate goal, knowing that only through perseverance and sacrifice could he hope to secure a future of peace and prosperity for his people.

As the war raged on and the fate of Alexander's kingdom hung in the balance, Hermes approached Aphrodite with a daring proposition. "My lady," he said, his voice laced with urgency, "there is another woman whose heart yearns for Alexander's affection. She is a fellow warrior, a fierce and noble soul who fights by his side with unwavering loyalty."

Aphrodite listened intently, her brow furrowed with concern as she considered Hermes' words. "And what of Isabella?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Have we not already intervened enough in the affairs of mortals?"

Hermes shook his head, his eyes ablaze with determination. "Isabella's fate is intertwined with that of Alexander, but this woman... she harbors a love for him that burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. If we were to cast a spell upon Alexander, to awaken within him the same passion he feels for Isabella, perhaps we could tip the scales of fate in favor of peace."

Aphrodite hesitated, torn between her desire to see Alexander find happiness and her reluctance to meddle further in the affairs of mortals. But as she gazed upon the chaos of war below, her heart ached with the knowledge of the suffering that ravaged the land.

"Very well, Hermes," she conceded, her voice softening with resolve. "But let us tread carefully, for love's enchantments are a double-edged sword, capable of both healing and harm."

With a nod of understanding, Hermes and Aphrodite joined forces to cast their spell upon Alexander, infusing his heart with the fervent passion of the fellow warrior who fought by his side. And as the magic took hold, Alexander's resolve was tested in ways he could never have imagined, his heart torn between two loves as he fought to secure a future of peace and prosperity for his kingdom.

As the love spell took hold of Alexander's heart, its effects were subtle yet profound, like the gentle caress of a breeze on a summer's eve. At first, he felt a stirring deep within his soul, a newfound sense of connection and camaraderie with the fellow warrior who fought by his side.

With each passing day, Alexander found himself drawn to the warrior woman, whose name was Serena, with a magnetism that defied explanation. He admired her courage and resilience on the battlefield, her unwavering loyalty to their cause serving as a beacon of strength amidst the chaos of war.

But it was not only Serena's bravery that captivated Alexander, for there was a warmth and kindness in her eyes that spoke to the depths of her soul. He found solace in her presence, a sense of peace that eluded him amidst the tumult of battle.

As the bond between them deepened, Alexander felt a love blossoming within his heart, a love born not of passion or desire, but of mutual respect and understanding. He saw in Serena a kindred spirit, a soulmate whose presence brought light to the darkest corners of his being.

And though his heart still bore the memory of Isabella's fleeting embrace, Alexander knew that his destiny lay with Serena, the warrior woman whose love had ignited a flame within him that burned brighter than any he had ever known.

With each passing day, as they fought side by side on the battlefield, Alexander and Serena forged a bond that would withstand the trials of war and the challenges of time. And amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their world, they found solace in each other's arms, their love a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume them.

As Alexander returned home between battles, the memories of Isabella lingered like a haunting melody, her beauty etched into his mind like a timeless masterpiece. Each time he beheld her image, his heart stirred with a longing that he could not ignore, despite the love spell that bound him to Serena.

Conflicted and torn between two loves, Alexander found himself grappling with the depths of his emotions as he navigated the complexities of his heart. Though he was drawn to Serena with a fierce and undeniable passion, the memory of Isabella's enchanting presence haunted his every thought, casting a shadow over his newfound happiness.

As he walked the halls of his home, the echoes of Isabella's laughter filled the air, a haunting reminder of the love he had forsaken in the name of duty. He found himself yearning for her touch, her voice, her warmth, even as he fought to suppress the feelings that threatened to consume him.

But try as he might to push her memory aside, Isabella remained ever-present in Alexander's heart, a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the sacrifices he had endured in the name of love. And though he knew that his destiny lay with Serena, the warrior woman who had captured his heart on the battlefield, he could not shake the feeling that his soul was still entwined with Isabella's in ways he could not fully comprehend.

As the war raged on and the battles grew fiercer, Alexander found himself torn between duty and desire, his heart a battlefield unto itself as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos and uncertainty of his world, he knew that the path to true love would be fraught with perilous twists and turns, each step a testament to the enduring power of the human heart.

As Serena witnessed the lingering gaze that Alexander cast upon Isabella, a tumult of emotions welled up within her heart, threatening to overwhelm her with their intensity. Despite the love spell that bound them together, she could sense the depth of Alexander's feelings for Isabella, a truth that pierced her soul like a dagger.

Unable to bear the weight of her broken heart any longer, Serena sought out Alexander in the quiet solitude of their chambers, her voice trembling with emotion as she confronted him with the painful truth.

"Alexander," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I see the way you look at Isabella, the longing in your eyes that betrays the depth of your feelings. And though I try to deny it, I cannot ignore the ache in my heart, the knowledge that I am but a shadow in the light of your love for her."

Tears welled up in Serena's eyes as she spoke, her words a raw and unfiltered expression of her innermost pain. She had hoped that the bond they shared, forged in the crucible of war, would be enough to sustain them through the trials that lay ahead. But now, faced with the harsh reality of Alexander's affections for another, she felt the walls of her world come crashing down around her.

"I cannot compete with the memory of Isabella," Serena confessed, her voice choked with emotion. "Nor do I wish to. If your heart belongs to her, then I must set you free, no matter the cost to my own happiness."

With a heavy heart, Serena turned away from Alexander, her spirit weighed down by the burden of unrequited love. Though she knew that their paths would diverge, she could not deny the love she felt for him, a love that would remain etched upon her soul long after he had gone.

As the love spell woven by Aphrodite began to unravel, Alexander's mind cleared, and he saw the truth with newfound clarity. The feelings he had harbored for Isabella were no longer clouded by enchantment; instead, they were revealed as a fleeting infatuation compared to the genuine bond he shared with Serena.

With a heavy heart, Alexander realized the pain he had caused Serena, the woman who had stood by his side through the darkest of times, only to have her heart shattered by his conflicting emotions. He knew that he could never undo the hurt he had inflicted upon her, and the weight of regret settled upon his shoulders like a heavy burden.

Seeking solace in the quiet solitude of his chambers, Alexander reflected upon the choices he had made and the consequences they had wrought. Though he longed to turn back the hands of time and spare Serena the pain of his indecision, he knew that such wishes were but futile dreams in the face of reality.

With each passing moment, Alexander's regret deepened, a constant reminder of the love he had lost and the wounds he had inflicted upon the woman who had given him her heart without hesitation. And though he knew that forgiveness might never come, he vowed to spend the rest of his days seeking redemption for the pain he had caused, a penance for the love he had forsaken.

As Alexander grappled with the weight of his emotions and the choices that lay before him, Hermes approached him with a solemn expression, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation.

"Alexander," Hermes began, his voice gentle yet firm, "the time has come for you to make a choice. The love you feel for Isabella is no mere enchantment, but a genuine bond that transcends the boundaries of magic. And yet, Serena's heart lies broken at your feet, her love for you unwavering despite the pain you have caused her."

Alexander's heart weighed heavy with indecision as he pondered Hermes' words, torn between the love he had known before Serena and the connection he shared with her. Each woman represented a different path, a different future, and he knew that whichever choice he made would shape the course of his life irrevocably.

Closing his eyes, Alexander took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down upon him like a mountain. In the depths of his soul, he knew that there could be no easy answers, no simple solutions to the complexities of love and longing.

And yet, as he opened his eyes and met Hermes' gaze, a sense of clarity washed over him like a cleansing tide. With a voice steady and resolute, he spoke the words that had been echoing in his heart since the moment he first laid eyes on Isabella.

"I choose Isabella," Alexander declared, his voice unwavering despite the ache in his heart. "For though my love for Serena is true, it is Isabella who holds the key to my soul, the one who has captured my heart with a fierceness that cannot be denied."

As the weight of his decision settled upon him, Alexander braced himself for the consequences that would surely follow. For though he had chosen love over duty, he knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and obstacles that would test the strength of his resolve.

But in that moment, as he stood before Hermes with his heart laid bare, Alexander knew that he had chosen the only path that felt true to his soul, the path that led to Isabella and the love that burned bright within his heart.

As Aphrodite observed Alexander's decision with a sense of approval, she believed that he had chosen wisely, following the call of his heart despite the challenges that lay ahead. In her eyes, love was a powerful force, capable of both healing and destruction, and she hoped that Alexander's choice would lead him to the happiness he so fervently sought.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Serena's heart remained bitter and resentful, her love for Alexander twisted into a consuming obsession that threatened to consume her from within. Unable to accept his rejection, she allowed her pain to fester and grow, transforming her once noble spirit into one consumed by darkness.

Driven by her newfound bitterness and resentment, Serena turned to darker forces for solace, seeking out allies who shared her desire for vengeance against those who had wronged her. With each passing day, she grew more embittered and vengeful, her heart consumed by a darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

As Serena's descent into villainy continued unabated, she became a formidable adversary, her once noble intentions twisted into a relentless pursuit of power and revenge. No longer content to simply nurse her wounds in silence, she sought to bring about the downfall of those she deemed responsible for her suffering, including Alexander and Isabella.

And so, as the shadows of war and betrayal loomed large upon the horizon, Serena emerged as a force to be reckoned with, her heart consumed by bitterness and her soul twisted by resentment. In her quest for vengeance, she became a villain of her own making, a tragic figure whose fall from grace served as a cautionary tale of the dangers of allowing love to turn to hate.

As the war raged on and tensions mounted between the opposing factions, Hermes approached Aphrodite with a grave expression etched upon his features. "My lady," he began, his voice tinged with concern, "there has been a development on the battlefield. Serena, driven by bitterness and resentment, has switched sides and now approaches Alexander as an enemy."

Aphrodite's heart sank at the news, a sense of foreboding settling over her like a dark cloud. Though she had hoped that Serena would find solace and redemption in the wake of her heartbreak, it seemed that her descent into villainy had only deepened, leading her down a path of darkness from which there could be no return.

"It grieves me to hear this," Aphrodite replied, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Serena was once a noble warrior, but her heart has been consumed by bitterness and resentment. We must tread carefully, for her actions threaten to plunge the mortal realm into even greater chaos and strife."

With a heavy heart, Aphrodite and Hermes set out to confront Serena and attempt to reason with her before it was too late. But as they journeyed to the battlefield, they knew that the road ahead would be fraught with peril, for Serena's descent into darkness had transformed her into a formidable adversary, one whose thirst for vengeance knew no bounds.

As the battlefield erupted into chaos and the clash of swords filled the air, Alexander found himself face to face with Serena, the woman he had once loved and now faced as an enemy. Shock and disbelief coursed through him as he beheld the bitterness and resentment that twisted her once noble spirit into one consumed by darkness.

Unable to bring himself to raise his sword against her, Alexander stood frozen in place, his heart heavy with the weight of his crimes against her. He knew that his betrayal had shattered her trust and fractured their bond beyond repair, leaving him powerless to reason with her in the heat of battle.

Hermes, ever the voice of reason, attempted to coax Serena back to the side of good, his words a plea for redemption amidst the chaos and destruction that surrounded them. But his efforts fell on deaf ears, as Serena's heart remained hardened by the pain and suffering she had endured at Alexander's hands.

With each passing moment, the divide between them widened, until they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, their swords drawn and their hearts filled with bitterness and resentment. And though Alexander longed to reach out to her, to mend the wounds he had inflicted upon her soul, he knew that the time for reconciliation had passed, leaving only the bitter taste of regret in its wake.

As the battle raged on and the casualties mounted, Alexander and Serena fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their swords clashing amidst the chaos and destruction that engulfed them. And though their destinies were intertwined in ways they could never have imagined, the chasm between them remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of the consequences of love gone awry.

The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos and destruction, with the clash of swords and the cries of warriors echoing across the blood-soaked earth. Amidst the fray, Serena and Alexander faced each other, their swords drawn and their hearts heavy with the weight of their shared history.

Serena's eyes burned with a fierce determination as she advanced upon Alexander, her movements swift and calculated as she sought to strike him down. "You betrayed me, Alexander," she spat, her voice tinged with bitterness and resentment. "You broke my heart and cast me aside like a worthless pawn. Now, you shall pay the price for your treachery."

Alexander's heart clenched at her words, the guilt weighing heavily upon him as he met her gaze with a mixture of sorrow and regret. "I never meant to hurt you, Serena," he replied, his voice filled with anguish. "But my heart belongs to another, and I cannot change the past. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness and pray for a chance at redemption."

But Serena would hear none of it, her heart hardened by the pain of betrayal and the thirst for vengeance that consumed her from within. With a cry of fury, she lunged at Alexander, her sword flashing in the sunlight as she sought to strike him down.

The clash of their blades rang out across the battlefield, each blow fueled by the raw emotion that coursed through their veins. As they fought, their words became lost amidst the din of battle, replaced by the primal instinct to survive and emerge victorious at any cost.

For what felt like an eternity, Serena and Alexander battled amidst the chaos and destruction, their swords locked in a deadly dance of steel and blood. And though their destinies were intertwined in ways they could never have imagined, the divide between them remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of the consequences of love gone awry.

In the end, it was not the strength of their swords or the fury of their blows that determined the outcome of the battle, but the weight of their hearts and the scars they carried within. And as the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded into silence, Serena and Alexander stood amidst the ruins of their shared history, forever changed by the war that had torn them apart.

With each clash of their swords, the weight of duty and the agony of betrayal bore down upon Alexander's shoulders like a crushing weight. Despite the love he once held for Serena, he knew that his allegiance lay with his country and his people, and he could not allow sentiment to cloud his judgment on the battlefield.

As Serena pressed her attack with a ferocity born of bitterness and resentment, Alexander's resolve hardened, his grip on his sword tightening with determination. With a heavy heart and a silent prayer for forgiveness upon his lips, he raised his blade and struck out with a swift and decisive blow.

The sound of metal meeting flesh reverberated through the air, drowning out the cries of battle as Serena fell to the ground, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. In that moment, the weight of Alexander's actions crashed down upon him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for breath as he stared down at the fallen warrior at his feet.

Grief and remorse washed over Alexander like a torrential downpour, threatening to consume him from within as he beheld the consequences of his actions. Though he knew that he had done what was necessary to protect his country and his people, the guilt of taking the life of the woman he once loved weighed heavily upon his soul.

As the battle raged on around him, Alexander knelt beside Serena's lifeless form, his heart heavy with sorrow as he whispered a prayer for her soul to find peace in the afterlife. And as he rose to his feet and returned to the fray, his mind haunted by the memory of the woman he had slain, he knew that the scars of war would never truly heal, leaving him forever haunted by the choices he had made on the battlefield.

After a grueling battle that tested the resolve of every warrior on the field, Alexander and his army emerged victorious, their triumph a testament to their courage and determination. As they made their triumphant return home, the streets echoed with the jubilant cheers of the people, their voices raised in celebration of the heroes who had defended their land against the forces of darkness.

For Alexander, the victory was bittersweet, overshadowed by the memory of the fallen and the weight of the choices he had made on the battlefield. Though he had emerged victorious, the scars of war ran deep, leaving him haunted by the ghosts of those he had lost and the deeds he had done in the name of duty.

As he made his way through the streets of his homeland, Alexander was greeted with adulation and praise, his name spoken with reverence by all who beheld him. Yet amidst the cheers and applause, he could not shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at his soul, a reminder of the sacrifices he had made in the name of victory.

But as he stood upon the battlements of his castle, surveying the land he had fought so hard to protect, Alexander felt a glimmer of hope stir within him. Though the scars of war would never fully heal, he knew that with time and perseverance, his people would rebuild and thrive once more, their spirit unbroken by the trials they had endured.

And as he looked to the horizon, towards a future filled with promise and possibility, Alexander vowed to honor the memory of those who had fallen in battle, to ensure that their sacrifices would never be forgotten. For though the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, he knew that as long as he had the courage to stand and fight, his kingdom would endure, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of the world.

As Alexander returned to the arms of Isabella, he found solace in her embrace, her love a beacon of light amidst the darkness that had engulfed his soul. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of his burdens lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that he had not known in years.

But as they stood together, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, Alexander knew that there were still wounds that had yet to heal, scars that ran deep within his heart. And so, with a heavy heart and a voice filled with sorrow, he turned to Isabella and spoke of the sacrifices that had been made in the name of their love.

"Isabella," he began, his voice trembling with emotion, "the victory we have achieved came at a great cost, a cost that I fear we may never fully comprehend. Serena's sacrifice cannot be in vain, and yet... I cannot shake the feeling that her death weighs heavily upon my soul, a reminder of the choices I have made and the lives that have been lost in the name of duty."

Isabella listened to his words with a tender understanding, her eyes filled with compassion as she reached out to him, her touch a soothing balm upon his troubled heart. "Alexander," she whispered, her voice a gentle melody that washed over him like a healing tide, "you have fought bravely and with honor, and though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, know that you do not walk it alone. Together, we will face whatever trials may come, and emerge stronger for having done so."

With Isabella's words ringing in his ears, Alexander felt a sense of clarity wash over him like a cleansing tide. Though his sense of duty weighed heavily upon his soul, he knew that with Isabella by his side, he could face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and determination.

And so, with Aphrodite and Hermes watching from afar, Alexander made his choice, his sense of duty guiding him as he vowed to stay by Isabella's side forevermore. For though the scars of war would never fully heal, he knew that as long as he had her love to sustain him, he could weather any storm that came his way. And so, hand in hand, they walked into the future together, their hearts united in a bond that would withstand the test of time.

As the stars glittered overhead, casting their ethereal glow upon the world below, Hermes and Aphrodite stood side by side, reflecting on the events that had unfolded in the mortal realm.

"Hermes," Aphrodite began, her voice soft with melancholy, "though our intervention in the affairs of mortals has brought both joy and sorrow, I cannot help but feel a sense of pride in what we have accomplished. Despite the trials and tribulations they faced, love prevailed in the end, guiding Alexander and Isabella towards a future filled with hope and promise."

Hermes nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on the constellation of stars that adorned the night sky. "Indeed, my lady," he replied, his tone tinged with admiration, "your wisdom and foresight have guided them well, leading them to find solace and redemption amidst the chaos of war. Without your guidance, they may have faltered, lost amidst the tumult of their own emotions."

But as he spoke, Hermes' expression grew solemn, a shadow of regret clouding his features. "And yet," he continued, "it was I who suggested casting the spell on Serena, a decision that ultimately led to her downfall. Though her sacrifice was noble and selfless, I cannot help but feel a sense of responsibility for the role I played in her fate."

Aphrodite placed a gentle hand upon Hermes' shoulder, her touch a comforting reminder of their shared bond. "Do not dwell on the past, Hermes," she urged, her voice filled with compassion. "Serena's sacrifice was not in vain, and though her journey may have ended in tragedy, her memory will live on in the hearts of those she touched."

With a solemn nod, Hermes and Aphrodite turned their gaze towards the heavens, where a new constellation twinkled brightly amidst the sea of stars. "Let us honor Serena's memory with a place among the stars," Aphrodite suggested, her voice reverent. "A place for her to rest after the ultimate sacrifice, a beacon of light to guide lost souls home."

And so, together, they fashioned a new constellation in the heavens, its brilliance a testament to the bravery and sacrifice of Serena, a fallen warrior whose memory would forever shine bright in the tapestry of the cosmos.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #prose #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writers and poets #aphrodite #hermes #greek gods #greek goddesses #love story #paganism #witchblr #magick #magic #love #lovers

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fivesevenseveneight · 1 year

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Hi I am asking about your Penelope headcanons and listening so intently. I love your design for her btw!!!

thank you for enabling me okay here we go

she was a botanist! you may think it would be tough to be a botanist in a world where plant are all but extinct. and you would be right. it is very illegal, in fact. but our girl stays silly

penelope grew up reading stories about the plants that used to exist before labyrinth spread across the entire planet and wiped out basically all wildlife

since plants are very much antithetical to the olympians’ whole… thing, botany is very illegal

her mother was a secretary of poseidon (since in the mythology, penelope’s mother was a naiad, a type of water spirit). poseidon had an extensive entourage of personal assistants. penelope spent a lot of her childhood learning how to do the same work, preparing to take over for her mother when she died (but that part sort of went over her head. olympians live a very long time and don’t like change, so a lot of their assistants come from a long line of people who did the same work.)

penelope’s mother often took her to work with her. it was mostly boring admin stuff and young penelope got bored easily. she brought books to read while her mother worked; mostly history ones. but she never got past the first dozen pages or so. the bright illustrations of the world as it once was captivated her. she paid no mind to the propaganda explaining how harrowing and dangerous and uncivilized the pre-city world was. the plants and colors were so beautiful, and she wanted nothing more than to catch even a glimpse of the world she read about. from that moment, penelope fell in love with plants. it didn’t matter that she’d never seen one and likely never would. penelope would go to the ends of the city to find the worlds of life she read about.

of course, she needed more realistic goals, you know, work to do for money while she chased her secret passion. penelope’s first job was doing minor administrative work in one of poseidon’s workshops. it was smaller then, but as she got older and better at her job, it became one of poseidon’s leading factories. later, penelope’s studies into mechanical engineering (she spent a summer drawing up plans for a rudimentary irrigation system and found that she had a knack for it) even led to one of her designs being implemented in the facility, becoming the sleek industrial laser nicknamed the Cyclops. (years later, a grief-stricken and vengeful Ulysses would break into the workshop and steal the diamond at its core)

penelope quickly became known for her skill in mechanical engineering and led teams to implement new designs for poseidon’s factories. this is where she met ulysses. each could match the other’s wit and brilliance, and they hit it off right away. ulysses even shared her passion for plants, though for different reasons. she often confided in them about her research, and they worked together to search for what plants may be left

less significant but very important to me: ulysses and penelope were in a queerplatonic relationship. they would often affectionately refer to the other as “my partner — research partner, that is.”

a few years after they married, ulysses was asked to take part in the ilium war, to test out their designs and strategic knowledge on the battlefield

meanwhile, penelope continued their search for the last plant life. having a spouse off at war came with financial aid. penelope took advantage of the extra income to take time off work, time which she used to focus on her and ulysses’ secret project

while ulysses was at war, penelope had to keep up some ruse to be able to continue her research in secrecy. i have a few concepts i’m working with, but none that i’m really set on yet. you know the myth of how the real penelope spent years weaving a shroud for odysseus’ father laertes, but each night would secretly unravel the day’s progress so that she wouldn’t have to marry one of her suitors? i want something that mirrors that, but i haven’t settled on a concept yet

then, in the final year of the war, she found it. daedalus and the mechanisms got it wrong. ulysses didn’t find the last relic of the natural world. penelope did

the mechanisms have proven to be unreliable narrators, and i find it hard to believe that penelope had nothing to do with the vault named after her and the revolutionary discovery inside it

it was ulysses’ idea to use the seed she found to incite revolution. it wasn’t that penelope had never thought of what her success could mean for the world; she just enjoyed the discovery for its own sake. her ambition had more to do with personal victory, knowledge, and preserving the beauty she knew existed in the world. she never wanted to change the world, at least not the way ulysses did.

anyways i have many feelings about her but this is the most i can articulate right now. please feel free to add more thoughts or ideas! i would love to talk about her

#asks #penelope udad #ulysses dies at dawn #the mechanisms #the mouse squeaks

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seeminglyseph · 4 months

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The majority of Olympian Greek Gods as described in myth: bearded, thick, muscular, could be hairy and fat so long as they were powerful and athletic, they are the peak of Greek Masculinity. Thick facial hair is a must for all but the gods representing youth like Hermes and Apollo, so those guys had thick black curling beards to show their strong masculinity.

Dionysus as described in like half his mythology: youthful, one of the youngest of the Olympians, beautiful as a woman, raised as a girl in some myths, crossdresses in some myths, frequently considered unworthy of respect or recognition because of his slight and feminine appearance. He is small, slender and feminine and despite that is fierce and frenzied in battle and leads many frenzied and violent women to war with him. He is a god of war, madness and outsiders along with wine. The partying was less a spirit of chill relaxation and more frenzied nihilistic chaos as a rebellion against surrendering to the nothingness of not belonging or being accepted.

And yet. *and yet* people will throw themselves into a tantrum over making the the femme god of Olympus have one of the most masculine bodies and then throw lipstick on it and argue they’ve made it it femme and that to argue differently is body shaming because Dionysus is they’re hill to die on because all they know of him is the basic concept of Wine and Parties. They have taken the concept of Bacchus, modern interpretation and extraction and simplification and ideas and pushed it on a god who never represented the concepts in the ways that they have come to mean.

I understand that Jack Black as Dionysus started as a really fun joke, but. Dionysus has mythology. He has a whole story and it’s rich with character that *isn’t* true to the characterization of “jolly party dude who brings the drinks”

And yes this is my personal Greek Mythology pet peeve that nobody else cares about but me, so what? I’m tired of having people literally try to talk me out of “canonically accurate Dionysus” because they think Greek Mythology is somehow missing fat hairy manly representation.

I’ve seen people argue that Hermes, Apollo and Dionysus shouldn’t be twinks, there are too many twinks in the Olympian Gods. And they chose to pick the three that literally like. Represent the youthful men. If you want bears there’s literally *everyone else.* You can interpret literally every other male adult god as having hair, muscle and body fat in any combination you so desire and they are *perfect* for it. Heracles is right *there*. He’s also a “mortal” son of Zeus who ascends to Olympus and I don’t know of anyone else who would count as a man who would be a giant hairy man as much as Heracles. He and Dionysus are fucking bros. There’s plenty of room for body diversity and bears and fat guys who are buff.

Taking the *one* god explicitly described as “small and slender like a woman” and fighting tooth and nail over how that could definitely actually mean anything if you change the definition. It’s taking rep away. It’s not body positivity, it’s not inclusivity it’s exclusion. You’ve taken a trans man and made him a cis man who might be a drag queen because that’s like. “The same thing, right? It’s all the same.”

That’s it. That’s why it pisses me off. Rant over.

#seph rambles about Greek mythology #my complex feelings about Dionysus #it’s probably not that deep

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dollarbin · 8 months

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Dollar Bin #17:

Ian Matthews' If You Saw Thro' My Eyes

I had big plans for this weekend's post. My famous brother has been jawing of late about how I will kneel in perpetual penance before Stephen Stills' altar of jock rock greatness the moment I listen to a Manassas record and I will then declare Stills a rock and roll god. One would think my brother is famous for devilry and nonsense.

Indeed, so confident am I that Stills will forever suck that earlier this week I got down on the weathered floor of my local dollar bin (they know what they're doing in my local shop: all of Stills' records are relegated to a neglected, ground level cardboard box, while The Incredible String Band section towers at chest height over Stephen's treasure chest of trash) and hauled out their cheapest copy of Manassas's debut double album (there were plenty of copies to choose from; no one wants to own Stephen Stills records).

My grand plan was to spend a glorious Friday afternoon playing a drinking game of my own invention wherein I'd drink every time I heard a note that did not suck in Manassas's monster ode to mediocrity and I'd admit to each chug in print. I had no fears about a hangover heading into this adventure; I knew I'd emerge stone cold sober.

Fair Reader, I extend to you my sincerest apologies. You'll simply have to wait, with baited breath, for that future entry. The truth is that moments after gleefully cracking open a cold one and dropping the needle on Side 1 of Stills' pretentious piece of pomposity I heard Stephen open his crack (I honestly could not tell which it was, face or ass) and realized I did not have the spirit for it.

Simply put, the very real terror being inflicted upon our fellow humans in Gaza and Israel makes the musical terror Stills inflicts upon us both unfunny and utterly incidental. Please join me in praying for the safety of all innocent people now living in war zones, most especially the children in harm's way.

So, at least for now, I propose that we put off any further pulverization of the guy who thought it was a great idea to name his new band after the Confederacy's first and greatest victory in the Civil War.

Instead, let's consider some fragile and largely unappreciated beauty by spending time on Ian Matthews' first and greatest solo record, If You Saw Thro' My Eyes.

Nick Drake and Sandy Denny both hold and deserve sainted status in the history of popular song. Almost 50 years after their tragic deaths they remain the yin and yang of cosmic British folk music, their all too brief careers forever marking them as the only true peers we have to Neil Young and Joni Mitchell. Of course all four artists owe a heavy debt to Dylan, but each was also consistently capable of creating something Dylan, for all his greatness, has often chased after fruitlessly: beauty.

A consummate recognizer of genius, Joe Boyd saw Sandy Denny sharing the stage with Matthews in Fairport Convention in 69 and understood all of this. So he decided that Ian Matthews needed to take a hike. Denny and her almost equally talented bandmate, Richard Thompson, both loved Matthews but agreed with Boyd; so Matthews got his walking papers, leaving Sandy gloriously alone before the microphone.

Everybody knows the more famous version of this story: George Harrison similarly traded in his forever bronze medal in The Beatles then went on to make the truly Olympian All Things Must Pass.

But Matthews story is a bit more complicated. Rather than settling down and producing a masterpiece, Matthews acted like a restless, slightly panicked (but still quite handsome!) toad, jumping from scheme to scheme. Between 69 and 74 he founded two entirely separate bands (Matthews Southern Comfort and Plainsong) and put out 7 (!) albums. All are Dollar Bin winners, but only one, 71's curiously spelled If You Saw Thro' My Eyes, is transcendent art.

So let's talk about it!

A good introduction is the album's second track, Hearts.

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Matthews is not considered a songwriting genius; after this record he increasingly turned to covering other artists. But here he shows early equal promise to Young; indeed it's great to listen to Hearts alongside Young's equally tender track Birds, which was recorded just a year earlier. Both songs portray young men setting aside the bruising and dumb elements of their assigned and culturally dominent gender; indeed it's hilarious to compare these songs' equally androginus yearnings with the way an artist like Young was marketed at the time. Just look at the image below.

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All he needs is a bullwhip, a fedora and a groveling look of worship from the babe on his hip to complete the image. But there's no macho macho man to be found in either of these lovely songs, and the gesture is missing from every note of If You Saw Thro' My Eyes.

Even so, there are plenty of men making music on this record and they all shred. That's none other than Richard Thompson you hear bubbling and bending on lead guitar all the way through Hearts, and he is a full contributor throughout the record, lending his unmistakable tone and gesture in ways that are frankly more successful than his contributions to Drake's first two records. Richard may have given Matthews the boot, but the two guys still literally lived together in the same house and clearly understood one another's gifts.

And then there's Keith Tippett. My famous brother will now crawl out from under his Stills' shaped rock of shame to shake his fist at me in exasperation when I admit that I know nothing about this guy. But he's clearly some kind of genius. Listen to his quavering, elemental piano work alongside Thompson's guitar on Never Ending.

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Seriously, why did the 74 zillion people buy Tea For the Tillerman then skip on this record?

And that's none other than Sandy Denny playing the harmonium behind Thompson and Tippett. While in Fairport together, Denny and Matthews either traded off vocals masterfully, as in the band's version of Suzanne, harmonized conventionally around one another or stood to one side altogether while the other sang.

But on this album's title track, If You Saw Thro' My Eyes, they finally learn to lean in together. Like lovers, friends or even enemies, they perch on the opposite banks of some terrible chasm, reaching out palm to palm over the breach to hold one another up. High above turbulent seas we listen as they leave the land and soar away, taking us with them.

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I hope all of you are safe, and I hope you can find some way to reach out in love and peace to someone else this weekend. Even if it's Stephen Stills.

#ian matthews #sandy denny #richard thompson #stephen stills still sucks #Youtube #https://doomandgloomfromthetomb.tumblr.com/

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90363462 · 2 years

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6 Signs You Are WAY Too Self-Critical

Shellie R. Warren

Jul. 20, 2019 06:44AM EST

As life would have it, as I'm starting this piece, Kelis' music video for "Bossy" is playing on the tube. Something that I've always liked about Kelis, as an artist, is she's gonna do whatever she wants to do. We don't have to get it, so long as she does. If we like it, that's merely a bonus. Yeah, Kelis would be the opposite of the kinds of folks we're gonna talk about today. She appears to be very anti-self-critical. And that's beautiful.

I recently read two articles about why so many of us are so critical of ourselves (if you want to check them out, gohere and then here). The therapists who were interviewed touched on things like us fearing complacency and also us choosing to engage in tons of negative self-talk. I think that another reason has to do with our childhood. Boy, if there's ever a time when my blood boils, it's when a parent is snatching up a young child and/or worse, cussing at them. Children's minds, hearts and souls are so fragile; they must be handled with extreme care. If that doesn't happen, if the very individuals who should be nurturing their spirits are constantly breaking them, a self-critical individual is exactly what they will turn out to be.

Some of us once were those children and, unfortunately, we are so used to treating ourselves with a lack of patience, forgiveness and self-compassion, that we don't even realize how self-critical we actually are. If you're wondering if this is something that you struggle with, perhaps more than you think, here are six blaring signs that should not be ignored.

You Find a Way to Tear Down Every Compliment

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There's someone I used to be close to who was pretty difficult to be around. A part of the reason was because I could never tell if her responses to compliments were a passive-aggressive way to get more or if she was a bona fide Olympian when it came to tearing affirmations down. I mean, no matter what I said to her, she found a way to knock it. For every time I said, "You look pretty today", she would respond with, "Maybe if I lost some weight." I'd give you some other examples, but I'm already worn out, just by reminiscing over all of that toxicity.

I get that sometimes it can be challenging to receive compliments or praise because you are so focused on improving the being that you already are. But if you don't know how to simply say "thank you" when someone commends you, or there is a part of you that doesn't believe them, something is very imbalanced when it comes to your self-esteem. Yes, there is something to be said for growth, but there is also something to be said for being proud of the person you are and appreciating when other people recognize the goodness that is already in/on you.

You Are Sorry for Things That You Shouldn’t Be

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I've got a girlfriend who is mad humble. But, as a wise person once said, even the excess of a virtue can be a vice, at times. In her case, she has a tendency to apologize for things that she didn't do wrong or aren't her fault. If I call her, she's busy and has to call me back, she'll say, "I'm sorry. I was doing such-and-such." Is that something to be sorry for? Or when her husband completely shows his tail (if you've got a friend with a difficult spouse, I wrote about how I handle it here), she apologizes on his behalf (I get that married folks are "one" and all but he needs to take ownership for his own actions).

She apologizes so much that I finally brought it to her attention by saying, "Do you know that you say 'I'm sorry' for things that you don't even do wrong?" After responding with yep and, you guessed it, "I'm sorry" (LOL), she then said that she thinks it's because she struggles with people-pleasing a lot. Whenever someone is unhappy or even inconvenienced, she somehow believes that she has something to do with it. When I encouraged her to go deeper into where that stems from, she said that she had a babysitter from hell who used to berate and beat her and the other kids that she watched. My friend never told her parents; she just internalized it. She said "I'm sorry" a lot then to keep the peace and she does it a lot now for the same reason (self-awareness is a miracle cure, for real, for real!).

This example is a kinda cryptic form of being self-critical, but it is one nonetheless. It's also a reminder that we must handle all children with extreme care because they grow up to be adults; sometimes with the same wounds that they had from their childhood. Including being way too hard on themselves.

You Hold Yourself to Unrealistic Standards

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Along the same lines of what we just discussed, another indication that you are too self-critical is the standards that you have for yourself are super unrealistic. You are a perfectionist. You don't forgive yourself when you make mistakes. You set way too many goals in a short frame of time. You see where I'm going with this, right? The problem with this is, because we all are flawed, we all sometimes make poor decisions and we all have moments of feeling totally overwhelmed, if you don't accept this fact about your own humanity, you're constantly going to feel like you are a disappointment, if not a flat-out failure.

Cut yourself some slack on the front end by aiming to do your best, but also predetermining that when you do mess up, you can let yourself off of the hook. Doing so is not letting yourself slide. It's actually an act of self-love.

You Don’t Ask for Help

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Anyone who thinks that they don't need help is someone who not only has an ego problem (whether they realize it, like it or not), they also are setting themselves up for failure. If God wanted us to live without the assistance and support of others, we wouldn't have family members and friends. We wouldn't co-exist around other human beings on a daily basis either.

How does not asking for help equate to being too self-critical? Because a lot of people are this way because don't want to come off as appearing weak or needy. Or, they want to show others that they don't need anyone but themselves.

Being this type of person is typically a sign of also having some pretty serious trust issues. But here's the thing—if you constantly attempt things that would be easier for you to do if you had some back-up, then they may take a lot longer or not turn out as well as they could have. As a result, you become even more self-critical. Ugh. Doubly so.

You Are Never Ever Satisfied. Especially with Yourself.

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Not too long ago, I was checking out the IG page for this site. Under a post that featured, well, go here and you can see it yourself, I appreciated what a male commenter said—"The Education us Men get following this page. I'm here for it." I took a sec to check out what the poster, @prewilliams has going on and he had a post that was so appropriate for this article—"You're over here doubting yourself while so many people are intimidated by your potential."

There's nothing wrong with being driven and ambitious. There's nothing wrong with wanting to become better on a daily basis. There's nothing wrong with going above and beyond what seems attainable. But a part of what comes with being a healthy and balanced individual is also being at peace with what you've already accomplished and just how far you've already come.

Stress, anxiety and frustration oftentimes arise out of not knowing how to be satisfied with oneself and/or how to stay in the moment. Life is too short to not know how to just be sometimes.

You’re Way Too Quiet

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Some of y'all might remember the episode of A Different World when Tisha Campbell played a student who had HIV. Her professor was played by Whoopi Goldberg and the assignment that she gave the class to write their own obituary (a clip of the episode is right here). Something that Whoopi's character said, more than once, that has remained with me all this time is, "You are a voice in this world."

It's one thing to use timing and tact in delivering a message. It's another matter entirely when you have a desire to speak, but you don't, because you're worried about how people will react or respond. Your insight, your perspectives and your experiences are just as valid as anyone else's. Don't let your critical nature try and convince you otherwise.

A very wise person once said, "It's better to speak your mind and tell the truth, than to stay quiet and lie to yourself." If after reading this, you know that you are way too self-critical, start making some changes today by speaking up more, always remembering, that yes—YOU ARE A VOICE IN THIS WORLD. A voice that deserves to be heard, received and respected. With as little criticism from you as possible.

Want more stories like this? Sign up for our newsletter here and check out the related reads below:

Quick & Easy Self-Esteem Hacks That Will Have You Feeling Yourself

These Are The Things Self-Aware People Do Daily

Self-Improvement Was My Addiction

Say These Self-Affirmations To Start Your Day On The Right Note

Featured Image by Unsplash.

Self-Critical and Perfectionist Child | Raise Confident Child | Child ... ›

5 Signs You're Too Self-Critical — Aniesa Hanson Counseling ... ›

9 Signs That You're An Overly Critical Person & How To Fix The ... ›

Signs you're being too hard on yourself - INSIDER ›

7 signs you have a self-loathing mindset (and 14 ways to overcome it) ›

11 Signs You're Being Too Hard On Yourself (And 11 Ways To Stop) ›

11 Signs You Are Too Self-Critical — Exploring your mind ›

20 Signs You Are Too Self-Critical | Psychology Today ›

5 Signs You're Too Self-Critical | Savvy Psychologist ›

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younevermakeitunlessyoufakeit · 8 months

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18/10-23

i did not exercise today. on my bedroom floor lies a half read edition of james clears "atomic habits" i didnt pick it up today either. i want to change, just not enough. therefore i decided to start a small project. or change my life. let us call it a small project as of now. my idea was such that i will just pretend i am everything i dream of.

i wish to be a young lady who is well educated, hard working, elegant and beautiful, someone who is pleasant and fun. but most of all i day dream of one thing. being a champion. being the absolute best. all of my days i spend fantasising about being the best runner.

now is high time to stop my fantasies and create them in reality. i can of course not just start running 30km/day, but i do want to start out by eating healthily daily, and exercise my body for 45 minutes, twice a day. i want to go to the gym, both challenging my body and my shy spirit, but also run and walk outside.

my belief is that the hardest part about this is not giving up, so i have a secret weapon; my vivid imagination. i will tell myself every day, every moment of doubt, that i am the best runner, a great olympian, just as i am inside my mind. i do not care if my fantasies land me in the olympics or just in a local marathon. all i wish is to get off this carousel of mental tourture.

yours truly, M

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folly854 · 2 years

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🌙 NEW PROJECT! Gods, Myths, and Spirits ☀️

In a land of gods and monsters, your characters can now walk among them! This project is all about gods, goddesses, spirits, and everything they preside over. Perhaps your character would be a forest spirit, or a god of the ocean. Perhaps they will take a different route and be a goddess of war or the embodiment of chaos. This project is flexible, and these can be Gods/gods/spirits/etc. If you want your character to be an Olympian style immortal God, great, but if you want your character to be a "Princess Mononoke" style mortal god, that's equally great. The choice is yours! Have a favorite pantheon, mythological creature, or country/region you’d like me to take inspiration from? Have any specific myths or powers in mind for your character? Do you want to use a pantheon/mythology from a work of fiction as inspiration, instead? If you have any questions or requests, just let me know! * SLOTS ARE INFINITE until I say otherwise. We can also have multiple characters presiding over the same thing. Each slot starts at $160 USD ( all payments are through PayPal and are due within a week of claiming the slot), and you can claim as many slots as you want; you pick the character you want ( it has to be an OC), and what domain you wish them to rule over! These are going to be an all-new format for me, so each slot will include a fully shaded digital fullbody shot and a full background. Extra fees included for character complexities ( wings, extra limbs, etc...) + $90 for each additional OC. + $50 for each additional character of my own design (upon request, obviously). Due to the new format, sketches WILL be sent out for this project. Just message me if you want to claim a slot! Here are a few common domains that could help inspire you! Agriculture Any of the Elements Beasts Beauty Death Chaos Earth Fire Metallurgy Medicine Fertility Magic The Moon Nobility/ Royalty The Sea Sleep The Sun Time Trickery War Forests Winter The Underworld * I will not be directly portraying any specific religious figures/Gods and Goddesses to prevent any misunderstandings. This is a secular project. *

#art project #digital art #digital art commissions #furry commissions #commission #commissions #fantasy art

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brianwilly · 3 years

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So. Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons #1. The book is basically so beautiful that it will hurt your mind, which is to be expected, and I'm actually little torn about it in the sense that the sheer undeniable quality on display in this book, and how close this book gets to an utter ideal depiction of the DC Amazons and associated mythology, makes me that much more nitpicky and resistant to the periodic parts of the telling that I'm not quite 100% sold on. It's that old conundrum. The more you love a thing, the more you wanna take it apart. Uh. Maybe. Just me, then?

This story can, will, and should completely redefine the Wonder Woman mythos for years to come...and, as a fan, that frightens me as much as it excites. I want this to be doing exactly what it's doing because I can see what it's doing, but I'm also wary of some things that I see it doing.

This is a story built on rage and sadness and trainloads of strong emotional baggage. The first issue is painted at every turn with emotions so raw they tear at the pages themselves. And so the gods and the Amazons themselves depicted in the story are raw. Sharp. Grim. Implacable. Furious. And they deserve it, and are a perfect response to the sort of world that made them necessary.

I'll cut to the chase and just say that I hope that this book doesn't neglect the part of the DC Universe's Amazons that are about love and compassion and reform as well. I recently talked about how much I appreciated that the DC Amazons always seemed to be intended as an subversion of old messy stereotypes of man-hating feminists. I really hope this aspect of them -- this deliberate send-up to the idea that women who don't want to be literally violated by men must also want to do violence to men in return -- does not get neglected by this series and that these Amazons forge a path towards something new and meaningful as they seemed to have been created to do, instead of just repeating the violence of the past. That's what Wonder Woman is about, after all.

And I think that there may in fact be signs that this might indeed be where the story is heading. Again, I hope that I'm reading these signs right, and also fear that I'm not. I actually ended up liking the more down-to-Earth parts of the book about Hippolyta's origins a bit more than the larger-than-life dioramas of the goddesses' plans in motion. This part felt like a true origin story of a meaningfully powerful character, who will truly shape the course of the Amazons. And I love this Hippolyta -- the quintessential Wonder-Mom -- and am desperate to know exactly how she'll do that.

On a more mythological note with more mythological nitpicks (and these are truly nitpicks, but I'd be remiss not to address them), this issue basically divides the Olympian gods' opinions on women based on their gender; all the goddesses are sympathetic to the plights of women, bar none, and all the male gods to a tee couldn't care less. This had always been a bit of a questionable way to depict the Greek gods, even in Perez's day...a vastly binary and oversimplified rendition of the roles and narratives in a mythology where none of the gods are simply one good thing or one bad thing, where Ares actually punished rapists and Apollo freed slaves while Hera and Athena victim-blamed.

I know, I know; this is a retelling, a reinterpretion, not a 1:1 reiteration of a mythos that already had no real canon anyway, and the whole point of Wonder Woman's mythology since 1942 is that the stories we know are wrong while these are how how they really happened...in these cases. Believe me, I'm not pressed about a Wonder Woman book choosing to interpret gods in different ways. But the thing is that with mythology, the closer that you try to hew to the spirit of the ancient gods and stories -- and this Historia definitely does hew very, very, very closely in a lot of great ways -- the more noticeable your deviations become. It may work for this telling, it may be this way for incredibly valid narrative reasons, but at the end of the day you run the danger of missing as many points about these gods as you'd caught, fucking up as many elements as you'd gotten right, picking and choosing at the mythos as you did. It's that other old conundrum...if your retelling of the myths was bananas right from the outset, well, who cares how off-base it gets? See: Thor, Loki, Marvel. But the more marks you actually hit, the weirder your misses become.

In any case, this is a genre-defining book for all the right reasons and I cannot wait another second before issue two (Spring 2022? Spring 2022?? We'll all be dead by then!) which means every little thing about issue one will probably bug me forever!

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

all the flowers will bloom

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: honestly nothing, really! well, i’m busting out this chapter once again, before i go into work so there are most likely typos!!

background: so this is inspired by the myth and stuff, but there are for sure some differences!! the world of mythology is so so intricate and it’s hard to get everything down and accurate- so i took the liberty to not LMAO

word count: 3.1k

You remembered having a slightly rebellious phase that lasted maybe ten years. It wasn’t long at all in the grand scheme of things, and the things that you did were simply things that people with normal parents did. The type of parents who weren’t afraid of their children being stolen from them. One time, you remembered sneaking into a forest where nymphs you didn’t know were, and they loved you on sight, without even knowing who you were. An even more grand escape involved a human celebration, the solstice to be exact, and a man with sea green eyes. He was taken by you, and for a minute, you remembered being taken by him. You were loved by everyone who knew you, and by those who only met you briefly, even the older gods.

So why had you not heard of anyone coming to get you? It had only been a few hours, but you knew that your mother had already gone crazy. She had some kind of danger meter when it came to you, and you were surprised that she hadn't sensed the fact that you were scared and somewhere unfamiliar yet. You used to hate the danger meter that always seemed to know when you were up to being the young soul you were, but now you were counting on that bothersome danger meter.

Hades had been kind enough to show you to where you would be staying herself. You expected a ghost or some sort of half dead spirit to give you a tour of the place, the one place you were never supposed to be, but she did it herself. She was rather monotonous, and she sounded like she would rather be counting the souls in her domain one at a time, but she did it. The short tour ended with the door slamming in your face after you told her that your mother would be searching for you, and then there you were.

There were no windows in your room, and you weren’t even sure that you wanted any in the first place. The windows in your home showed beautiful mountains and valleys and there was even a meadow, but the Underworld was nowhere near as beautiful to you. You missed your colors, you missed singing to the flowers and coaxing soil into being healthy enough to grow crops. It hadn’t even been a full day, and you were facing from withdrawals. And you were too scared to even address the fact that you could still smell the death, and that you could still feel it lingering around you even after the Lady of the Dead cast whatever spell that she did.

It felt like you were being sucked from the life that was always naturally within you, and it was terrifying.

The room was just as dark and dismal as the rest of the Underworld, or, at least what you had seen of it. It was depressing and gloomy, and it made you feel like a prisoner. With every passing second, you regretted not listening to your mother. You sat on the stiff bed, your eyes welling with tears as the extent of what happened started to sink in. Your hands shook as you wiped your cheeks, even though the action was useless against the new army of tears that were marching down your face, rounding the curve and clinging to your skin.

You knew what was happening. You replenished the tree. You fixed it, and with fixing the historical tree that you should have known about, you ultimately and unintentionally signed your life away, consenting to being stolen down into the Underworld until you could fix the entire Elysian Garden. You thought it was an impossible feat, and if by the grace of all the Olympian Gods you did succeed, it would be years before you finished. A sob escaped your throat and you turned to lay on your stomach, sobbing into the pillow that was less than comfortable.

You were going to be dead before you even got a look at flowers again.

§§

Before you even realized that you fell asleep, you were being woken up by the feeling of death grasping at you, tickling every hair on your body. You rolled to the side to catch your breath on the hard bed and let yourself cry again, the pitiful noises so loud that you didn’t even hear anyone approaching you.

Two hands grabbed you and turned you on your back, and you coughed weakly at the ceiling. “It should work,�� you heard a voice mutter, and then there was a warm palm right on your throat, the other above your sternum as you tried to catch your breath. All you could focus on was the warmth, the sheer warmth that you expected to find nowhere in the realm of the dead. As your airways unclogged, you turned to the side and hacked again, breathed in and out a few times, and then turned to look towards the person who saved you.

She looked different. Somehow, she looked even more intimidating in the all black clothing she was wearing. It was a far cry from a dress, and closer to the suits that you saw humans wear. She was staring down at you with her calculating and cold eyes, examining you and surely judging. You made your own judgement. “Why are you so warm?”

Her hard expression faltered. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, forgetting for a moment that she was as old as dirt and that she could easily take your breath away without any effort. “How are your hands so warm?” you got utter silence from her, and you knew that she was cursing at you in her head. “You’re dead.”

There was the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. “I’m not dead. I’m a god, I don’t die.”

You didn’t think you could, either, but you had been at Death’s door twice already within twenty four hours. “How are you the Goddess of Death and the Underworld if you’re not dead?”

“Are you not the Goddess of Agriculture?” She asked, one of her brows arched. “Then why are you not a stalk of corn?”

You shook your head. “That’s not the same.”

She gave you a look. “It certainly is.”

“How are you ruling over a group of people without ever knowing how it feels to be the way that they are?” You asked.

“You do not know how it feels to be a flower, yet you make them grow.” She reasoned, and you shook your head adamnely. “I do not have to be able to die to know how someone feels. I have witnessed it for years and years.”

“But I do know how it feels to be a flower,” you corrected, voice soft as you began to slip onto the mindset you got when your bare feet touched the grass. “I feel every living thing near me, all the time. I can feel the energy that comes from flowers. I can feel the way they drink up the sun and the rain, and the way they weave their roots into the ground. I can feel seedlings sprouting from the soil, and I can feel buds coming alive to show petals. I know how it feels to be a flower, and a tree, and a shard of grass, and a stalk of corn. That’s why I do so well with them.”

It was silent between the two of you as you got an eyeful of her, and she did the same to you. You found yourself staring into her eyes, and you noticed that they held more color than Bucky’s seas. Her eyes might have been the most colorful thing in the kingdom she ruled. She blinked, and you stopped your staring. “Will you bring that same confidence to my garden?”

“I do not know if I can fix something so dead.”

“My tree had been dead for thousands upon thousands of years, and you made it bloom again.”

“It wasn’t surrounded by death,” you pointed out, and she crossed her arms. “I mean, well, it was, but not like everything down here is. This place drains me.”

“It will until you accept that you’re here,” she said, and you scowled at her. “You will wake up in pain until you understand that you’re here. It’s a side effect of dying.”

Your heart raced in your throat. “Dying?”

“You’re not dead, not yet.” When you gave her a horrified look, she smirked. “A human would be dead the second they arrived, but because you’re a god, it will work slowly for you.”

“Are you saying that I have a literal deadline?” You asked, voice wavering slightly as you tried to be brave while thinking about all the ways you could possibly get the godforsaken garden to grow, and as fast as possible. If you didn’t see your mother again in one piece, there would be hell to pay. She would find a way to resurrect you to kill you all over again.

“As long as you let me take the death out of your system, you’ll live long enough to fix my garden.”

You figured that was what her touch was doing to you. You remembered someone touching your throat after you fell, and you knew it was her. She took the death out of you, but it still hovered over your skin, anxious to get back inside of you and eat you whole. It knew just as much as you did that you had no business being there. At least, not alive.

You knew that the likelihood of you being able to fix the garden was slim to none. Part of you wanted to say no to save yourself from the humiliation of pushing yourself. You were supposed to be an expert at growth, some even said you were better at growing than your mother. She focused on the big picture, getting out as many crops as possible and sometimes forgetting quality, but you took your time. She was more powerful than you by miles and miles, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe you could do it. You were going to have to, if you wanted to leave. “Has anyone else ever tried to grow your garden?”

The Goddess of the Underworld was so silent that you thought she didn’t hear you, but when you looked over at her, she was staring right at you with her undead eyes, an unreadable look on her face. “One.”

You nodded and looked at your hands, and the flowers that were hanging on to life by a thread. You shook your head and sighed, and then sighed again. “I would like to see what I’m working with.”

§§

Hades walked quickly, but her steps lacked urgency. She walked with her head held high without even knowing it, and her steps were so loud that it cleared every dark and bare hall that they echoed in. Her subjects held the image of her with respect, and you saw every single one of them at least bow their heads to her. She kept her eyes forward, never once looking back at you to check that you were following. She stepped into an elevator-like contraption and looked forward once you stepped in the space next to her, and looked at the buttons on it.

“This is… fancy.”

“Did you think there were stairs to every single level?” She asked, and you pursed your lips. “That’s a lot of walking.” Her finger hovered over a button, number two, and then you realized that you were on the middle ground, the third level. “You aren’t to go on any of the levels but the third by yourself, do you understand?”

You held back your scowl at being told what to do. “Why not?”

“The first level is the entrance to my kingdom. There are plenty of wailing souls and rivers that no living thing should ever see. It would give you quite the shock.” Your brows shot up. You didn’t expect for her to give you a reason, and maybe it was because your mother never really gave you any good ones. “The second level, which is where we’re going, is for the best of humanity. It’s full of honorable humans and demigods. That level is called Elysium.”

You knew of that level. Everyone who had swooned and fawned over Achilles made sure that Hades put him in Elysium after he died, where he would be with all of the other warriors and scholars. Even your mother favored the young man, but it wasn’t enough to get her to beg to Hades. You were starting to irrationally fear that nothing was going to be enough to get her to beg the woman, maybe not even you.

“The third layer is the Asphodel Meadows. There's not many things left that make it a meadow, but it’s for the typical human. It was designed for people who haven’t done wrong nor good, the ones who didn’t particularly make a mark on the world and those around them in a good or bad way.”

“I’d bet a few people I used to know are there now,” you said softly, and she looked over at you with a confused look on her face. You shrugged at her, thinking that she was judging your human friends for not doing any spectacular deeds in their short lifetimes. “My friends, I think they may be there now.”

“You make friends with humans?”

“I make friends with anyone and anything,” you said. “If they allow me to.”

She stared at you for a long moment, and then started to talk again before finally pressing the button. “The fourth level is nothing more than a thick layer between the third and the fifth, which is Tartarus. You know that.” You did. You knew that only the worst of people, and the Titans, resided there. Humans who killed for fun or did major harm went to Tartarus, the lowest level of the Underworld, and the most torturous. “Never attempt to go into the fifth level.”

You didn’t want to. No one wanted to see Tartarus with their own eyes, and hear what no doubt was screams and sounds of pain and anguish. It was a world full of punishment for horrific crimes, and it was no place for someone like you to be. She surely didn’t have to tell you twice.

“Where’s your dog?” You blurted, and she gave you a mildly annoyed look as she waited for you to elaborate. “You have a three-headed dog.”

She breathed in through her nose and rolled her eyes at you, but you were looking at her face closely enough to see that a small smile was threatening the corners of her mouth. “Cerberus is destructive. He guards the gates of the Underworld, which means you will probably never meet him.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing such an unusual and rumored to be humongous dog was enticing, but you didn’t want to see souls getting carted off while screaming, either. The doors opened, and she stepped put first, once again not even worrying about if you were following her. The second that you stepped out of the closure of the four walls, you were met with something that you never thought you would see in the Underworld.

There were remnants of colors all around, like there was once a beautiful set up that could have rivaled the above ground. You saw dead ivy crawling on walls of the cave-like walls, and you could feel the crunch of dead grass beneath your feet. Death was swirling all around you, and even though you felt sick, you couldn’t help but push that feeling aside for curiosity. You could almost picture everything in your mind. This place was without a doubt, once very alive.

“How did it use to be so alive?” You whispered, mostly talking to yourself as you forgot that the Goddess of the Underworld was standing feet from you, watching you take everything in. “It used to be gorgeous, I can feel it.” Your frown quirked upwards just a bit as you stepped forward and then went downwards again once you felt a familiar yet faint feeling, and once you touched a leaf with your pointer finger, you were slammed with it. “This… my mother did this.” Your head whipped towards Hades, who was watching you with a bored expression. “This is my mother’s work, that’s why it felt so familiar. She was here?”

“She’s the one who made this garden, young god.” When your face went slack, she smirked. “Not out of the kindness of her heart, I will admit. Steve made her.”

“Why?”

“Because even the dead deserve something beautiful to look at.” When you started to open your mouth, she held a delicate yet strong hand up, halting your lips from moving. “I know what the above grounders think about us. It’s called the afterlife for a reason, you know. These are people down here, regardless of whether you want to believe it or not. So, yes, they deserve something as simple as a meadow.”

You let her words sink in and echo softly against the walls as you stared at the dead plants, struggling to hold onto the last bits of your mother’s energy that still lingered. “Did they die because she left them?”

Hades frowned. “They died because she killed them.”

You shook your head adamantly, quickly denying her claim. “My mother doesn’t harm land. She never has, and she never would.”

“What makes you so sure that she’s not spiteful and hateful towards me that she wouldn't do that?”

“My mother-”

“Is a harsh woman. She is as punishing as she is gracious, and you know that. Your mother and I never liked each other, and it only got worse as the years went on.”

You knew that your mother’s hatred for the goddess before you ran deep. You doubted that it was deep enough for your mother to harm the earth, but you never knew. Hell, you never knew that your mother had ever even been to the Underworld. “I don’t think I’ll be able to revive what my own mother has destroyed,” you admitted. “She’s much stronger than me. If she really did kill it like you said she did, then I don’t think I’m powerful enough to reverse it.”

A staring competition happened right there between the two of you, her eyes the same calculated look as always and yours holding the one that pleaded for understanding, for release. “You’d better figure it out, flower girl. Preferably before your mother decides to wage a war for you.”

The goddess turned to walk away, and when you caught sight of her back, your lips opened before you could even stop them. “What’s your real name?”

She stopped in her tracks without turning around, but you saw the tension grow in her back. “Why?”

“I’m not going to call you by the name that the humans do,” you said, not even bothering to contain the scoff you wanted to give. “I try to call everyone by the names that they have given themselves.” That, and the name was meant to be scary. It was supposed to intimidate and incite fear into people, and you weren’t scared of her. She showed no side of herself that made you think that she was anything like your mother said she was.

She turned around slowly, her face expressionless and she looked you right in your eyes in a few moments of silence. “I renamed myself Natasha.”

Natasha. For a split second, you wondered where she got the name from. Did it come to her in a vision? Did she read it in a book somewhere? Did she take it from a human she admired? Did she even spend time admiring humans? “Then I will call you that.”

“You can call me whatever you want to,” she sighed out, turning on her heel again to stalk away from you.

“You didn’t even ask my name,” you called out, heart racing slightly at the idea of benign left alone in the Underworld, outside of the protection of the room that you had woken up in.

“I know enough about you to last me many lifetimes, Persephone.”

“I-it’s Y/N,” you muttered, but the doors to the elevator shut right on your words, and then you were left alone.

****

taglist: @teenwonder @saamwilscn @messuhp @username23345 @dontmindmejustreading @bitchuwish @blackxwidowsxwife @anxiousgoldengirl @russianredassassin @dailyavengering @blackluthxr @coxmicbabygirl @alytavzla sorry if i missed anyone!!! you can ask to be removed or added at any time!

#natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanov x reader #hades!natasha x persephone!reader #hades!natasha #greek mythology au

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 16

A/N: Y’all chapter 16 IS HERE!!!!! Well this was a difficult chapter to write but it includes a fluffy ending! 🙂 I hope you lovelies enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! And as always, have a beautiful day and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! ☺️ 💕💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and abuse, blood and gore, mentions of past torture, scars

There was still daylight outside when you had roused from your nap, the sunshine emerging through the gap in the tall closed curtains just enough to provide the living room with some light and warmth. Yet another nightmare terrorized your dreams in the few hours of your slumber, the very same one that haunted you the night before in regards to the scars on your back. Whenever will these night terrors cease to exist? Shall you ever hope to one day have the fortuity of being able to rest your head and not have to wake up in absolute terror and dread.

You laid there on the couch, hands resting on your stomach as you stared up at the coffered ceiling, your eyes tracing the grooves along the panels as you reflected on what had occurred not very long ago. Which reminded you, you would have to check on your wound soon, hoping that your Olympian genes had at least allowed it to heal. And while you were at it, you could really use a bath. Sam was disappointedly no longer nestled next to you, leaving you in an empty coldness even though a blanket had been thrown over your sleeping form. Thoughts of divulging the story behind your scars invaded your mind like a dark stormy cloud hovering above your head, ready to rain down with feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. Sam had warned you about the dangers of keeping yourself in a dark hole. How shutting yourself off from the rest of the world and leaving your mind to the negative thoughts that ate at you like a blood-sucking parasite would slowly devour every last ounce of you that made you alive. It was no different than jumping into piranha infested waters. You had to tell them the truth about you soon, even if it was piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle to reveal the whole picture. However, you felt a sense of foreboding deep within your spine upon when the time would come. Seeing the whole picture only meant seeing the real you. And you couldn’t help but feel they’d look at you with the utmost horror indescribable to mortals, like the monster you were. You couldn’t blame them if they never wished to see you again. You’d run from that part of you if you could.

You got up with a soft groan, your hair was disarray and your body was stiff and sore as you looked around the dim room to see Sam sat on a stool by the kitchen area staring down at his laptop, the light from the screen Illuminating the blank expression on his face that masked a layer of concern behind it. Sam’s heart was torn from the moment he laid his eyes on your back, he could still feel the way his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of those jagged lines. The picture was imbedded in his mind like the first time you witness something upsetting. Sam could almost count the scars and map it out. This explained why you never wore a tank top and stuck with t-shirts. You had hid this from everyone since the beginning.

Bucky stood off to the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets. You noticed how his brows were knitted together, his eyes which were usually bright, now held a shadow over them as stared off into the distance. Little did you know, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. The image still haunted his thoughts like a demonic spirit. Bucky had felt this malevolent and nefarious atmosphere surround him in that moment he first saw the slashes that lined your back, like a dense fog concealing something evil lurking behind the mist. In the days that he had known you, he believed you to be one of the most caring souls he had the luck of coming across in all his years, you reminded him of Steve in some ways. Who could have done this to you? Whatever did you do to deserve such cruelty?

“Y/n?” Bucky’s face lightened up as he walked over to you to see how you were holding up once he saw you sitting up on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He crouched down next to you, laying his hand on top of your bare foreman. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you must have been in, to get shot and walk it off as if nothing had happened. He wished you had told him, instead of trying to hide it. It ended up doing you more harm than good.

“Better. Still a bit weak, but I think I’m gaining my strength back.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand as you lost yourself in his eyes, blushing under his gaze from how close he was to you and to the way his hand was on the bare skin of your arm. They had been the first thing you noticed about him, those bright steel blue orbs contrasted against his dark lashes that seemed to pierce right through you like icy daggers. You found them to be striking, as if you were staring into the skies of an oncoming storm. However, that was until you saw the curl of his lips and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, it was then his boyish smile that completely transcended his appearance. And when he smiled at you, you could never seem to pull yourself away. It was that same charming smile that captivated you since 1942.

“That’s good to hear.” Sam spoke up after hearing your answer, looking up at you with a warm smile. “I knew you’d pull through.”

“You have too much faith in me Sam.” You shook your head with a soft chuckle. Your ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom doors opening, and when you turned towards it, your eyes nearly widened at the sight before you. There in the vicinity of the entrance to the bathroom stood Zemo fresh out of the shower wearing a bathrobe, his bare chest visible from under the collar where a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck. His skin glistened from the water droplets that still clung to him, like the dew that formed on blades of grass and the surrounding plant-life the morning after a cold and misty night. He carried with him a small towel, using it to dry his damp hair, the loose strands falling over the side of his face. Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him go over to the kitchen area, leaving behind a trail of his cologne as he went. The scent was much sharper now from being just recently applied and caused the hairs on your arms to stand up, encompassing you in a haze of this medley of fragrances. Your nose vivified from your sense of smell that picked up on the hints of cedar, fig, grapefruit, orange, pepper, vetiver and ylang-ylang. He smelled incredible.

In this very moment, you were beyond thankful you were the only one with telepathic abilities, due to certain uninhibited images that played within the walls of your mind. Your eyes flickered down to the belt of the robe that was tied around his torso, your fingers itching to untie the one sole thing that with a single tug, would leave him for you to behold and admire. You turned your gaze to the floor, your face burning along with your thoughts that seemed to swallow you whole. By the gods and the pits of Tartarus, were you really lusting after that man? If you had went back in time and told yourself that you would one day be infatuated with and dare say even be consumed with desire for none other than Helmut Zemo himself, you would have stabbed yourself and thrown your body into Tartarus with your own two hands to prevent such a thing from happening. You needed a shower, a cold one at that.

“Well, I probably should have said this in the beginning.” Bucky cleared his throat as he had now sat next to you on the couch, you didn’t even notice his hand leave yours and you prayed he didn’t see the way you were drinking in Zemo. Fortune was in your favor, owing to the fact that Bucky had not noticed at all. “But the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

You snapped your head towards Bucky upon hearing him say what you were ashamed to have felt a bit of dismay towards. You would be a fool to admit you didn’t see it coming. You had known the Wakandans were after him since the beginning, you said so yourself when you first saw him at your front door that day, hidden behind Bucky and Sam. Who would have known those words would eventually leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, his head shooting up from his phone after he heard what Bucky had announced.

“No.” Bucky shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo questioned with a look of doubt.

“‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam snapped at Zemo. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo retaliated as he went behind the table, opening up the cupboards and peering at the items inside.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam expressed as he followed Zemo with his head.

“Sam.” Bucky spoke up as he stared at an article on his phone, making you look at him in curiosity.

“What?”

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

Your brows furrowed when you heard what happened. What in the realms was this girl doing? Did she just cross the line?

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam looked stunned upon hearing the news.

“Eleven injured, three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

You sighed, shaking your head from what you heard. “This isn’t good.”

“She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you?” Zemo turned to the two of them.

“She’s just a kid.” Sam defended, none of this was sitting right with him.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo tried to point out. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” Sam glared.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky corrected Sam’s statement.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo.” Bucky mentioned. “The serum never corrupted Steve.”

“Touché.” Zemo pointed with a cookie on his finger from the jar he pulled out. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo went back to open up another cupboard.

“Yes.”

“You guys.” You groaned, making them turn their attention on you as you leaned back into the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hope you know that arguing isn’t going to help the situation at all. I agree with Sam, we should try to convince her to see the wrong in her ways first, try to get her to back down. Hopefully she’ll change her mind. But......if she doesn’t........”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to stab her.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” You stuck your hand out. “I was going to say throw her ass in jail if she persists. She’s already killed three and injured seven.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never signed peace treaties before Sam. My sister Athena and I used to be diplomats, ambassadors for our planet. Our father would send us off to other worlds to build alliances. Let me tell you from my personal experience from the people I have dealt with. Someone who is so dead set in their ways and begins to see themselves as a form of liberator or savior on the right path, you gotta do a hell lot of convincing to get them to see clearly.”

“Karli may be different.” Sam looked at you.

“Yes, she may or may not be. It’s a 50/50 chance. But when you live as long as me you start to see similarities, patterns. History tends to repeat itself.”

“So what do we do?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well. We take this with a diplomatic approach. I think you should go talk to her. You’re good at that.”

Sam nodded his head at your words, his eyes deep in thought.

“If you guys will excuse me.” You stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go check on my wound and wash up.”

“There should be some spare towels and robes.” Zemo gestured towards the bathroom, to which you thanked him with a nod.

You closed the bathroom doors behind you, locking it with a click before removing your articles of clothing and the gauze that was wrapped around your midsection. The wound had already healed, leaving behind a raised scar in its place, another mark to add to your collection. You shivered against the chilly air of the bathroom, your toes curled against the tile floors that were cool to the touch as you rubbed your arms. You went over to turn on the shower, running your hand under the water to check on the temperature before stepping in, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh the moment the warm water touched your skin.

Memories of your planet occupied your mind, filling you with a sense of solace as you remembered the beautiful lush land and the magnificent creatures that roamed them, scattered with tall mountains and waterfalls, lakes and streams, and the exquisite flowers that smelled absolutely heavenly whenever you passed them. You missed the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture of the towering buildings and the tents that lined the local markets that you used to stroll through wearing a chiton and a pair of sandals, the markets always bustling with merchants, philosophers, painters, sculptors, and craftsmen of almost every kind. You missed the different smells of the food and spices that revitalized your senses and made your mouth water. And you missed the local hot springs, especially the secluded one you discovered on one of your walks. It was the perfect place for you to unwind, especially after a hard day of training where your muscles ached. The area was surrounded by plant life which offered you privacy, allowing you to immerse yourself in the waters in solitude and peace with a view that overlooked the ancient cities below you. When the sun went to rest over the horizon and the moon took command over the skies, the water itself became luminescent under the stars, as if someone had thrown handfuls of aquamarine jewels into it, which was stunning when complemented with the starry night sky. Gods, you missed your home, you missed the past. Apart from all those wonders that brightened up your eyes whenever you beheld them, you missed the familiar faces of the people you have come to know there. You missed the locals, and you missed your family. Your heart ached, it felt as if your soul was grappling with a pervasive emptiness that lurked in its dark and unexplored corners. An intense yearning overwhelmed you, a sentimental longing for the past and the things that were.

You sighed, shutting off the water and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape before stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off before slipping on a clean pair of clothes. Your hair was still damp as you wrapped a towel around it, opening the bathroom doors back up to see Bucky, Zemo, and Sam in a conversation.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.” Sam elaborated.

You stopped, furrowing your brows at Sam, only managing to catch a snippet of the sentence. “Why are you talking about tits?”

“What?” Sam looked at you. “No not tits, my TT.”

“What about your tiddies?” You quirked.

“No my TT. TEE-TEE.”

“Your TT?” Bucky squinted at him.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed that no one got what he was saying.

“Who is your TT?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

“Sounds plausible.” You nodded, heading over to the kitchen to grab yourself a cold glass of water.

“Worth a shot.” Bucky noted.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo accentuated before tossing the three of you some candy. “Turkish delight. Irresistible.”

You caught the one Zemo tossed over to you, staring at the cubed piece of paper wrapped candy in your hands before looking up at Zemo with a raised brow. “Uh.....thanks.” You walked over to the couch where Bucky sat, sitting down next to him and popping the candy in your mouth after removing the wrapper.

“How’s the bullet wound?” Sam nodded towards you.

“It’s healed, thanks for asking.”

It was now or never.

“So uh......guys.” You cleared your throat, your nerves causing you torment like tiny little pinpricks over your skin. “About the uh............about the scars you saw on my back.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Bucky spoke softly after noticing how your voice shook, your eyes were glued to your hands as you picked at the skin on your fingers and palms.

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t keep this hidden forever.” You sighed, taking in a deep breath to prepare yourself as the men watched you, silent as the grave as they listened attentively to what you had to say. “Long ago, back in Olympus when I had just reached adulthood, I used to be a diplomat for my father, as you already know. Well, that wasn’t my only duty. I was also an assassin, his.........personal executioner. I would be sent on missions to other worlds to take out tyrants, oppressors, the absolute heinous of society. In the beginning, it was for the health of the innocent, to unshackle the chains of injustice and cruelty. But then one day, Zeus wanted me to assassinate a king who had done no harm towards his people. At first, I couldn’t understand his reasoning on having me complete this mission, until it all clicked. I started to see the truth behind Zeus’s aspirations, his....ulterior motive. I had been completely oblivious to his twisted ambition and lust for power. I had never been so vexed with anyone and myself. I felt ridden with guilt, telling myself I should have caught on to his true intentions far earlier. So I confronted him about it and laid down the sword he gave me, not wanting anything to do with it. I told him what he was doing was wrong, and that I did not want to be a part of his path to reign of terror. Zeus became furious and tried to accuse me of treason before locking me up in the dungeons. I had never seen him with that kind of rage before. I was terrified to see my father act that way and hadn’t slept a wink that night in the cell. The very next day was my public punishment, one that Hera herself picked out. So his guards dragged me out to the stands that afternoon, the place where they held public shaming and punishments.”

You stopped, gathering yourself as you wiped away at the tears that fell down your cheeks. You could feel Bucky reach his hand out towards you so you grabbed it in return, clutching it with dear life as if it was the only thing that reminded you that you were here, not back in that traumatic moment, but here on earth with 3 men that would do absolutely anything for your safety and happiness. You choked back a sob as you continued. “They tore open the back of my dress, leaving me bare from the waist up for all to see before tying my wrists to the wooden post. I had never felt so humiliated and frightened my entire life. And then they whipped me, over and over again to the point I could no longer stand, the only thing keeping me up was the rope. My dress became soaked with the blood from my wounds and so did the wooden floorboards beneath me. I eventually fell unconscious from the pain, it was too much for me to bear. I was left there for the remainder of the day, left as an example of what happens to those who betray Zeus. When my uncle Hades, Athena, Artemis and some of my other siblings heard what had happened, they rushed to my aid, enraged at what was done to me. Athena and Artemis took me in to their home and tried to tend to my wounds there, but they had already festered. I came to find out later that the rope they whipped me with was laced with a poison so that my wounds wouldn’t heal properly, so that they’d remain to be a constant reminder of my actions.”

The men were silent as you finished telling your story, their faces only fitting the description of horror as they tried to process the inhumanity that was inflicted on you by the very people you trusted. They couldn’t bring themselves to give you words of comfort. No amount of words and speeches could help you or undo what was done. The men’s hearts wrenched as they could almost share the pain you had felt. If your father wasn’t already dead, they would have killed the scumbag himself. Bucky had hugged you in that moment, letting you cry into his shoulder as Sam had come over to you as well, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you from behind. You sat there engulfed between Sam and Bucky as you cried, your tears and your confession representing the weight that was now lifted off your shoulders. You no longer had to hide the scars, your story was told. Zemo still stood by the kitchen, his knuckles white from gripping the counter, his face turned in the opposite direction. One look at you would tear him apart, he would drop everything and rush over to you this instant to be able to hold you in his arms. He’d let you cry onto him forever if need be. You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.

You went for a stroll that night after the sun had set. Bucky and Sam offered to accompany you due to the state you were in but you declined. You needed to be alone for a while. Retelling your story still rattled you as if you had relived that moment once more. You headed off to the nearest park, laying down on the grass as you stared up at the night sky. The cool wind brushed against your cheeks like an icy caress as you closed your eyes, the blades of grass tickling the sides of your face, losing yourself in your surroundings before the faint sound of footsteps against the soft grass interrupted you. You sat up, turning your head to see Zemo standing behind you.

“Zemo? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might join you, if you’d allow me.”

“...............sure.” You watched him from the corner of your eye as he sat down beside you, wearing that fur collared coat of his. You pulled your knees up to your chest, clasping your hands together at the front before staring off into the distance.

Zemo’s eyes flickered over to your profile, studying your facial expressions and the hollowness that was held in your eyes. He still could not get your narrative out of his head, wincing at the image of the excruciating pain and anguish you must have felt at the time. He could not imagine what your back must of resembled in that moment. He wished he was there, so that he may have rescued you and went after those who ever dared to do you harm. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see the stars. I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, surprisingly. Still a bit unnerved, but I’m think I’m doing better.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you. It should never have occurred in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, you had nothing to do with it.” You sighed, shivering as a strong breeze passed through you.

Zemo noticed your movement and turned in your direction. “Do you need my coat?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You watched as Zemo slipped off his coat before leaning over to drape it around your shoulders. You averted your eyes from him and turned your head away from how close he was. You shivered once more, but this time from his warm breath that grazed across your cheek as he adjusted the fur collar so that it fit snug around your neck and head to provide you with as much comfort as he could. The way he handled you so tenderly made you blush, as if you were a delicate rose, a precious gem that if held incorrectly would be considered a crime, a disgrace to your existence. Then there it was again, that cologne of his that had you feeling a certain way. You could still smell it off him, and now that you wore his coat, the sharp citrusy and spicy scent completely engulfed you as if you had been transported back to the markets of the ancient empires. Zemo gazed down at you from where he was seated, you didn’t even have to look up at him to feel your face heat up, that’s how much of an effect he had over you. The way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable and small. You were the goddess of witchcraft, and yet, here you were, completely bewitched and transfixed by him as if he had cast an enchantment over you.

“Schatzi.” Zemo whispered as he gently laid a finger under your chin to bring your face to him.

You stared at him with wide eyes, hidden behind a veil of sorrow and regret along with your aching and yearning heart. The Wakandans would have him soon, then you might not ever have the chance of seeing him again. It was now or never. “Zemo I.......I want to apologize for that night. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t-“

“Schatzi.” Zemo held your face with both of his surprisingly soft pampered hands as he caressed your cheek. “There’s no need to apologize. I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why? Why are you so kind towards me? Don’t you hate the avengers, people with unordinary abilities?” You questioned, desperately wanting to know why he treated you with respect, despite his moral compass in regards to super soldiers and such. You would’ve conjectured that you would be on his list of people to eliminate.

“Because.” Zemo stopped to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have shown nothing but kindness to those around you and to my people. When I first saw you, you struck me as the silent and menacing one, you spoke very little and I thought you to be dangerous. But then I saw what you did after the attack from Ultron, how you stayed behind to help clean up what was left and find any remaining survivors. Your efforts towards my country will not be forgotten. You have a beautiful and caring soul y/n, one that shines brighter than any I’ve seen. After all that you’ve been through and all that you have done, you too deserve kindness in return.”

You smiled at his words, placing your hands on top of Zemo’s as he still cradled your face. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss to his wrist, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. The two of you had been touch deprived for so long, without a single soul to hold and kiss, that a small action such as this was enough to send you both over the edge. You gazed into his eyes once more as you placed your hand against the side of his neck, your eyes trailing down to his lips as you traced the smooth shaven skin of his jaw with your thumb. Zemo felt his heart stop in his chest from your gesture and the way you looked at him. You looked absolutely ethereal, wearing his coat and sitting in close proximity of him under the stars, the moonlight making you radiant in parallel to the the silver orb itself. Your heart palpitated in your chest, nearly breaking out of your rib cage and becoming the only thing you could hear as you finally mustered up the courage to do what you have longed to do.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in with your lips slightly parted as Zemo did the same, your noses grazing against each together like the fallen leaves caught in the winds of autumn as you rested your foreheads together. Your breathing quivered, your body trembling from the sudden forethought of what was to come as the two of you hovered not even a centimeter apart, your lips brushing against his as your faltering breaths fanned each other’s faces, both of you too tense to make the first move. Zemo pulled away unexpectedly, causing your heart to drop and leaving your face to the coldness of the night air, which made you knit your brows together. Zemo chuckled softly at the disheartened expression that marked your features before tilting his head towards you once again, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as he pressed a feathery kiss to your forehead and each of your closed eyelids, placing another to the rounds of your cheeks, and lastly the tip of your nose as if he was mapping out what he found beautiful about you, before pressing his lips to the area you most desired them to be.

You gasped at the touch, both of you equally startled from the intimate gesture and your bodies rigid before melting in the kiss you shared. The kiss was innocent and sweet, bringing about a warmth that flowed through your veins like the rays of the sun on a warm summer day. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your palm through the fabric of his turtleneck. His lips were firm, yet soft and warm and the taste of expensive wine, cherry blossom tea, and Turkish delights still lingered on them. Zemo barely moved against the chaste kiss, luxuriating in the taste of your lips, the traces of coffee, caramel, dark chocolate, and pomegranates left him fully succumbed to your touch, not wanting to overstep your boundaries and allowing you to be the one to made the decision. The two of you remained motionless, frozen in time, resembling baroque marble statues sculpted by the hands of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. You compelled yourself to separate from his lips after what gave the impression of being an entirety of lifetimes, but, be that as it may, it had only been a matter of seconds. A soft smile formed on the curves of your lips as you gazed up at him with flushed cheeks, releasing the breath you had caged in this entire time before reconnecting your lips to his once more.

Your hands made their way up to wrap around the back of his neck, softly grazing the hairs on the back of his head while his slipped down to the curve of your back, pulling you gingerly to him as your chest was pressed flush against his. The smell of Zemo’s fresh citrusy cologne and your warmer, darker perfume reminiscent of castles, vampires and the Victorian era, merged together to create an aroma one would only describe as intoxicating. The kiss became more passionate, more ardent as you molded into each other like melted candle wax, as if you had been designed specially for each other as would a lock and key, it was absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t resist the soft, sighing moan that escaped your lips from the feeling of serenity that washed over you, a sensation similar to that numbness that swept over your body right before you entered a deep state of sleep. The way your lips moved against one other and the way you held on to one another as if you’d wake up the moment you let go, wasn’t so much provoked by a desire for lust, but rather a cavernous desperation for the ability to feel, a craving for sentiment, to be able to find worth and significance buried in your souls within the walls of this hollow world. But more than any of these, this kiss was your way of professing the deep affection you held for each other, a testament to the sparking of the forging of your souls.

You broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity of euphoria, pressing your forehead against Zemo’s as you caressed the line of his jaw, a soft smile formed on your lips as your hearts now drummed in sync. You thought you could never feel such a thing again, that to be able to hold and kiss someone again would be impossible, you were incredibly wrong, and you had never been more happy about it. Zemo was left breathless, scrambling to put his mind together since he couldn’t process a single thought after what he experienced. Kissing you was unlike anything he had ever felt, he could only describe it as otherworldly, transcendent. How someone like you, a goddess, a princess, could ever manage to return his feelings, he would never know. But there was one thing Zemo was sure of, he could never grow tired of the moments spent with you. Truth be told, it only left him yearning for more. Zemo pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling you down to the grass with him. You let out a quiet giggle from his actions, pulling Zemo’s coat closer to you and interlacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest, your ear pressed up to where his heart was. Zemo’s arm was wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your back tenderly, feeling the ridges of your scars as he traced them with his fingers through the fabric of your sweater while you listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you stared up at the stars and constellations, watching how the night sky lit up with the meteoroids that entered the earth’s atmosphere, leaving behind trails of white and painting the skies in streaks of a celestial waterfall. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, you didn’t need to. Being in each other’s presence was enough. Your gestures of affection that you had just shared with each other, already voiced whatever words you had been meaning to say.

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

Previous | Book 1 Masterlist | Series Masterlist

END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #y/n l/n #x y/n #x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #Book 1 #Chapter 22 #Ending of book 1 #completed #y/n l/n and the halfblood #lightning thief #fanfictions #fanfiction #pjo

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Fated Part 2

Ares x reader

Word Count: 1230

Summary: Ares is hurt, and you are pissed.

When you arrived, Hera was nowhere to be found, but Thanatos was already waiting outside the bedroom door.

“You’re not taking him, little brother,” you warned icily.

He looked sad as he replied, “That has yet to be decided. You and I can quarrel about secrets later. You being with him will strengthen his spirit. Go.”

You kept your eyes trained on him as you walked past to enter the bedroom, but he didn’t so much as twitch from his post. The sight inside the spacious bedroom, however, was one that you knew instantly would haunt you until the end of time.

Hera stood next to the bed, a piece normally piled with comfortable red and golden throws that was now covered only in the stark white sheets that served to highlight how Ares’ normally beautifully dark complexion was a sickly grey color.

Apollo, the god of healing, was speaking to her softly not noticing your entrance. “There isn’t anything more I can do for him,” he was saying. “Now, we just have to give him time to see if he pulls through. Though with Thanatos lingering outside the way he is . . .” His tone made it abundantly clear what he thought of Than.

“Do not speak of my brother in such a way,” you ordered. “If there’s nothing more for you to do, then leave.” You’d already had a low opinion of this Olympian based on what Ares let slip about the event that drove him to Thrace in the first place; this commentary certainly wasn’t helping endear him to you.

His golden eyes--so disturbingly similar to your family’s trademark color yet so violently different in the type of glow--snapped over to you, shining brightly with his anger. “And who are--”

“She’s right,” Hera interrupted, clearly wanting to calm the brewing fight. “Ares would not want us here longer than necessary. He will be well cared for in her hands.”

“And who exactly is she?”

“The wife of Lord Zeus’s only legitimate heir,” was her lofty reply. Normally, you’d hate to hear the scorn in Hera’s voice as she talked down on Zeus’ other children, but right now you just wanted them out.

Clearly flabbergasted, Apollo finally stormed out without a word.

“Watch over him,” was Hera’s command before she, too, left.

Which left you alone and finally able to get a good look at the prone form on the bed.

As you’d noticed before, his skin had taken on a grey edge to it. Even the war paint-like streak around his eyes--already bone white normally--looked somehow paler. His armor was missing, presumably to dress his wounds, and you didn’t care enough presently to locate it. In fact, all of his usual clothing was missing; the only thing covering him from the waist down was that white sheet. You assumed that meant he had no injuries where he was covered since it would have just gotten in the way of healing him.

The thing that drew your attention after that initial scan was the line of burn-like marks diagonally across his chest, each in the shape of a link in a chain, all an angry red that almost matched the color of his eyes. An alarmingly human color on a god of Olympus. Still, the wounds at least didn’t seem to be open or infected. Apollo’s work, no doubt.

His breath was shallow as you gently brushed his light colored hair out of his face. “What happened to you, my love?”

“According to Hermes, giants. They caught him and bound him in an urn for the last thirteen months.” At some point, Thanatos had apparently entered.

Your hand delicately traced the shape of your husband’s face. You said nothing.

“The Olympians are frightened. They now know exactly what it will take to kill a god.”

“Will this?” Your voice was so painfully close to cracking you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment upon hearing it. “Kill him, that is?” Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them back; crying could wait until you were alone.

A gentle, cool hand rested on your shoulder. “Even I don’t know what our sisters have planned.” Thanatos hesitated. “I should have noticed. He and I see each other frequently, and still I failed him in a way he would never have failed me.”

“I am his wife, Than, and I didn’t notice. Your crime is no greater than my own.”

“Then perhaps it is no one’s fault,” he mused. “If you have not already thought of it, I’d recommend sticking to nectar to nourish him since ambrosia may prove too much for his current state.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sister. I must take my leave; I have mortals to collect. I . . . pray I won’t need to return.” There was another pause. “And congratulations on your marriage. For what it’s worth, I’m happy to hear that Fate worked itself out in that regard.” A bell tolled behind you immediately after that, signaling his departure.

“Thank you,” you repeated in the silence that followed.

And so began your vigil.

Your first action once you were able to will yourself away from his side even for a moment was to drag one of the room’s couches over to the bedside so you wouldn’t be horribly uncomfortable. Then you went hunting for his most prized belongings: his armor and swords. Fortunately, they were right where they were supposed to be--in the armory. Likely, they transported themselves back home while he was trapped judging from the dried giant blood caked on them and the fact that his family would never have such care for his things.

You gathered them in your arms, unflinching in the face of the seething rage the pieces emitted. “I know,” you murmured as you gathered the tools you’d need to clean and sharpen them. They calmed somewhat upon recognizing your presence. “I’m going to take care of you,” you continued. “Revenge will be yours soon enough.”

His breastplate, the most sentient piece, would need to be cleaned first. It would have to go to Hephaestus soon to replace the various torn clasps--you absolutely did not let your mind linger on how they got that way--but for now you could rid it of the blood and mud. Cleaning each piece to its original beauty, to Ares’ standards was a task reminiscent of particularly vengeful gods, but you were glad for the work. It kept your hands busy in the breaks between carefully dripping nectar into your husband’s mouth, made the days pass by faster it seemed. Your mouth never stopped moving as your regaled both Ares and the items of every passing thought that crossed your mind as you worked.

After that came the swords he normally kept strapped to his back. Still you talked. As you cleaned. As you sharpened. As you gazed longingly at his slack face. Thankfully this time passed without visits from either the Olympians or Thanatos. Your brother’s absence specifically, you took as a good sign.

Your voice was beginning to go rough from use by the time you started tending to his main weapon, the sword with the vicious curve and an edge stained red with the blood of those that’d fallen to it.

Your grip tightened on the hilt when an equally rough voice said, “When is the last time you slept, my love?”

#ares imagine #ares x reader #ares hades imagine #ares hades x reader #hades game imagine #hades imagine #hades supergiant imagine #reader insert #nemesis!au

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firerose · 3 years

Text

Dark-Seven part three - Jason

I apologize @reading0mens for the longtime it took me but I love Jiper angst sooo it got a bit long XD, feedback would be cool :)

- The day Gea was destroyed marked the end of the giant war

- But for Jason, it was the most horrible day of his life

- He wakes up in the infirmary without Leo and Piper

- They are dead Chiron tells him

- Leo gave his life to kill Gea and the eagles could not catch Piper on time

- Jason refuses to believe it until he runs out and sees her

- Her bloodied corpse, her lifeless eyes they will hunt him until the end of his life

- He wanted to grow old with her

-As he gently rocks her in his arms he tries to understand

- Why would Hera let her die after she screwed so much with her life already?

- Why would she let Leo sacrifice himself in such a violent way?

- He knows the truth deep in his heart

-As he watches Piper‘s body burn among the others he learns what real hate feels like

-It scares him

- He was supposed to be Hera‘s champion, a loyal soldier to the gods

- His pain gets worse when he is alone

- Percy and Annabeth leave Camp for school

- Hazel and Frank go back to Camp Jupiter

- He spends his time alone in his cabin living in the vision he saw when the gods came to help them

- Piper is alive whispering soft words to him that everything is going to be okay

- That he is a person instead of Hera‘s shallow Champion

- They even help him to continue his designs for the minor gods temples

- But soon his love for her turns to desire

- He knows that she is not really with him and who is responsible for it

- He does not want to sit around anymore doing exactly what Hera would want him to do

-“I…..I can‘t do this anymore Pipes.“, He tells her one night his body trembling in despair

-“Yes you can Jason! You are a hero that always stepped up to do what‘s needed.“ She says her words piercing into Jason‘s heart like her dagger

-To him, they feel like an accusation

- All of the sorrow and anger boils up in him

- He does not notice the wind around him growing stronger, or the thunder from outside

- He is tired of Hera, tired of being too perfect

- The papers are thrown across the room and he stands his body shaking with rage

- A yell of defiance leaves him and the storm sends lighting to hit the Cabin

- The Campers find Jason sitting still in smouldering remains

-His eyes are closed tears running down his cheeks but there is a smile on his face

- Invisible chains put on by Hera have just been broken

- Jason never felt more alive

-“I‘m done being their servant Chiron and you should be too.“, that is Jason‘s goodbye, a reminder that the centaur should be a protector not a trainer of child soldiers

- No one follows him when he leaves not even Nico

-They all saw the cold bitterness in Jason once-loyal blue eyes, they all feel his calm aura like wolve ready to strike everyone that comes to close

- Jason is glad for their fear

- He does not want anyone innocent getting hurt in his crazy plan

- Jason fly away but still stays close to the sea

- The papers of the minor gods are destroyed but he can still remember all of their names

- Kymopolaia is the first one he calls on the beach of Montauk

- She emerges from the water in all her glory and Jason can‘t suppress his joy

-He acts like Jason grace always did

- Flattering, his compliments even making the violent storm goddess blush

- Only when she wonders why he is here that he shows her a few of his true emotions

- He talks about how Hera forced his mom to give him to the wolves

- He tells her about all the friends that he lost to Hera‘s obsession with tormenting him, how much Piper and Leo gave him hope for a home, how the queen of the gods let them die

-When he is finished high waves are fluting the beach while Kymopolaia cries in pity for the young hero

- Jason‘s apology enrages her even more

-“The twelve Olympians will never respect or honour anyone who is not useful to them.No matter how many temples I build for them you are just a goddess of lower rank just like I was just their servant. I would just waste my time trying to fix their mistakes and in the end, neither of us would get what they want.“, He says true regret in his voice

-Poseidon's daughter grits her teeth while high waves flute the beach as her body is shaking

- Jason confirmed what she has been dreading since the war ended and her father made up excuses to exclude her from his royal court

-He comforts her and he can tell how he stirs up her hate for Posidon

- Jason can barely hide his satisfaction, his plan is working just like hoped it would

- He advises her to turn the sea against her father, it‘s her birthright after all

- Kymaploaia‘s eyes fill with a mad gleam, a whirlpool around her shows agreement

- She is not afraid to take on the sea, hundreds of tormented river gods will stand behind her angry because they had been forbidden to kill the humans that hurt them every day

-After Jason wished her good luck she leaves and he lets out a laugh of satisfaction

-Words can be more powerful than lightning he learned that from Piper

- A part of him still despises what he has become but he tells himself that Hera turned him into this

- She created a weapon and now she has to deal with the consequences

- He continues to travel all over the country flying over it with his storm horse, never staying at one place for long as he is sure the eyes of Hera are on him

- Every stop brings a talk to another minor god

-Hypnos and Morpheus are easy to convince

-Every mortal needs to sleep and dream so why are they never invited to mount Olympus throne room?

- Jason orders them to rebel against the Olympians in the cities of the demigod Camps first

-It is the only way to ensure that his friends will stay out of his way

- Aelous is harder

- The mad lord of the winds always hated demigods and he is not pleased when Jason holds the dozens Venti he sends to kill him still in the air with one move of his hand

-Jason uses no charm on him but instead reminders of all the times Zeus forced him to deal with storm spirits all by himself

-The idea that he can banish the storm spirits once and for all after Zeus is gone finally convinces him

-But Jason still wants the god to know that he is the leader of this rebellion who should not be messed with

- So he concentrates and moves his hands to control the storm spirits again

- He can feel their anger through the winds but he still manages to force them to turn into wolves their lightning eyes blazing with hatred

-“You will serve me from now on.“, He orders them through his mind his voice sounding like thunder in their heads and they indeed bow their heads before him

-Aelous only laughs at this sight

-“You have changed Jason Grace! If you are ready to rebel against your father just because of the Aphrodite girl and that son of Hephaistus then you are just as crazy as me.“ The lord of the winds jokes when Jason is about to leave with his new wolves

-“I‘m just ready to do anything for the people I love.“, Jason replies coldly

-From Olympus Hera hears those words too

- They seem a weak excuse for all the chaos Jason has caused

-The sea has been stormy for days swallowing ships and fluting beaches while the cities are fluted by rivers

- Zeus is barely able to control his winds and so the weather jumps from hot to cold in minutes

The gods own children are sleeping alongside hundreds of mortals unable to help their parents

- Hera knows that Jason will make things even worse if he is not stopped now

- But her love for him or rather the love for his loyalty to her is what makes her believe that she can bring him back

- Not herself she is not that naive

- Only one person can and even though she is gone Hera has figured a way to use her against Jason

-If only she could see the cruelty of her tricks

- Jason begins to hear Piper‘s voice again in his dreams

- She is not soft with him anymore

- Instead, she tells him how terrible he has become, that he acts like a pathetic child just because he failed to save her

-He yells that he is doing all this to get justice for and Leo but that only makes her laugh so loud that he has to cover his ears to drown it out

- Sometimes he also hears Leo mocking him, saying that he can‘t believe he ever looked up to him

- Jason wakes from those nightmares in sweat and tears until he decides that sleep is overrated

- He feels more comfortable moving around with his wolves anyway, it reminds him of old times, his childhood

- Unfortunately, his sleep deprivation changes his methods to gain more allies

- The nature spirits (Nymphs and dryads), aren‘t met with his charm but instead little patience and quick anger

- To Jason they are dumb, Zeus hit on them for centuries why are they so unwilling to turn against him?

-He tries to stay calm but their talks about how his plan is insane to remind him of Piper and the things she said in his dreams

- Not only once does he command his venti to burn whatever three or plant annoys him too much, the wolves happily oblige and tore the spirits apart with their electricity sparking teeth

- More and more Jason Grace begins to remind them of Zeus, unforgiving, cruel to anyone that does not obey his wishes

-When a young dryad girl dares to say that to Jason out loud he snaps

-A huge thunderstorm is summoned, lightning blasting the girl loved ones

-The forest burns in bright orange flames and Jason uses the winds to direct them towards the girls three

- She dies screaming in the flames while storm wolves bite at her to electrocute

- Jason grins at her Beggs as he looks directly into her beautiful dark eyes, Hera has those too

- Nature decides to join him out of fear

- The gods will be mad but it is the only way to avoid Jason‘s rage

-Jason feels powerful riding past them on his horse while they bow

-He can feel the wind gods around him ice cold, hot like fire

-On mount Otrys he calls for Hecate as the next step for his plan

- When she ignores his call he does not care

- Electricity runs through his veins power, it does not matter if he has to wait a bit until Olympus falls

- Suddenly a voice calls him making his blood turn cold

-He turns his head to look behind him and as expected no one is there

-He tells his rising panic that it was not real, he just hasn‘t slept for four days

- The temperature drops, darkness crawls over the hilltop, he feels watched

-“I‘m here Jason it‘s okay.“, Her voice is sweet close and yet it makes him shiver in fear

- It can‘t be her

- Jason draws his sword and gets on his horse, the wolves growl restlessly as they can feel their master distress

-“Who are you? Show yourself!“, He demands despite his shaking voice

- Her laughter is loud wild like the summers breeze, he has heard it a thousand times before

-His eyes fly around frantically there is only the shadows of the rising night

-“I‘m your girlfriend Jason! Did you already forget that?“, the girl that can‘t be her asks amused

- A person stands in front of him out of nowhere

-Jason‘s sword falls to the ground, his eyes fill with tears

-Her clothes are nothing she would wear and yet he would recognize her blind

-Piper McLean, the love of his life stands there in a white long dress, her dark brown hair falls loose around her shoulders, her eyes of lighter brown are reaching into his soul

-“No…...this is a trick! You…….you are dead.“, Saying it hurt but it was the truth

- His venti flicker with lighting in agreement

-“I……..don‘t know why they let out but does that matter?!, I‘m here and….I missed you.“, Piper sobs, her despair finally washes away his doubts with guilt

-He slides off his horse ignoring the suspicious neighing

-Jason goes to her slowly putting his hand on her cheek, she feels real

-“I missed you too Pipes.“, He croaks and then breaks down pulling her against his chest all pain of losing her, the hatred against Hera, the things he did to convince gods and spirits to rise against their rulers, even the nightmares in which she hated him, spilling out of him

-He is scared of her backing away when he is finished, of her making his horrible dreams come true

-Instead, she looks flattered and sad as she puts a hand on his chin

-“Perhaps that is why they allowed me to leave the underworld.“, She says so softly and Jason is caught in confusion and overwhelming relief that she does not hate him

-“What do you mean?“, Jason asks suddenly feeling worried, the gods would never allow someone to cheat death especially someone close to him

-“I think the gods want me to save you from yourself.“, Piper answers with concern,

-Jason looks at her stunned then as he processes her words anger rises in him

.-Yes it does sound like Hera to use Piper that way

-“No Pipes I never felt better ! They are just scared because I make their system fall apart.“, He responds not able to hide his pride,

- He is happy that she worries for him but he wants her to know that he is okay that they are okay

-He wants to squeeze her hand as recurrence but Piper steps back with guilt in her eyes

“ Jason…….you haven‘t slept for days and all those burnt nature spirits? This isn‘t you.“, She says her words soft but they are too much like his dreams

-“Yea I have been a bit crazy lately but only because I want to make them stop Pipes. All those mistakes or wars of the gods that we have to die and fight for. Losing Leo and you was something I don‘t want any other demigod to go through. I want us to live in peace and that is only possible if we aren‘t controlled by an egoistic good and his controlling queen.“, He explains and despite his fear, he means every word

- He just wants Piper to understand so that she will fight at his side again

-The image brings a smile to his face

-The two of them standing in front of a chained up Hera in all their glory

-Piper brings him back with a sigh and the deep pity in her eyes fills him with despair

-Why is she so against opposing the gods, Wasn‘t she the one that cursed Hera and despised how the goddess put herself in charge of his life?

-A dread rises in the back of him, he suppresses it quickly

-“Our lives aren‘t controlled by the gods Jason. The fates are the ones that decide what challenges a hero has to face. You are wasting your time and ruining your own life fighting for something that will never change. Call off the rebellion Jason and tell the gods to be actual parents. Tell them to protect their children from their destines as long as possible and then go home to rest. That would be easier than a war you can‘t win.“, Piper finally says

-Despite all of his anger Jason has to admit that her advice is tempting

- The vision of him growing old with Piper could come true plus he truly is not strong enough to fight fate itself so why not ask the gods for a favour? Maybe he can convince them to change after all he is the favourite of their rulers

-But then a thought washes away that option and he figures a way to tell Piper why the Olympian council needs to be reformed

- When Piper takes his hand again he looks at her with determination

“I can‘t. Hera loves using demigods too much. Look what happened to Leo. She claimed that she wanted to prepare him for his future just to let his mom die and let him sacrifice himself. You once said that heroes have to step up and do what is right and that is what I‘m doing right now.“, He explains

-For a short moment he thinks guilt washes over Pipers face

- Suddenly he realizes how strange her pleading was

-Piper always was someone to take action, she would never tell him to just do nothing and the way she almost took all fault from the gods……..

-“Hera only did that because she knew what Leo‘s role in the war was gonna be. She may not be the best but she is not our enemy Jason. She cared for Leo and she cares about you too.“, Piper says and now Jason is sure

- He rips his hand away from her his eyes burning with rage

-“Piper would never defend Hera ! Who are you?“, He asks coldly anger numbing the shattering of his heart

-The girl looks at him in confusion, he hates that she does it through Pipers eyes

“ Jason -“

-“ Don‘t! Stop using her voice and show yourself! I want to know which god I have the honour to kill!“, Jason spats

- At this moment he forgets all of his good morals, only blind hatred is left

-The Venti come to his aid, they swirl around him like a mini hurricane and he can feel their power pulsing through him, waiting for his command

-“I‘m just trying to help you Jason even if you could kill me that would not solve anything.“She warns but it is still Piper's voice and he will make her pay for it.

-“Oh no I think this will make me feel a lot better and if Hera send you just know that what happens to know is her fault, not mine.“, Jason says with a cruel smile before turning his storms to pure lightning

- with a hand wave the spirits turn into pure lightning crashing into where she stood

-Flames light up the hill but she is not there anymore

-A huge dove is in her place attacking immediately scratching at his face

-Dark clouds gather thunder is booming, rain falls,

-the Windlords themselves lift Jason into the air pushing his attacker away

- He does not need his sword

- The sky is his weapon

-Jason chases the goddess, calls cold wind to let hail fall onto her instead of rain

- Lightning strikes and he catches it in his bare hands, it flickers over his entire body until it gets thrown towards his victim

-Despite all of this the dove keeps trying to get closer, her voice pleading for him to stop his madness

- A hysterical laugh is his answer, he remembers a time where the gods loved him for his kindness, the same one that forced him to keep Heras chains on him for too long

- This goddess is treating him like he is still a pawn but that will end now

- Jason spins himself around his arms outstretched

- Wind blows around him, the dove shrieks in panic

- A tornado is throwing her around in circles like a puppet

- She changes form to other animals, attempts to escape through the cloud storms walls

- That is when they become pure lightning

- it hits her makes her body twist unnaturally

- She falls and Jason is still in the storms eye, He feels like a god bathed in his fathers lightning bolts

- The goddess unmoving body beneath him looks so tiny almost fragile even when she has changed to her Olympian form

- He would have pitied her if he hadn‘t recognized her, now he only feels disgusted

- Another shockwave is sent through her body before Jason dissolves his tornado

- The wind gods hesitate for a moment not liking what Jason might have in mind

- Jason is stronger and so they follow him down towards his victim as only a soft breeze

-“Why?“, He spats down at her as she wakes up

- His short question holds her crime all the pain and false hope she put him through

- She gets on her knees to look up at him her ever-changing hair clothes and eyes even her skin that is healing her burns are no beauty to him anymore

-“Hera and I only wanted to help you Jason.“, Aphrodite apologizes maybe there are real tears in her eyes

-“ I need help? I‘m not the one impersonating my dead daughter to manipulate her boyfriend!“, He spats finding her trick even more disgusting as he puts it into words

- He thinks about how she held him, what would have happened if he did not find out who she was

- He feels dirty

“I always take on the form of loved ones that's why Hera send me. She knew that Piper was the only one to get you out of your grief. Love is the only thing more powerful than hate“, Aphrodite explains and with every word, she looks more and more like Piper again

- Jason realizes that she is just as bad as Hera, another god that messed with his mind

- He sees how heavy she is breathing, it is time to punish her

-“Well then let me tell you something about love.“, Jason says making a pulling motion with his hands reaching for her breath

- He bends the oxygen out of her, the goddess head being forced forward

-The winds grow stronger again, he hears their whispers to not do this, he is deaf to their pleads

-“N – No!“, She protests in horror, her body glows attempting to release her true form but his attack surprised her and is now making her too weak

-Jason continues an air bubble forming around her head

-She digs her nails into her throat until they are bloody, her eyes nearly pop out of her skull and her face is an ill shade of blue

- the chocking noises she makes are music for him

-Jason enjoys every second

-Her looking like Piper does not save her

- It only reminds him more of the future he has lost and that makes him more furious

-When her sounds and body become still and her face is one mask of fear he finally tells her

-“Love never lasts long in this world.“

-No air gets added to the bubble, it dissolves

- An Aphrodite goddess of Love and beauty falls dead to the ground killed by her daughter's lover

- Jason feels empty

- He just killed a goddess he should feel ecstatic

- But instead, he feels as if something broke inside him

-Jason stares at the sky waiting for a reaction

-“ Come on Hera! This is what you wanted me to become right? A murderer your weapon. Just come to me and admit it !“, Jason yells tears streaming down his cheeks

-He falls to the ground as the thing he did crashes down on him

-He killed for revenge just like Zeus, Hera and all other gods did for centuries

-How is he better than them now?

-His allies seem to think the same thing

-Jason can‘t summon his venti in the morning

- The winds are harder to bend under his will

- Nature hides from him it does not matter how much he burns no one shows up

- Sometimes he hears the spirits weeping but he knows it is not meant for him

- Jason gets more and more desperate

- As of last hope he goes to San Fransisco

- The first step he takes into the city shows him that it‘s full of life again

-He plays with the thought of going back to Camp Jupiter

- But he does not want his friends to see what he has become

- On Ocean Beach, he yells for Kym

-Jason tells himself that she can help him turn his fate around

-“I‘m sorry Jason but I don‘t talk to traitors.“, She whispers from under the sea

-Jason feels like a wolve being cornered

-“ I never betrayed you the gods did !“ He shouts his voice sounding childish in his ears

-“You promised to fight in my name and then went on a crazy rampage just to make Hera feel bad. I expected better from you Jason.“, Kym told him in a stern almost motherly tone

- The words are a punch to his gut, a mirror showing him the truth

-His plan was supposed to be a peaceful change of the god's council, yes he knew about the damage the minor gods would cause but that was just to get the higher gods attention

-He sees the dryad girl in the flames, aphrodite chocking as air is pulled out of her

-This rebellion started with a wish for justice for Leo and Piper, for all those treated badly by the gods

- His lust for revenge destroyed all that

-Regretful he walks into the sea the water going up to his knees

-“ I‘m sorry.“, Jason says honestly

-That is when they finally react

- The waves grow bigger a man with a trident emerging out of them, Nature spirits come out of their plants with pinecones and daggers for weapons the blond-haired woman with her crown of corn is their true goddess

- The mist rising around him lets him hear his victim screams once more

-“Jason Grace we are here to punish you for crimes against us and the entire western civilization. Surrender now or seal your fate.“All of the Command in Unison

-He thinks of giving himself up

-He was raised as a Roman, he learned when a soldier has no chance to win

- Yet the thought of kneeling and letting Hera win so easily makes him sick

- And so he refuses

- The fight does not take long

- Jason summons lightning to blast away Nyads that grasped his ankles

-He runs out of the sea directing lightning at the advancing Dryad warriors

-They burn but the flames seem to have gathered they're own concise

-Orange and high they rage towards him growing on sand which was not possible

-They burn Jason‘s arm as he attempts to fly over them

-Screaming in pain he struggles to stay in the air

-Demeter uses her giant staff to let the three roots attack him like huge arms

-Her followers throw weapons at histones that for some reason always hit no matter how much he uses wind to push them away

-Rain comes and turns into a huge rain shower blinding his view

-He is forced to fly backwards and that is when Poseidon's trident impales his gut

-Blood spills pain forbids him to breath

-His vision goes black before he falls in the threes arms

-Jason wakes in ironically on chains in front of Hera and Zeus

-"I hope you know what a disappointment you are to me.", Zeus says but Jason's eyes are fixed on Hera

-She looks at him with a deep sorrow he did not expect so he chooses the last beg

-" Whoever you choose as your next heroes Hera please don't control them. Remember me as a warning of what happens if you do.", He pleads

-He is scared of his punishment but if Hera realizes her mistakes then maybe all of this was worth it

-Hera only replies with a small nod

-Then he is dragged off to the underworld by Hades off to the cliffs that lead into Tartarus

Jason panics as he realizes

He thought that he would end up in the fields of punishment

-But of course, Zeus hates when his children ruin his good name

-He struggles against his bonds begs his uncle to at least let him see his friends one more time

Luckily Hades is one of the kinder gods

-He summons Piper's ghost, he does not say why Leo is not there

-She smiles at him sadly and maybe with anger which Jason does not blame her for

-Her kiss on his forehead brings tears to his eyes

-"Goodbye Jason. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble.", She whispers and he shakes his head

-"Don't be. All of this is Heras fault and mine.", He tells her and with that, she is gone again

-He thinks of her and Leo while he falls

-Hera mourns him for days

-She watches the rest of the seven holding his funeral at Camp Jupiter

-They understand his motives and that's why they still love him as the friend he was

-Hera understands him too

-She was not liked in the past few centuries and that was why the idea of her very own hero made her blind for letting him be a child

-Now that was what killed him and Zeus was already off making another hero that he can be more proud of

-A child he warned her to not even look at

-The other demigods resent her even more

-Frank Zhang would be her other hero but Hazel Levesque would never let her near him

-She thinks about Jasons last words, his beg that she shouldn't mess with children's lives

-It's when Leo Valdez returns and learns of his friend's fate that she promises herself to remember

-The hatred in his eyes is enough to bring even a goddess to her senses

#Percy Jackson #heroes of olympus #Hoo #jason grace #dark jason #jiper #piper mclean #major character death

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