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corner-stories · 1 year

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then speed force!!!

Bart Allen. Mia Dearden.

Helmets. Projectiles. The God of Speed.

1211 words.

(ao3.)

Of the hours she spent in the workshop of Titans Compound, a place where the team could tinker with and maintain their gear, Mia Dearden was fortunate to have company.

As the team’s designated archer sharpened her trusty switchblade on a whetstone, the team’s designated speedster did god knows what on a workbench across the room. Mia didn’t pay too much attention to him, save for when he grabbed a welding torch for his project, and then the fire extinguisher for when the 3D printer went up in flames.

After her bout of sharpening, Mia grabbed her freshly stoned knife by the handle and stepped away from the bench. In the corner of the workshop was a wooden target, something she had made by screwing together a bunch of scraps she found around the compound and prayed that no one was using.

Grasping her switchblade with a tight grip, Mia eyed the target in the corner of the room, then with a mighty swing lobbed the blade towards it like a major league pitcher with something to prove. In less than a second, the knife flew across the room and landed in the wood, the tip sinking itself an inch into the material.

With the blade landing in the center of the crudely drawn spray paint target pattern, Mia smiled to herself. Clearly, all her target training with Connor and Roy had been paying off.

After Mia retrieved her knife and returned to her workbench, she heard the sound of a shaking can from across the room. She looked over just in time to see Bart Allen applying spray glue to the inside of a helmet, then placing several strips of strategically cut foam into it.

Mia stepped across the floor just as Bart flipped the helmet over and placed it flat on the workbench. Said helmet was metallic gray and dome-shaped, akin to what a soldier in WW2 would wear on the battlefield. What made it different, however, was the pair of yellow metal wings welded to the sides.

It didn’t take long for Mia to pinpoint the inspiration. Her first thoughts went to the old fart that the Flash Family seemed to adore, the one with gray temples who always seemed to dress like a youth pastor. But then suddenly she was reminded of the God of Messengers himself, the one capable of moving freely between Olympus and the Underworld at a breakneck speed. In a way, perhaps he was the speedster who started it all.

“Nice helmet,” Mia said, placing a hand on her hip as she admired her teammate’s handiwork. “Thinking of rocking that any time soon?”

Bart smiled as he put away the spray glue. “Ehhhh, it’s just a prototype.”

Mia nodded and kept her eyes on the helmet, noting something that made her raise her eyebrow. “How does it stay on without a strap?”

“Speed Force!” Bart exclaimed, gesturing with his hands as he did so.

There was a beat, then Mia glared at her teammate, annoyed. “You can’t just say Speed Force whenever you don’t feel like explaining anything.”

Bart nodded, clicking his tongue. “Okay, then do you have approximately an hour to spare as I explain to you the ins and outs of how us speedsters are capable of utilizing a mix of electrokinesis and electromagnetism in a combative manner?”

Mia blinked as her remaining few brain cells proceeded to die inside of her.

“... no?”

“Then Speed Force!!!”

The Archer rolled her eyes. For a few moments, Bart rummaged around his rather messy workspace as Mia took the winged helm into her hands. It was sturdy, yet felt a lot more like a large frisbee than a piece of armor. She imagined what it would be like to rush into battle with such a headpiece, whether one be escorting Persephone to her mother Demeter or fighting alongside her generation of heroes.

“Hm… thought it’d be lighter,” Mia noted. “What’s it made of?”

“Just some stuff I found lying around,” Bart replied with a shrug. “Steel, gold spray paint for the wings, an experimental nth metal titanium alloy someone just left here…”

Suddenly, Mia became rather concerned in a span of two seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bart nodded as if he had just said the most normal words in the world. “Yeah, Tim said something about S.T.A.R. Labs donating a bunch of stuff they weren’t using. That’s how we got the 3D printer!

Mia quickly recalled that said 3D printer had caught fire an hour ago, then wondered if Bart remembered that as well.

Somehow, the Speedster managed to remain chill as he reached across the workbench, where he grabbed an open can of seltzer before taking a quick sip.

“Yeah, I dunno know how much nth metal’s in there, but it just might help improve the throwability,” he continued to explain. “See, the hardest part is getting it to come back to you when you toss it. Y’know, without having to do a bunch of trigonometry shit in your head.”

“You mean like this?”

With swiftness and speed, Mia turned her body towards the target in the corner of the room. Utilizing every bit of the momentum, she flung the helmet through the air. It slipped out of her hand like a bullet through a barrel, flying through the air for half a second before striking the lumber structure with a mighty force.

Unsurprisingly, it bounced off the surface with ease, leaving a prominent dent in the material. Even more unsurprisingly it began hurtling towards the pair of Titans standing in the middle of the floor.

Mia’s reflexes kicked in and she quickly ducked down. The helmet managed to miss her by half a foot, then after a split second she heard the sound of flesh on metal.

Crouched on the ground, she took her hands off her head and looked upwards. Standing next to her was Bart, his right arm extended outwards with the winged helm in his grasp. Judging by the look of shock and awe on his face, he somehow hadn’t expected that throwing his invention would transform it into the world’s deadliest frisbee.

“Yeah,” he said in an uneasy, breathy tone. “Exactly like that.”

Mia could only let out an awkward chuckle. As the Archer stood up and dusted herself off, Bart took another close look at the helmet. For a moment he held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the object just like his teammate had before. In his bright eyes there was an examining look, one that he only had in moments of pure curiosity and allure.

Once Mia was on her feet, she was greeted to the sight of Bart Allen with a winged helm placed upon his head. It sat on his mess of auburn curls like a crown to a king, like the final piece of the puzzle that was the God of Speed.

“Lookin’ good, Hermes,” said Mia with a smile.

Upon hearing the word, Bart raised his eyebrow, intrigued, then let out a hum. Mia could see it in his eyes now that something just seemed to click.

A subtle, boyish smile came upon Bart’s face as he said —

“Y’know… I kinda like the sound of that.”

#bart allen #mia dearden #speedy #kid flash #impulse #mlm and wlw solidarity

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drcrushers · 4 years

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Seph telling Hades that they’re gonna have a kid? 🥺 because I’m soft and you write them so beautifully

I’M ALSO SOFT?!

her fingers trace the soft edges of the flower in her hands, vibrantly red and beautiful. not a carnation, but the delicate pomegranate blossoms she usually favors in her hair. a silent reminder of her promise long ago, a vow nearly broken. six months up, six months down, six seeds in her palm. not three months up and the rest down below, the way she know hades would prefer it. she feels guilty enough she can’t stay year round - but that’s something that’s gonna need a bit of renegotiation soon, she thinks. somehow. more seeds, another contract - in truth she’s not ready for that conversation. it’s taken all her courage just to get to this one. it should be easy, it’s one she’s had before. except this one is a bit different - it won’t have a terrible follow up. so she hopes - that had been the plan in waiting this long. she and hades are both awful at waiting and while it’s killed her to save this nugget of information from him, she knows she couldn’t bring herself to have the heart-wrenching conversation after seeing his hope built up. a child. a viable one. beyond the weekly mark where she had lost the others. as if things might turn out this time. and they have. or they will. or they are. frankly logic in her brain is out the door, especially in the last hour. a lot has happened in such little time and left her almost reeling with the repercussions of it. songbird versus rattlesnake, and the poet who lost his songbird. could this be the time that things turned out? the circle of hurt and despair broken for all of them? she’s sure as hell gonna try. she hears his footsteps coming from the house down the path that leads to the little spot of land she has here in the underworld, where she grows what she can manage in the depths of the darkness. which, in truth, is plenty. not as vibrant, but they’re beautiful plants in their own way. the pomegranate tree hangs heavy and ripened with fruit in the center of the garden, and just to the left of it is where persephone sits on a stone bench and where hades finds her. “couldn’t sleep.” she supplies before he can ask; he’s still halfway in work clothes, but about as undressed as he gets before bed. she’s barefoot and in her favorite robe, the blossom still cradled in her hands. hades gives a soft rumble of acknowledgement, and sits down beside her. clearly they’ve gotten better at conversations. “didn’t mean to keep you waitin’.” he murmurs. “lost track o’ time.” “i’m gonna get you a better clock for your office, then.” words once thrown with venom are now softer, teasing, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as hades tries to determine if she means it, or if it’s a joke. “i wanted to talk to you, anyway.” “that doesn’t give me any hope.” he mutters and persephone chuckles, nudging him gently. “you don’t even know what i’m gonna say.” she warns, shifting so she’s better facing him. he glances down and sees the flower she’s holding for the first time. he gently reaches out to pluck it from her hands and tuck it behind her ear instead. persephone’s expression softens. “could be good news.” “is it?” “do you want it to be?” hades’ brows furrow and she laughs quietly again. “for the record, it is good. i hope.” her hands find his, her thumb brushing across the band of metal that matches her own. “you said you wanted to try again.” “and we are.” he replies slowly, picking his words with an almost cautious tone. “thought we were doin’ good.” “we are.” she echoes in agreement. “but how far did you want to take that ‘tryin’ again’ bit?” persephone can see the way his lips twitch at the corners as if he doesn’t know whether to smile or frown. mulling over her words in his mind likely trying to understand any underlying meaning - it’s a habit he has yet to break, reading into her words far more than he needs. granted, she’s not exactly being fair, playing this game, and she takes pity on him before he says something they’ll both regret. she takes his hands and drags them closer, pressing them palm down against her middle. “we tried a bit too hard, i think.” she says, feeling her chest tighten briefly with the emotion of it. the rush of adrenaline and fear all at once that make her words stick a bit in the back of her throat. “hades, i’m pregnant.” predictably, she sees him process this - or attempt to. those gears whirling in that head of his grind to a halt almost comedically and she can see him swallow several times before he even attempts to speak. he’s staring at where she’s pressed their joined hands to her middle, his thumb brushing across the small bit of skin he can reach in the gap in her robe. “i - i’ve waited. to tell you. i wanted to be sure. i wanted to know it would turn out this time.” she continues, while she still has the courage to do so. “i’m the furthest i’ve ever been.” hades inhales sharply, and his breath catches somewhere in the back of his throat. for a solid minute, persephone can’t tell if he’s about to walk away, pass out, or a mixture of both or something else entirely. but she can see the way his eyes blur just at the edges, the draw of his lips that tell her he’s holding back whatever he’s feeling. trying to, at least. he doesn’t exactly manage it. “really?” he manages, voice almost shaken. unsteady. her heart nearly shatters at the vulnerability of it, and persephone can feel the burn in her eyes more than she cares to admit. “yeah.” she whispers, and smiles. “really. we got a little sprout, hades. all ours.” he smiles, and lifts a hand to touch her cheek, and for a moment - for just a fleeting moment, she thinks he might be crying. “you’re amazing, lover.” “i do what i can.

#hadestown #hades soft af? i'm 100% on board #Anonymous

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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

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Pragma(tic) 23: Her Heart Betrays Her

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 6058

Warnings: Language, death, execution

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 22: She Unleashes Hell

You were hospitalized for a week for reasons beyond your comprehension.

Your mother insisted it be for at least that long, to monitor your health if nothing else. The battle against your father had left a gaping wound across your chest and damaged muscle in your shoulder and she had to be sure that you were healed enough to function. Despite your healing taking care of the situation within seventy-two hours, you remained in a hospital on Olympus for the full week.

Pietro was in and out of your room periodically but mostly left your care to the nymphs. He, after all, had a more pressing case on his hands than yours.

Bucky had been rushed to Olympus after Pietro got to him and emergency surgery was administered to remove the infected and burned tissue that made up his arm and prepare the flesh to be fitted with a prosthetic, should Bucky ask for one.

He was set up just rooms away from you, but you couldn’t make yourself get up to go see him.

For one thing, his mother was constantly at his bedside, nursing the wounded god back to health as much as possible. You’d tried to go see him once, just after you were cleared for walking again, but—upon seeing Winnifred at his bedside—was turned away. The glare she’d shot you was so withering and filled with malice that there was no way you would’ve gotten near the god without her biting your head off.

But, even if she wasn’t there at his side to guard him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand in his presence at all. After all, it was your fault he was hurt. He’d sacrificed his limb to save your life. If you’d never been in jeopardy at all, he might not be in this situation.

The guilt you felt was overwhelming. Mixed in with the grief that held onto your heart, it was unbearable.

You’d only seen Bucky once since the battle at Thessaly—in the dead of the night under the cover of darkness, stepping through the shadows where you could lurk silently and pretend you didn’t exist. You’d forced yourself into his room to reassure yourself that he was alive. But after checking him for a pulse and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, you vanished, melting back into the shadows and reappearing in your bed, trying (and failing) to hold back anguished tears.

The guilt you felt kept you away, but, in reality, this was probably best anyway.

After all, there’s no rest for a goddess.

Carol and Natasha had been briefed on how Kronos and his brothers escaped and a global manhunt for Pierce and Brock was issued. Any god, goddess, nymph, or otherwise who was able-bodied was ordered by the Queen of Olympus herself to hunt down the traitors to Olympus. You’d been informed of this twenty-four hours after the hunt had been issued, on the fourth day of your recovery.

You were unsurprised when Carol came in to tell you what she’d done and that they’d been found and apprehended. Of course, you knew that they’d have to face the consequences of their actions and you figured that it wouldn’t take them long to find them.

She told you delicately that Pierce, your previous lieutenant, and Brock, your ex-lover, were in the palace now, bound in the unbreakable chains and being held in the dungeon as they awaited trial.

The “trial” (if that was even what you could call it) took place the following day. You were kept away from it on account of your continuous recovery (despite the fact that the cuts had faded to ugly scars and you were doing everything as normal as usual) and so you did not attend. But Natasha came to you after to deliver the verdict.

The price of their betrayal, in this case, and of this magnitude, was death.

You should’ve expected this, but it still made your heart drop.

You couldn’t have cared less about Pierce’s fate. He’d never been your favorite in the Underworld and his actions against you were motivated by pure greed and selfishness. He’d betrayed the gods for himself, hoping to lift his ranking in the world and kill you.

But Brock… Brock’s punishment hurt you.

As much as his betrayal destroyed you, you didn’t want him to die for it. His betrayal had been misguided. He’d been under the impression that he would have you back if he helped the titans rise to power. As twisted as his actions had been and as much as you hated him for them, you still couldn’t make yourself wish death upon him.

Because it wasn’t really death that awaited him; it was annihilation.

They didn’t have to explicitly say that, but you all knew it to be true. Annihilation was really the only fate for an immortal.

And odds were you were going to be the one to carry it out. After all, the only weapons in existence that could kill an immortal had either been destroyed or were in the possession of you and your sisters and you were the goddess of the dead and the Underworld. It was only natural that you’d be the executioner, no matter how much you hated it.

———

You hated your executioner gear. You despised the heavy black cloak and the black armor. You loathed the way it felt to wear them, feeling their weight flow directly to your heart and make it sink in your chest like a stone. You hated your bident, knowing that it was about to take a life.

It felt like eons since you’d last donned the uniform. It was the execution of Erebus that enabled you to become the goddess of deep darkness and shadows which had been over a thousand years ago. One of the good things about living in Olympus with as small of a community as you did was that no one ever really fucked up so badly they had to die.

Because of this, executions were few and far between; but that just made the ones that did happen that much more important and official.

All the gods dressed in their traditional robes. Carol would wear the purest white with her crown of lightning on her head. Natasha would dress in the ocean embodied in fabric with a crown of waves resting on her hair.

You dressed in the emptiest of blacks—literal shadows forming your cloak and armor—while donning a crown of precious gold swirling with the souls of the damned.

From there, the others would dress according to their role and domain, all looking regal and magnificent.

You could sense them gathering in the town square outside the palace from where you stood in a guest room, preparing yourself for the emotionally-taxing event to come. Your body was fully healed and you’d been released from the hospital a few days ago. Carol had agreed to postpone the execution until you were well enough, but you could tell that she and the others were just itching for it to be over with. The remaining titans had already been sent back to Tartarus with reinforced prisons and this was the final obstacle standing in the way of normalcy. Once the traitors had been dealt with, the gods could return to the way things were before the panic that was the titans.

You overlooked the square where the gods were gathering. The execution stand had been set up in the center with two chopping blocks where the two prisoners were to be set up. It wouldn’t be long before Pierce and Brock were chained up and you would kill them. Opposite of the stand stood a raised platform where three thrones had been erected. Carol’s stood in the center with yours to the right and Natasha’s to the left. Though regal and begging for their occupants, you knew that one of them would remain vacant.

You pulled anxiously at the laces that held your bracer on your arm. Your stomach churned and you found yourself wishing that you could be anywhere else.

Your unease was surprising to you. You’d never been this queasy at an execution before. In fact, you’d taken lives as mercilessly as death. But this one was different.

Probably because of who was being executed.

Knowing that Brock was about to die brought you more discomfort than you wanted to admit. It chilled you to the bone to think of him on that execution block, destroyed by your own hand. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that none of this had come to pass. You could almost imagine that you were in bed with him a whole century ago, your head on his bare chest and his arms secured around your waist.

What would’ve happened if this last year and a half had never happened? Would you still be with Brock, happily in denial about the reality of your relationship? Would things have been different? Would he never have felt the need to betray you in order to win you back? Would he not be dying today?

You had no doubt about Pierce’s fate. The god was corrupted by your father, enticed by the power he was promised. He would’ve betrayed you regardless and been sentenced to death.

Of course, this alone possessed an issue for you. Pierce was a god and he had dominion over a necessary part of life: death. With his death, his dominion would be orphaned and the title of god of death would have to be passed on to a willing god.

But what god would take it? Everyone avoided death like the plague, especially the Olympians. That left you and you alone to take it over.

You didn’t mind this fate, but it scared you. Being the goddess of death would be a full-time job on its own. It demanded that you help lead the mortals to the Underworld when they die so that they don’t get stuck in the Mortal World. It wasn’t something you hadn’t done before, but millions of mortals died every day. You wouldn’t have the time to do such a task.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts and you shuddered free. You let go of your laces and straightened up before calling out, “Come in!”

The hinges squealed as the door was pushed open and the sound of heels hitting the tile filled the room. “How are you doing?” came the voice of your youngest sister.

You breathed a chuckle and glanced over your shoulder at her. “Never better. My boyfriend is in the hospital and I’m about to kill my ex and my lieutenant. Life’s shaping up to be great.”

“You know, a little less sarcasm wouldn’t kill you.” The smile on Carol’s face was teasing as she sat down on the bed.

“Actually, I live off of sarcasm so yes, it very well could kill me.” You turned around to face her and crossed your arms, a small smile of your own creeping onto your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me Carol, I’m fine.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?” She hummed and leaned forward. “How are you really handling all of this? The execution, Bucky, Dad’s death… I can’t imagine that any of it is easy on you.”

“It’s not, but when did life ever ask me what I wanted?” You hung your head. “Misfortune is not something I’m a stranger to. As shitty as it is, I’m used to something going wrong in some way or another. I think it comes with the territory.”

“I’m really sorry, (y/n).”

“Don’t be… It’s not your fault they did what they did. It’s not your fault that Dad was a psychopath or that Brock and Pierce… That they decided to follow him. They’re grown men. They made their own decisions. I just… I just wish…” The words were trapped in your throat.

“You just wish that it didn’t have to end in death.”

You nodded. “Pierce I understand. He’s a danger to us all so long as he lives. But Brock…”

She stood and crossed the room to you. Placing her hand on your shoulder, she gave you a weak smile. “I know you guys have a history together—one that I’ll probably never understand—and I know that he means something to you, but the law is the law. He’s already proven that we can’t trust him. He poisoned you, (y/n). He helped set our father free. We can’t just have someone like that running freely around Olympus.”

“I know.” Your voice was a ghost of a whisper as you lowered your gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I know you don’t, and I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

You didn’t say anything; you just hung your head. You hated this situation more than you would say. You knew they had to die, but you weren’t ready for it.

“Hey…” Carol said after a while. “Why don’t… Why don’t you sit this one out? I can take care of the… The execution. You don’t have to do this.”

That caught your attention. You looked up, your eyes widening. “Really?”

“Yeah! It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do anything official like this. Besides… You shouldn’t have to have that on your conscience.”

A weak smile pulled at your lips and you nodded. “Thank you, Carol.”

“Don’t mention it.” She rubbed small circles on your shoulder and took a step back.

Given distance from her, you sighed. “Pierce is dying today.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He is the god of death. His dominion will be orphaned after he is gone.”

“I know. We’re going to have to find him a replacement.”

“You know that none of the Olympians will take it.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“And I know you and Nat can’t, so…”

“So you will?”

“I suppose I’ll have to. I just don’t know how I’m going to balance that with running the Underworld.”

“You really can’t.”

“I know…”

She bit her lip and shifted her weight. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“But you have to.”

“I do…” She exhaled sharply. “But, if you do it, I can promise that it will only be temporary—just until I can find a permanent replacement.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m the queen of the gods. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

That drew a laugh out of you and you nodded. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

“So you’ll take it temporarily?”

“Yeah. But you better find a replacement quick or I might just die from the stress.”

“Duly noted.” She smiled softly and looked around the room. “Will you stay up here during the execution?”

Pressing your lips together, you shook your head. “No. I think I will go down for the execution. It would be informal to exclude one of the three queens.” You turned away from Carol and looked down at the pavilion where the gods had begun taking their places. Apprehension and foreboding took hold of your heart as you said, “I can manage it.”

———

Despite the sun beating down on Olympus, the air was cold. Your throne was chilled to the touch as you sat there. Your foot taped anxiously on the ground as your eyes stayed locked on your sister.

Carol stood on the execution platform, her staff of lightning towering above her head as it hummed and crackled with raw power. The light oozing from its surface was blinding.

You’d only seen the awesome weapon a handful of times; once when it was being forged, once during the first Titanomachy, and most recently when you fought and killed your father just days ago. And now it was about to execute a god and a naiad.

She was stiff as she looked out over the assembled Olympians. She took a deep breath and a hush fell over the crowd as the event began.

“Citizens of Olympus,” she called out, her voice magnified in the square. “We have come here today to deliver justice to those who have betrayed us. Their fate is not one that we would wish upon anyone, but it is necessary. In order to safeguard our peace and preserve our safety, the traitors have been sentenced to death. I, Carol, Queen of Olympus, shall officiate this execution. Now, bring forth the traitors.”

Tony was the one to obey her orders, emerging from thin air and holding onto an unbreakable chain of his own creation.

Pierce was the first into the light, his wings trembling under the sun and his hands and feet bound in shackles that were attached to the chain Tony was holding. He’d grown paler in just the week of his imprisonment. He wore a scowl on his face as he glared at the gods. He was angry with them. He wanted to lash out and try and kill them all.

But he would not. His bindings prevented it. In addition to being unbreakable, they also inhibited all powers and godly abilities. So long as he was held by them, he would not be able to do anything.

Brock emerged seconds later, more mellow and resigned than his predecessor. He looked defeated and miserable. Filled with guilt, he couldn’t even look up at the gods that watched him. The blue in his cheeks was more pronounced in the shadow of shame. You could tell just from his posture that he regretted everything that led up to this moment.

But what was done was done and he and Pierce were being led to their death.

Tony took them onto the platform and shoved them down to their knees in front of the chopping blocks. He secured Pierce’s shackles to the ground first, knowing that the god would try anything if given the chance. The naiad, on the other hand, was more placid and obedient.

You could feel your heart trying to crawl up your throat so it could run away. It didn’t want to be here any more than you did.

Your hands tightened on your armrests and you gripped the vibranium so tightly you were sure that you were denting it. Your crown was heavy on your head, adding to the stress you already felt. Your stomach churned and your body trembled. Your breathing was growing heavy.

But nobody paid you any attention. You hardly even paid yourself attention as you watched Carol tower over the men bound before her. She addressed Pierce first, her eyes beginning to glow white with power. Her stare was cold as stone as she thundered, “Alexander Pierce, god of death, you are guilty of treason against Olympus, conspiring against the gods, collaborating with our most ancient enemy, freeing the titans, and the attempted murder of the Queen of Hades. For this, the decided punishment is death. Have you any last words?”

His piercing blue eyes fluttered up and scanned all of the gods until they settled on you and iced over with malice. “I have none,” he said, his voice low and even, “save for: I only regret that I did not succeed in killing you, (y/n). Death would’ve been such a good look on you.”

“And I’m sure it will be the same on you,” you said casually as you met his eyes. You would not miss looking into those eyes one bit. Tearing your gaze away from him, you looked up at Carol.

Her white eyes met yours and she hesitated for a second. Her posture begged your permission to carry on.

You simply gave a slight nod of your head.

Taking your approval, Carol took a deep breath and gripped her staff tighter. “Your time has come. May the Fates have mercy on your immortal soul.” She lifted her staff over her head, positioning it so it would fall on his neck. With one swift and powerful movement, she pulled it down and it crashed on his skin.

With a scream of agony, he burst into ash. The power had been too much for even his immortal body to handle and he vaporized on the spot.

You turned your eyes away from the scene and suppressed a shudder

If there was one good thing about these executions, it was that there was no body to clean up because there was no body left behind.

Nothing remained of the god. The only things that even suggested his existence were the shackles that had fallen to the ground and a ball of black light that hovered over the execution block.

At once the gods broke out into murmuring as they eyed the ball warily. They could feel the death and decay radiating from it and so could you.

After all, it was death itself.

The ball of light was death, Pierce’s dominion concentrated into one area and left without a vessel.

Carol set her staff down on the platform and walked over to the ball. She held her hands around it, careful not to touch it, and looked out over the crowd. “The god of death is dead. His successor must be named. Who will step up and claim this role?”

There was an uncomfortable murmur among the gods as you expected. No one wanted it. It was a good thing you’d already accepted your fate.

Shoving yourself into a standing position, you rolled your shoulders back and raised your hand. “I will, for a temporary amount of time. A replacement will need to be found for me but until then… I, (y/n) Aidoneus, accept the role of goddess of death. I take on this role being of sound mind and of my own volition, therefore claiming all of its responsibilities and obligations. I swear to uphold the position and carry out its requirements until a time when it can be claimed permanently. Allow me to embrace this position, and seal me as the goddess of death.”

The orb was before you in an instant as it sank into your chest. You could feel the chill of death seeping in, spreading to your fingers and your toes until you were as cold as ice. You felt the vacancy, the absence of life, filling you to the core.

It was hard to breathe for a moment as your body adjusted to the intruder, but it wasn't long before you were accepting death as if it had been yours for a long, long time. Finding your breath again, you gave a curt cough and sat back down. Looking at Carol, you nodded your head.

It’s been done.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad it’d taken well. Now there was one less thing on her plate. “Very good, then,” she said, her voice commanding attention once more. “Let us continue.” She turned her gaze to Brock and the white of her eyes intensified. “Brock Rumlow, naiad of the River Cocytus, you are guilty of treason against Olympus, aiding the god of death in the liberation of the titans, conspiring against the gods, and the attempted murder of the Queen of Hades. For this, the decided punishment is death. Have you any last words?”

For the first time that day, you allowed yourself to look at Brock and really let his appearance set in.

He was scared. You could see it in his eyes. He’d never been able to hide that sort of thing from you. But more than scared, he looked sad and defeated. He felt like he deserved this—he did deserve this. He wasn’t paying any attention to the powerful gods around him as he knelt on the chopping block. Instead, his chin was tilted up and those brown eyes you’d gazed into so many times were set on you. He gave you a weak smile as he met your eyes and he nodded. “Yeah… Just a few.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m… I’m sorry, Precious,” he said addressing you. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I should’ve treated you better. I just didn’t know how to and I’m sorry for that. Please… Find it in your heart to forgive me.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart had climbed so far up in your throat that it blocked all airways. Your eyes burned as you stared at him. This man had been your first love, your love for the longest time. Never in a million years would you have guessed you’d be where you were now. You wished this was all some sick dream, that it never had to come to this.

You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this. Brock had tried to kill you, after all. He’d abused you for so many years and left you broken time after time. You should’ve hated him—should’ve been glad he was about to die. But your heart betrayed you, filling you with a sadness you wished you’d never known. You could feel pain rising up in your belly as red filled the edge of your vision.

Having said his fill, Brock closed his eyes and bowed his head over the block as he accepted his fate.

Carol took that as her cue as she took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her weapon. “Brock Rumlow, your time has come. May the Fates have mercy on your immortal soul.”

You saw the world move in slow motion. Carol pulled her staff above her head again, poising to bring it down on his neck.

Brock tensed as he braced himself to follow Pierce in death.

You saw the lightning flash, heard it crackle as Carol brought her staff down in an arc. Sparks flew through the air as it rained down onto Brock.

Fire erupted in your stomach and flowed throughout your body, possessing you to stand and scream, “Stop!” The world was fully red now and your chest was rising and falling with labored breaths.

The lightning halted just centimeters away from his neck, and both Carol and Brock looked up at you in surprise.

You could only imagine how wild you looked. The world was clouded with red so you knew that your irises had already turned, but the red alone did not cast insanity on your figure. Your lips were parted in desperation and you were almost lunging at the pair.

Carol frowned up at you as she retracted her weapon. “(y/n)?”

“Stop,” you repeated again, your voice a shallow whisper. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Kill him. Please don’t kill him.” The heart of a younger goddess had its hold on you. Suddenly you were young again, gazing at Brock through the eyes of someone who had loved him at one point. And though the feelings had gone and died, the urge to protect him had not.

“What?” Carol was confused as she looked up at you. “But, (y/n), he poisoned you. He tried to kill—”

“I know what he did!” you snapped, your voice thundering out, amplified by the surrounding silence. “I was there for his confession, but I can’t let you kill him.”

She set the lightning down at her side, the base of it painfully close to Brock’s face. “And why not?”

“Because I…” You what? You didn’t love him, that was for damn sure, but you couldn’t make yourself loathe him. Despite all the evil he had done towards you and your family, you couldn’t let him die. You’d invested too much of yourself in him. To let him be executed now in front of you would tear your heart in two. Despite where you were with him now, he was your first love, and you couldn’t just let that go.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked down from the dais, locking your eyes with Carol and shoving as much pleading as you could into them. “I can’t let him die. Please, Carol, punish him, but don’t take his life.”

Brock stared at you, his mouth agape, and he mumbled, “Precious…”

Carol slammed her staff into the ground, causing sparks to fly. “Silence,” she hissed, her voice deadly, before looking at you, taking in your desperation. At once she understood. You could see it in the way her eyes softened when she saw your desperation and in the way her grip on the staff of lightning relaxed. She was silent for a few moments, glancing around at the assembly of gods before looking back down to the man whose head sat upon the chopping block.

Letting out a heavy breath, she said, “Very well.”

There was no reaction from the gods, though you could tell they wanted to protest. This was the man that had aided one of their greatest enemies escape, who had poisoned one of their own (although distant and often disliked) and who had betrayed them. They wanted him dead, but they knew better than to go against the decision of a queen.

A weight was suddenly lifted off your chest and you could breathe again. You eased yourself back down onto your throne, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked at Carol expectantly.

Carol looked back at Brock, her eyes beginning to glow white. After a moment of deliberation, she seemed to settle on a new punishment. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her staff and pointed it at Brock’s head.

He flinched away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut as if the action would shield him from whatever she was about to do.

She didn’t care, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with untamed and absolute power. “Brock Rumlow, naiad of the River Cocytus, you have been pardoned from the ultimate punishment of death. However, your treasonous crimes against the Queen of Hades and the gods of Olympus still stand and thus you must be punished accordingly.” She inhaled sharply and lifted her staff over his head, letting it hover there threateningly. “I hereby strip you of your immortality, damning you to live and die among the mortals. You will never again walk with the gods or spirits you called friend or foe. You will live out the rest of your days bearing the weight of your sins and your crimes, and when you die, you will be condemned to the nothingness of the Asphodel Meadows. Never again will you be welcomed on Olympus or experience the comforts of immortality. May the Fates have mercy on your mortal soul.”

As soon as the last few syllables were spoken, the punishment took effect. The blue drained from Brock’s face, the markings that identified him as an immortal naiad vanished, and his skin took on the rosy hue that most mortals had. The change wasn’t drastic, but it was obvious to you; in those few seconds, he became human—mortal.

Brock gasped for air as the change took hold on his body and he crumpled to the ground. You could only imagine how painful it would be to have such a big part of you stolen away, but you wagered it was better than an immortal death.

Carol paid no attention to him as she turned to address the gods. “This concludes the execution,” she said, her voice dismissive. “Thank you all for attending. Never again will the guilty threaten our safety. We can rest in peace. The second Titanomachy is over, once and for all.”

No one but you stuck around long. Natasha stayed by your side, seated in her own throne. Carol waited until most gods had gone before turning to you. “I will take him to the Mortal World. Will you be okay?”

You didn’t need to ask who she spoke of. You nodded, not looking down at the mortal before you. “Yes. Thank you, Carol. I appreciate it more than you know.”

She smiled softly. “You ask so little of me; it was the least I could do for you. I will make sure he has arrangements, though they will not be the most luxurious.”

“I would expect nothing else.”

She turned her eyes to Nat. “Would you come with me? It’s been a while since I’ve been among mortals.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, turning to you to see if you needed her.

You simply waved your hand. “Go on. I’m a big girl; I can handle myself.”

Chuckling, Natasha nodded. “Then yes. Let’s go as soon as possible. I’m starving and don’t want this to take all day.”

In the blink of an eye, they were gone and you were left alone.

Well, almost alone.

Two gods lingered in the square.

Tony stood at the base of your platform and smiled up at you. “You sure you’re alright, kid?”

“Yeah, Tony,” you said, standing and approaching him. Despite your status, it was rude to tower over him. You crossed over to the edge of the platform and sat down so you were level with him. “I’m just stressed.”

Pepper stood beside him, leaning into him. The woman’s eyes were soft as she looked you over. “We can tell. It’s not just this execution that was stressing you out, was it?”

You pursed your lips and let out a soft sigh. No, it wasn’t. Sure it had been the main cause of your distress, but now that it was over, you were still on edge.

“It’s a boy,” Tony said, but it wasn’t a question. It was more like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

A boy… It was Bucky…

You chuckled and hung your head. “Yeah… I guess it is. How did you know?”

“Cause I was in with him the other day getting him fit for a prosthetic. He misses you. He was asking about you and, even though I told him I don’t talk to you much, he wouldn’t quit. He said that I was the only god he could really ask. His mother doesn’t like you and Pietro is too busy with his medicine to really check in on you. I was the only one he could ask.”

He missed you. Well, if you didn’t feel like shit before, you did now.

You couldn’t go see him yet. No, the guilt of being the cause of his pain was too much. If not for you, he would’ve never lost his arm, would’ve never thrown caution to the wind like that. If you’d never met him he would’ve never gone through the pain and heartache you forced him into. You couldn’t see him until you had something to absolve you of your guilt and by holding off, you were just putting him through more pain.

Besides, you weren’t emotionally-able to take that on just yet. With the death of your father and lieutenant and the exile of your ex-lover, you weren’t able to tolerate anything else that would tug at your heartstrings; you didn’t have the capacity to deal anymore. You couldn't see him or let him see you like this.

You hung your head. “I can’t go see him… I can’t handle it right now.”

“It’s alright, (y/n),” Pepper cooed, putting her hand on your shoulder to soothe you. “We get it. You’ve been through a lot these past few days.”

“I know… I just… ” You exhaled sharply and doubled over, folding your hands over your knees and letting your forehead rest atop them. “I just don’t know what to do now. For the first time in my life, I have nothing. No cards left to play. I have no control.”

“You could always come to the forges,” Tony said, his voice kind and gentle. “Y’know, whenever I get stressed and feel like the world is out of control, I build. It helps me take my mind off of things and gives me something that is mine and mine alone. Besides, it’s nice to do something with your hands. I can teach you if you want. It could be therapeutic.”

You lifted your eyes to look at him. “Really?”

“Of course. You’ve just gotta deal with my insanity.” He gave you a lopsided grin. “You don’t have to make up your mind now, but my doors are always open if—”

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, I’ll come and work with you. Just until I can get my mind set straight again.” You took a deep breath. “So, when can I begin?”

Next 24: She Mends a Body and a Heart

#pragma(tic)#hades and persephone #hades & persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y #bucky x you #mcu

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

Note

So, I just read it on Twitter and had to share it with you. “Climate change has fucked up seasons, does this mean Hades and Persephone’s deal has changed? Is she getting her cheeks smashed for longer now? Is Hades okay with random dick appointments rescheduling? Is Demeter going crazy? Is she going stupid?”

“Your mom must be going fucking nuts, huh?”

It’s 3:32 AM in the morning, the halls of the palace are fast asleep, and the only sound is the soft, muffled crackling of the eternal fires the burn just outside the large, arched window of their bedroom.

For millennia, Hades never really payed much mind to what humans were doing to the world. The wars, the bloodshed, the atrocities— it was always a part of mankind, for as long as he could remember. He’s aware that his mindset is probably do to the fact that he grew up during a time when all of these aspects were very common, so he was numb to them, to an extent.

But in all of his years of life, Harry had never witnessed humans actually be able to push the boundaries of their powers to the point where it was impacting the actual planet.

Bombs are the obvious factor, as well as mass deforestation, oil wells, mines, and so much more. However, amidst all of these impacts humans lay upon the world, none of them had ever had a direct influence on Harry’s life. He’s sequestered so far down in the depths of the earth that humans can’t possibly reach him here without kicking it first.

That was until global warming became an issue.

Well, an issue for those who live above ground. For him, it was actually working out quite to his advantage.

He’s knows it’s a horrible thing to say but he’s already in Hell so he doesn’t really have much to lose. Actually, he has so much more to gain.

Since global warming is a direct line to climate change, all of the seasons have been thrown out of their natural order. Fall and Winter used to be strictly six months, which is when Persephone would be down in the Underworld with him. As soon as the first of the seventh month hit, it was time for her to go back to Olympus with her mother for their given time of Spring and Summer.

The end of the six month period was usually when the weather would start to warm up on the surface, resulting in Persephone having to go and take the reigns of her godly duty with Demeter. But increasing climate change has been tinkering with the technicalities for the last few years and most of the time, it’s in Hades’ favor.

It’s been two weeks into the seventh month, and with temperatures still near freezing in some areas of the world, Y/N has managed to use this as an excuse to extend her stay with Harry. And since the weather is too risky for crops to start growing, Demeter’s hands are tied in her own grape veins, much to Hades’ glee.

This brings them to where they are now, snuggling cozily under the charcoal black duvet of their humongous bed, legs intertwined as his wife cradles her head against his bare chest, the tips of his fingers tracing both of his names down the expanse of her spine.

The last two weeks had been a hell of a ride, literally and metaphorically.

It reminds Harry of how when they had first gotten married, they had been going at it like rabbits for the weeks that followed, as if the world could end any minute.

But now, it was The Weather Channel that could potentially throw a gear in their little extravaganza. They had been safe thus far into the month, so every day was a triumph, and triumphs obviously have to be celebrated.

The amount of fucking got so embarrassingly frequent, in some embarrassingly unequip places, to the point where one of the cleaning servants had walked in on them in a storage closet when Harry was supposedly at an emergency meeting on Olympus.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been more mortified then when the servant handed him a freshly cleaned towel and said, “Here, you’ll need this for when you’re finished.” before closing the door behind her.

Harry looks down at Y/N, not being able to keep a gentle smile from tickling his lips as she presses her ear over his heart, comforted by the mellow thumping that had been harsh and fast-paced a few minutes prior. He ducks down and presses a caring kiss between her sweaty brows, her skin still hot and clammy from the exertion he’d just put her through.

His voice comes out as a raspy laugh and she can feel the edges of his mouth drawing up into a sly simper against her forehead.

“She must fucking hate me right now more than ever, too.”

Y/N pinches at his tummy in a cautionary manner, but she can’t fight the amused scuff that escapes her. “It’s not like you’re responsible for the weather, though.”

Hades shrugs one shoulder, his dark emerald eyes glistening in the buttery light of the fires below that stream in through the glass window. His tone is cocky and self-indulgent.

“But I am responsible for this.” He streams his fingertips down the dip of her back and onto her ass, moving the sheets down a tad to reveal a darkened outline of his handprint. “And that’s enough to cause her to plunge the world into another Ice Age.”

Persephone fully laughs now, her eyes squeezing shut as her whole face lights up like the Northern Lights and Harry can’t resist scattering a dozen kisses all over her cheeks and nose. She just looks so fucking cute when she smiles like that.

Hades cups the side of her jaw with his fingers, thumbing over the faint dimple on her chin as he rubs his nose over the tip of her’s. Even though his plump, wine-tinted lips carry a tender, sleepy grin, she can hear the sadness weighing his words. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Persephone sighs deeply, reaching up to push her husband’s damp, chestnut curls away from his forehead, combing them back from his softening eyes as he swallows heavily, thick eyebrows furrowing as he tries to keep his emotions from registering on his face. “I don’t want to either, but I have to eventually.”

Harry nods his head emptily, the tip of his cold nose running up and down the suppleness of her cheek. “I just don’t want this to end.”

Y/N snorts lightly, trying to lift the mood of the conversation. “Yeah, I get that. Then you won’t have anyone to ride you in the bathing pool.”

She thanks the gods that it works, heart fluttering in her chest as Harry breaks out into a fit of that high-pitched laughter he does when he can’t control himself. His entire face changes for a moment, his nose crinkling upwards as the corners of his eyes wrinkle in delight.

“Am I wrong?!” She teases, poking him in the stomach and sides until his hands are fumbling for her own, his giggling intensifying when she buries her head into his neck and starts blowing raspberries against his skin.

“Okay, okay!” Harry can barely breathe, his ribs aching but in the best way and he can’t seem to stop beaming. “You’re kinda right.”

Y/N halts her attack, mouth dropping open in fake appalled shock, eyebrows flying upwards outrage. “Are you serious?!”

She tries to yank her wrists free from her husband’s large hands, but his fingers only tighten to keep her from going at him again. Persephone lays there writhing from side to side, yelling out all types of vulgar language that is gradually dissolving into bundles of banter and giggles as Harry makes kissy-faces, warning her to calm down before he “gives her a taste of her own ambrosia.”

Y/N, in the spur of the moment, mounts herself on top of Harry in a whirlwind of messy sheets, straddling his hips with her thighs and trying to tug herself free that way, but his hold is beyond godly. She releases an exasperated groan, slamming their conjoined hands down against his stomach, satisfied at the pained grunt he chokes out. “You deserve it, you prick.”

They are both still grinning from ear to ear, Y/N’s hair a tangled mess of flyaways as she slumps down in defeat against Hades’ lap, pouting and fuming jokingly.

When Harry sees his wife has come down from her bloodthirsty rampage, he slowly unclamps his fingers from her wrists, shrugging his eyebrows warningly. “I’ll pin you, babe. Behave.”

Persephone raises her own eyebrows challengingly. “Oh, yeah?”

Before Hades can react, she has his wrists crossed above his head, pressed into the mound of elegant feathered pillows below him. “How’s that, then? Turned the tables.”

Harry cocks his head to the side with an arrogant air as his bare, tattooed chest heaves alluringly. He runs his bottom lip under his top teeth as the corners turn up into a presumptuously attractive smirk, voice holding faux surrender. “You’re absolutely right, darling. I completely, totally lost. I have you sitting in my lap, naked, with a perfect view of your tits, which is the most dreadful defeat I can possibly imagine.You won.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow. It’s all a game— just for shits and giggles— but the way he’s eyeing her with that amused, conceited smirk makes her want to slap him across the face.

“You’re an asshole.” She huffs, nails digging into his wrists.

A holographic green glint flashes across the whites of Harry’s eyes, irises glowing with a watery jade hue as he mopes at her tauntingly. “Oh, but I thought I was a ‘prick?’”

Now he’s really asking for it. Practically begging for her to do something to make him take it all back. As if reading her mind, Hades flicks up a single eyebrow, and she can read his expression clear as crystal.

What are you gonna do about it?

Y/N can feel her nostrils flaring ever so slightly at the dare, and what drives it forward it that even though she is the one who is supposed to have Harry pinned down at her disposable, it looks more like he has his hands crossed behind his head, waiting for her to bend to his will.

It’s infuriatingly hot.

Something glints out of the corner of Persephone’s eye, her gaze rising until it lands on Hades’ wedding ring as it hugs his finger, the giant emerald jewel glittering in the muted amber lighting. He follows her locked stare, jaw flexing as he tilts his head back against the mattress, trying to find the target of her distraction.

His ring.

He very seldom takes it off, to the point where he has a tan line around the area. It’s his most prized possession, accompanied by his crown, his emblem, and Cerberus.

Y/N quickly wraps her fingers around it, pulling it off swiftly and holding it up above his head, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. “Good luck getting it back.”

Her plan backfires almost immediately.

She tries to swing herself off her husband to get the prize as far away from him as possible, but she had forgotten that their bodies had been tangled together in the sheets. Instead of making a speedy escape, she topples off his sideways, landing face-first into the fluffy duvet.

Harry’s muddled snickering mocks her.

The next thing she knows, Persephone is being scooped up in a pair of strong, lean arms, her back hitting the pillowy mattress and bouncing lightly. Harry’s body collapses over her’s, his hips snug between her thighs as his palms press down against the bed on either side of her head.

He moves strands of her hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ears as his face hovers over her, grin plastered all over it. “That was cute, pet. Ten-out-of-ten for effort. Execution? I’ll give you a two-out-of-ten, only because I love you so much.”

Harry shifts into his forearms, holding his left hand up and wiggling his ring finger. “Now give it back.”

“No.”

He rolls his eyes in mild irritation. “Give it back before you drop it behind the bed, you dolt.”

Y/N rattles her head in defiance, fist tightening around the obsidian ring as it remains pressed against her husband’s chest.

Harry gives her a ominous look, tilting his head to the side with a cautionary tone. “Give me my ring back before I give the other side of your bum a matching handprint.”

Instead of just giving in and returning the jewelry, Y/N decides to take the more complicated (and irrationally ridiculous) route. She pops it into her mouth.

Harry is so surprised he doesn’t blink for a few seconds. Then, he breaks out into awed laughter.

“You’re such a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? S’fucking impressive.” He shakes his head in disbelief, ghosting his index finger along her Cupid’s Bow, licking at the corner of his mouth coyly when he feels her lips twitching beneath his touch. “Now be a good girl and spit it out.”

Her words are muffled over the object. “Make me.”

A dark aura falls over Hades’ face, his hand coasting down from playing with her lips to wrapping delicately around her throat in foreshadowing. His voice is low and assertive. “You know I fucking will.”

“That’s what I’m betting on.”

Harry’s mouth curls into an evilly delighted simper. “Alright. You asked for it.”

Hades grabs one of Persephone’s knees, spreading her legs open roughly and using his own knees to keep her parted wide open. The ring finger of the hand around her throat presses against the center of her lips, the other hand wandering down and cupping her bare crotch without any warning. The two middle fingers of his right hand press deeper against her slick folds until he can feel the bud of her clit, and that’s when he starts wiggling the digits back and forth.

It starts off softly, but is quickly molding into a faster, messier, more eager pace. He usually eases her into sex because he knows how sensitive she can be down there to the point where she’ll cum without much work, but since they’re pitted against each other rather than together, dirty war strategies are expected.

Y/N’s legs act on instinct, trying to clasp shut as she feels her entire body coursing with electric shocks of sudden euphoria. However, the knees he has against her’s keeps her open, allowing him to do whatever he deems fit.

Persephone’s hands desperately grab at her husband’s, trying to get him to stop; she’d clearly overestimated her confidence level. She’d assumed he would just bury himself inside her, a strategy she knows how to fight with the right amount of willpower. But her clit is way more sensitive than anything else on her body and he’d gone in without remorse.

“T-That’s not fair! H-Harry, you can’t just— fuck, oh my God!” Her back arches up from the bed, thighs quivering as she feels deep pulses of pleasure pounding at the pit of her stomach.

Harry’s lips are flushed against her throat, placing hot, sloppy pecks across her juglar as he feels her getting wetter and wetter over his fingers. “I fucking warned you, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you cum like this, without me inside you. It’s what you deserve for being such a brat.”

“P-Please—!”

“Ring.” He growls demandingly, his second middle finger pressing harder against the center of her colored lips, the rest of his digits gripping her jaw firmly. “Now.”

It’s as if Y/N’s brain is no longer in control of her actions, her body acting on sheer adrenaline. Her mouth drops open on command, and she can feel Harry’s triumphant grin stinging across her jaw.

“That’s what I thought.”

The digit dips in and the ring slips past a third of it before Harry pulls it out. He makes eye contact with his wife, ducking down to whisper his next words across the shell of her ear.

“You’re gonna be the one to put the ring back on me.”

With everything that is happening, Persephone has no time to unravel the riddle behind Hades’ words. One of her trembling hands reaches up for his hand, trying to obey him in her drunken state of shock.

But he stops her with a light shake of his head, wet curls bouncing. “Not like that, baby.”

Harry then shifts his body over smoothly, the hand that was between her thighs slamming down beside her head to hold himself up as the hand with the ring takes its place.

In one quick, expert move, he plunges his two middle fingers inside Y/N, and the experience is almost out-of-body.

She can feel the abrupt chill of the metal ring making contact with the skin around her entrance, and then he’s slipping his digits further inside her, the ring pushing against her tight hole and running down his finger until it is snug in its rightful place. Until Harry is knuckles deep and she feels like she’s going to pass out as her senses go into overdrive.

Y/N is bucking and writhing against Hades’ hand, whimpering and whining and pleading with him to stop toying with her. To just fuck her already.

“Oh, I will, love. I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers first. Play with that spot inside you that I know drives you fucking wild. And then, I’m gonna proper raw you until you can’t even stand.”

Harry’s fingers slip out completely, only to pound back inside her harder this time, her whole body jolting upwards against the bed sheets as her throat aches with a broken yelp.

“I’m gonna make you apologize for calling me a prick—” his fingers draw out and slam back in and she’s so wet he can fucking hear it— “and an asshole—’ the same motion again, but this time she feels his teeth staining her neck and jaw with bruises— “and I’m gonna make you scream so loud, they’ll hear you all the way up in Olympus.”

And with the way he rams his digits back inside her, she knows he’ll make good on that promise.

#hades!harry

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snidgetsafan · 5 years

Text

Whom the Gods Love Die Young

Rating: G (for the moment)

Summary: The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

David and Emma travel to the Underworld to claim back Snow after her untimely death. In order to do so, they're going to have to face the dark and mysterious God of the Underworld and complete his challenges.

Seems simple enough until you add magic, divine quarrels, and the worst thing of all: feelings.

Notes: And here it is! The first chapter of my @cssns! Thanks to the lovely ladies who organized this second edition! I took inspiration from both the Hades/Persephone and Orpheus/Eurydice myths, which I hope you’ll enjoy. I’d like to thank @shireness-says for betaing for me (at such short notice too!) and for cheering me one. Thanks darling, you’re a gem! I’d also like to thank @distant-rose, who helped me with the mythological aspect of my fic when I was plotting it. She is a font of knowledge, people! All mistakes are mine, however. I’d also like to thank all the lovely ladies at the CSSNS Discord, who helped me when I needed it, and who always encouraged me when I needed it. Love you guys! And last but not least, I’d like to thank @tennant-the-tigger for the fantastic art she made for this fic, and which you can see at the top of this post. Thank you so, so much! (Go give her some love!)

Word count: 3.6k (on AO3)

The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

Emma’s eyes follow David as he paces back and forth in the dark room, not unlike a lion in its cage. They’d been asked (well, asked was not quite the right word; almost physically pushed in would be more accurate) to stay in this waiting room until the King of the Underworld could receive them, but Emma isn’t fooled. There are no windows in the room – probably because they’re deep under the hill the palace is built against – and Emma is pretty sure at least one person is standing on the other side of the only door. They’ve managed to travel to the realm of the dead quite easily, but Emma fears it will take a lot more to get out.

It had been surprisingly easy to get this far. After David had convinced her to accompany him on his mad trip to reclaim his murdered bride, Emma had sought the counsel of Elsa, Hecate’s High Priestess and Emma’s mentor within the temple. Prayers to the goddess had resulted in the appearance of two golden boughs on the altar, which the young priestess understood to be Hecate’s blessing.

(The strange dreams which plagued her that night must have been another gift - visions of boats, three sets of glowing eyes in the dark, pomegranates, and whispers of a word. She has no idea what "Killian” means, but she feels that it's essential to their quest.)

The legends about the whereabouts of the entrance to the Underworld were surprisingly accurate, and showing the golden boughs had allowed them to cross the Styx on Charon’s boat. The sedative-laced meat that David had brought took care of the three-headed hound guarding the gates of Hades (hadn’t that been a frightening explanation for the glowing eyes), and they had soon arrived at the doors of the dark palace.

But that’s where it had gotten more complicated. The guards they had come upon apparently weren’t used to having to deal with living people, as David had barely been able to explain why they were there before they had been shoved into this room, were they had been waiting for what felt like hours, leading to David’s pacing. Emma, for her part, was trying to keep a calm façade in case they were being watched (they were, she just knew it, could feel eyes on her, had been able to since they had stepped into the Underworld).

Waiting for such a length of time is not beneficial to Emma’s nerves. Ever since Snow’s death, David – and Emma by extension – hadn’t stopped moving and acting. Emma knows that for her brother, this is a way to avoid confronting the memory of his bride ( wife , she can hear David’s voice insist in her mind) dying in his arms during their wedding ceremony. Grooms traditionally give an apple to their bride to symbolize their ability to provide for their future household, and the bride’s eating of the apple signifies her acceptance of her husband, the final act of the wedding ceremony (well, before the very last act of consummation of course, but that was not something done in public, nor something Emma wants to think about in relation with her brother. Ever). Except that this time, the apple had been poisoned by Snow’s witch of a stepmother in an unthinkable desecration of the wedding ritual and a blasphemy against Hera, and only a single bite had been enough to kill Snow in mere seconds.

The witch had been immediately smote, her heart giving out even before Snow had taken her last breath. Her corpse had been found on the steps of Eris’ temple, where she had probably been trying to seek refuge. Seems like not even the goddess of revenge can protect you from Hera’s wrath. She’d probably gotten a straight ticket to Tartarus, Emma thinks grimly.

Good riddance.

But David hadn’t let misery take hold of him, and had instead gone straight into anger, arguing that Snow should have been protected by the goddess of marriage during her own wedding, that it wasn’t fair, and that the gods help him (or not, Emma couldn’t help but think), he was going to find his wife and bring her back. Emma had followed him, mostly so he wouldn’t end up dead too, but also because Snow was her friend. She could still see her collapse into David’s arms every time she closed her eyes.

The young priestess’ thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and a mousy little man wearing a red Phrygian hat comes in, looking surprisingly… ordinary. David stops pacing too, coming to stand next to his sister as they watch the man approach them, followed by a tall helmed guard.

“Good evening, Emma and David, my name is Smee. I was told you’d like to speak to his Highness?” the little man says, looking at them expectantly.

Emma blinks, jarred. The man – Smee – looks so out of place, with his colorful hat and affable manners, stepping into this dark stone room in the heart of a hill which is itself in the heart of the Underworld. The siblings have both been gearing themselves to meet with opposition and hostility, not… politeness.

“Er,” she says eloquently, looking at David, who looks as flabbergasted as she feels.

“This way?” Smee continues as if nothing is amiss, gesturing towards the door before exiting into the hall.

David leads the way out of the door, before slowing down to let Emma step up beside him as they walk down the corridor, sandwiched between Smee and the guard. David steps closer to her, allowing the folds of their chitons to conceal the frantic way he grabs Emma’s hand, the strength of his grip betraying his anxiety at the meeting to come. Emma doesn’t mind, as she’s grabbing onto her brother’s hand as tightly as he is, although perhaps not for the same reasons. David’s only goal is to get Snow back; he isn’t thinking about anything else. Emma can see the bigger picture, and that bigger picture is that they’re going to be face to face with the freaking God of the Dead .

Very little is known about the God of the Underworld. Emma knows he is the brother of Liam, God of the Seas and of Arthur, God of Thunder and King of Mount Olympus, that he was given the Realm of the Dead to govern, and that he rarely leaves his kingdom. So little is known about him that mortals don’t even know his name, forcing them to use one of several monikers when referring to him such as King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead, or even simply Hades, as if the god were equal to the realm he rules. Despite all these names, the god is rarely mentioned in the mortal world. His very role of Agesander , the soul carrier, makes him the most terrifying figure in the Pantheon to most people.

Emma can still feel eyes on her, even more intensely than before. Her shoulder blades itch from the uncanny sensation of being watched, but she refrains from squirming, not wanting to show any discomfort to their escorts. She has to stay strong, she repeats to herself as a mantra. David’s sanity and Snow’s life (and their own, too, she guesses) are at stake here.

What feels like hours later, but is probably only minutes (five flights of stairs, though; she had no idea coming to the Underworld would be so physical), they arrive in another, more airy part of the palace. There are actually windows here, and she can feel a breeze ruffling her hair and the edges of her clothes. While made of dark stone, the palace didn’t seem as gloomy as she had expected, Emma notes with some surprise. Light streams into the halls, making the floors gleam, and a glimpse out of the window affords her a view of what seems to be an orchard and rolling fields beyond that.

Soon after they enter the hall, their guides stop in front of two massive basalt doors. The portal opens soundlessly in front of them, revealing a grand throne room beyond. Smee and the guard in front step in, heading towards the throne at the other end of the room, and David and Emma follow, taking a deep breath to center themselves.

A man – no, a god – sits on a high-backed throne on a grand dais, seemingly bored, if his slumped position can be believed. His lavish black clothes and spiky crown clearly designate him as the ruler of this place yet something feels… odd. Emma frowns but says nothing as she approaches with David. After all, it’s not like she has anything to compare the situation with. While becoming a priestess of Hecate has afforded her easier contact with her goddess, she hasn’t met her. Not even Elsa has had that privilege, and she is the High Priestess of their temple. Still… this doesn’t feel right .

“So, you dare trespass on my kingdom?” the god’s voice booms in the cavernous hall as soon as they are in speaking distance.

David steps forward, dropping on one knee at the foot of the dais and bowing his head in deference, Emma demurely following his lead.

“We’re sorry, my Lord,” David begins, his eyes still lowered to the floor. “I merely wished for an audience to beg a request of you.”

“A favor, eh? I have temples for that, why didn’t you use the traditional method?”

“Because you must get these kinds of prayers every day, and I wanted to be sure you’d listen to mine. My bride – my wife was killed during our wedding, and I’m here to beg you to let her come back home.”

“You’re right, I do get prayers every day. What gives you the idea that you are any different from all of these people?”

Emma frowns as David tries to justify his plea. Hecate has gifted her with the ability to detect lies, and that is what she feels coming from the god right now. Can her power even work on a deity? Is it a blasphemy to even presume it can? And yet… something’ s not right. Keeping her eyes downcast, Emma nonetheless focuses all her senses on what the seated god is saying. The feeling doesn’t go away; on the contrary, it amplifies as he goes on. What’s going on?

“Please, my Lord,” David is pleading, desperate to sway the being in front of him. “I’d do anything to get her back.”

“I can’t give you your bride back,” the god says. True . “Can you imagine what would happen if people heard that the Lord of Hades lets people go? The kingdom would be swamped with people wanting their lovers, children, or evencats back.”

Emma decides to intervene, seeing her brother flounder in his desperation, and wanting to test a theory.

“The only way we were able to get to you, your Highness, was because Hecate helped us. I feel that if she deigned to assist us, it’s because she feels our quest is justified.”

“Help from Hecate?” the god asks suddenly, straightening on his throne, a move echoed by Smee and the guard still standing behind Emma. “What are you talking about, mortal?”

“The goddess gifted us with these boughs to pay the ferryman,” Emma answers, prompting David to open his satchel to show the glimmering branches. “And she gave me… instructions,” she finishes a little lamely, not knowing how to explain her dreams.

The god is silent, gazing over Emma’s shoulder, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Emma watches him, waiting for his decision.

Which is not the one she hoped for.

“Nonetheless,” he says, slouching back onto his throne, “a death is a death. I might be the Lord of the Underworld, but there are certain lengths I won’t go to, and this is one of them.”

Lie . A big, fat, blaring lie that sets all of Emma’s senses aflame as she takes a surprised breath.

“No, you’re not,” she blurts out, staring at him incredulously now. What’s going on? Who is this man – no, not a man, divinity definitely oozes from him, he is a god… but not the god of this place.

“What did you just say.” the god rumbles, David’s hissed “ Emma!” drowned by the sound echoing all around them. Everything is still in the room – deathly so, she thinks a little hysterically as she realizes she has become the center of attention. The stares from the men in the room, as well as the invisible eyes which have been following her every move, weigh on her like so many lead weights. And yet…

“You may be a God, my Lord, but you are not the ruler of this place,” she repeats a little more assuredly, ignoring David’s attempts to shush her. The more she thinks about it, the more Emma’s sure of herself. And the angrier she grows. They’re here to beg for Snow’s life; David is slowly going mad with pain, she’s grieving for her friend as well, and these gods (because the Lord Hades has to be part of this masquerade, he has to) are playing games with them.

“Quite presumptuous of you to make such a claim.”

“I know when someone is lying. And you are,” Emma answers calmly, knowing there’s a chance those could be her last words.

“You have some gall, mortal. I like it. Well, this was fun while it lasted,” the god says as he rises, his solemn demeanor dissolving into nonchalance as he descends from the dais, walking towards them. “They’re all yours, pal, have fun with them,” he says as he passes them without stopping, clapping the guard behind Emma on the shoulder before sauntering out of the room.

Emma and David turn as one man towards the guard, both having the same thought. Had the actual God of the Underworld been with them the whole time? How had they not noticed ? Because now that they look at him, the same powerful aura that had emanated from the pseudo-Hades also seeps from the guard’s skin, clearly betraying his divine nature.

The guard sighs, looking to the ceiling, before he unclasps his helmet and takes it off, looking at the siblings exasperatedly. Stepping in front of them, he throws the helmet to Smee before crossing his arms, his clothes changing right in front of their eyes from a soldier’s garb to a black himation revealing one of his strong shoulders as well as part of his chest.

“Cat’s out of the bag, then.”

Emma tries to keep her cool. It would serve no purpose at all for her to berate a god.

David has no such qualms, however, his temper getting the best of him. “You… you mean all of this was just a joke? Who was that?”

“That, as you so eloquently put it, mortal, was Hermes, messenger of the gods. Before you put voice to the thoughts I can so clearly see on your face, may I remind you that he is my nephew, and you are in my domain?”

David swallows nervously before chancing a look at Emma, who surreptitiously nods. All true, even the threat. Especially the threat. Hermes had been all talk; his uncle will not hesitate to put action to word.

“No, your Highness,” David mutters apologetically.

“Good. Now, let’s be quick about this: I cannot help you on your quest. Your fiancée has died, and dead she shall remain.”

David’s face crumples as he hears the god deal his judgement in such a final tone, before he steels himself once more, straightening his spine and raising his head.

“But it’s not fair! She was killed during our wedding ceremony! She should have been protected by Hera!”

At this, the god perks up, looking more closely at David. “Your fiancée is Snow Leukḗ?”

“Yes!” David exclaims, his hope renewing at the god’s recognition. “You’ve heard of her?”

“I’ve heard of her killer,” the god corrects, sneaking a glance at Emma. “It’s not often we get new guests in Tartarus.”

So Regina had been sent to Tartarus to endure eternal torment, then. Emma doesn’t feel as satisfied as she had been earlier, but she can’t feel any pity for the woman either. She had gotten what was coming to her. Taking a look at her brother, Emma is surprised not to see a smile on his face at the news. The gods know he had ranted and raved about what he’d do to Regina since Snow had died and they had embarked on their quest, but now that he knows she’s suffering far worse than anything he could have come up with, he just looks… grimly resigned. Which shouldn’t really surprise Emma anyway; her brother is a just and fair man who would never do ill on any other soul, despite his words.

“So you agree that Snow’s death was unfair, then?” David tries to press his advantage.

“My role is to care for dead souls, not to pass judgement on their lives or deaths,” the god answers shortly, clearly growing tired of this conversation. “Now, I’ll kindly ask you to leave my kingdom, unless you want to be made permanent residents of it sooner than you expected.”

David isn’t budging. “But, the goddess Hecate – “

“Hecate gave you two trinkets and a dream and what, I should indulge your desires? You think you’re the only one who’s ever gotten a god’s favor to come down here? Orpheus did, and Orpheus failed. This is my kingdom, my realm, and I will rule it as I see fit, whether or not it pleases you, your sister, or bloody Hecate!” the god shouts in anger, getting closer and closer to David until their noses are practically touching.

Emma watches all of this, thinking furiously. When put in this light, Hecate’s gifts did help them get here, but now if looks like they’re on their own. Are they, though? Every step of their quest, every difficulty had been thwarted by a hint or a boon from the goddess. Why not this one too? Emma thinks about her dream. She doesn’t see how pomegranates could help her in this situation, which leaves her with…

“Killian,” she says, looking up at the god, who freezes as soon as the three syllables pass her lips before whirling to look at her, completely ignoring David and an agape Smee.

“What did you just say?” he growls, stalking towards her, his blue eyes flashing.

This is the first time she has the full attention of the god, and it is… intense. It feels like being under a hundred gazes at the same time, watching her from all angles. Actually, she has felt like that several times since arriving in the Underworld, even though the feeling hadn’t been that strong then. Was that the god’s eyes she had felt? Had he been watching them since the gates? If he had known about them, then why hadn’t he come to them earlier?

“I said ‘Killian,’ your Highness... That’s your name, isn’t it?” she realizes, seeing him react once more to the word.

“Who told you?” he demands, now towering over her and ignoring her question.

“I– it was in my dream?” Her answer sounds more like a question, the god’s proximity and the fire in his eyes rattling her and making her lose control of her voice. “I told you, Hecate sent me a dream, and that was– “

“Yes yes, that was part of it, right,” the god – Killian – interrupts as he once again whirls around, pacing agitatedly in front of the two siblings. In the distance, a dog barks (there are dogs in the Underworld? Are there other animals?) and the god stops walking, his back to them. Dragging his hand heavily over his face, he sigh s as he goes to slouch on his throne , mutters of “bloody meddling hag ” reaching Emma and David before the god speaks up, sounding as if each word is a chore to utter.

“Very well. I agree to give you a chance to reclaim your fiancée. But!” he hurries to say, before David and Emma can get their hopes up too much, “in order to be allowed to leave the Underworld with her alive, you must accomplish three tasks for me to prove your worth and devotion. If you can complete them, then I’ll give Snow Leukḗ back to you, and the three of you will be able to leave freely. If you fail one of those… you’ll be taken out of the realm, and only allowed back in after your death. Are we clear on this?”

David seems about to burst with joy and hope, barely daring to believe this reversal of fortune. Overcome with emotion, he nods enthusiastically before thanking the god profusely. Emma too feels fit to burst with relief, bowing to the god before looking up, catching his eyes scrutinizing her before he turns away, his himation swinging about his legs as he walks towards his throne.

Emma has no idea what pushed the god to change his mind so suddenly, but she knows it has something to do with his name. No one knows his name in the living world, so she understands that it has at least some importance that Hecate chose to reveal it to her. But why did Had– Killian fold so quickly?

Three tasks to get Snow back. Seemed reasonable. If Herakles could manage twelve, Emma and David could manage a quarter of that, right?

Right? Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed!): @hollyethecurious, @shireness-says, @gingerchangeling, @slow-smiles, @wingedlioness, @branlovesouat, @snowbellewells, @kmomof4

#cssns #captain swan #ouat #cs ff #cs fic #snidget writes #wtgldy

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hollywoodx4 · 4 years

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The Other Track (2/?)

I should be doing my final assessment but instead I’m writing 3 different things at once. Whoops. Here’s more of the Underground Railroad AU for you. Part 1 can be found here

There are shadows in the underworld, figures cast upon cold stone through the empty glowing of embers against shivering skin. They dance along the walls, fade in and out of view as the travelers duck behind old railroad cars and the sparse bushes that have long-since died from chemical trails within the musty air. The first is taller, quicker; her shadow is lithe motion and stealth, knowledge and a cunning tiptoe that walks along the air. It is often difficult to differentiate the two shapes that creep behind from one larger shadow; they are tightly wound, continually connected by arms that fade together, bodies that crash and hold yet keep pace behind the first, less sure but always following.

When the first figure stops the world seems to go silent-the machinery halts, the lovers hold their breath; she is the director, the stronghold in their storm. She nods at them through pursed lips, holding on to the black fabric covering her body, soot and ash a camouflage covering on otherwise pale skin. This easy disguise does not conceal her fully-no, she is known well in the underground. She arrives these days with a tyrant whining and brings about the stubborn nature of the husband who’d once planted gardens where she and her travelers now trip over cogs and gears and crumbling stone.

The lovers follow her-entwined, connected. Her nephew by heart, the long-limbed man with the fragile soul of a boy. The man who’d sat on her lap in the summer months as a child, picked flowers in the fields and learned to weave them into crowns to place upon her head. The boy who’d grown through his adolescence, faced the truth of abandonment and created camaraderie in each face that filled his small town. He’d grown into himself-a poet with a guitar and that same boyish heart, who’d collapsed into this love as he’d done everything else in his life. Pure of intention, big-hearted, slightly goofy and unabashedly passionate…this is her Orpheus, the boy who’d become a man in love. And here he was, with a choice. Like a child, he’d been too focused on one goal to realize the big picture. Like a man, he’d realized his mistake. Like a child, he’d ignored the consequences of coming down to the underworld. Like a man, he’d accepted them. But as Orpheus-her ardent, devoted, unshakable nephew-he’d quickly shaken that acceptance-chosen to fight for Eurydice. He’d chosen the risk of death.

And Eurydice-Persephone looks upon her with a heart that fills itself over, warm and nurturing. The girl is hard-won, still measures her with the sort of distrust that keeps one arm looped tight around Orpheus’s, the gaunt nature of her face distinct; telling. Persephone usually lowered her eyes and bowed her head when an expression turned, when she was around to witness the cross-over. Now, with the way the young girl’s eyes are partially glazed, one corner a ghastly, muted grey…it’s too familiar-too close. Persephone turns around, back to the task at hand, heart constricted against the cage of her chest. Eurydice had almost forgotten. She’d been so close, the greying and the ghostly skin, even now with her stuttering footsteps and the hint of color drained from her eyes. She’d been so close to crossing over completely, having everything ripped from underneath her by the man Persephone had shifted her world for. He’s come just in time, this beautiful boy and his song. He saves her. Orpheus moves walls of stone and herds of mine-hardened workers with his love. Persephone watches. She mourns silently as the two lovers follow her, actually prays for the first time since her childhood through lips that move soundlessly.

We’re going to make it. They’ll get out. I can do this. And then I’ll deal with the aftermath.

The aftermath; what comes next. The thought is a pinch in her mind, lingering just enough to give reminder of what she is actually doing. Betrayal-the word crosses her thoughts and almost escapes, but she shuts her mouth just in time to spare the lovers her thought process. They won’t hear her anyway-Orpheus won’t. He is always angled toward Eurydice, head ducked low, the two of them whispering in tones she can barely hear. Periodically, she catches him brush his lips to the top of her head, or hers find the side of his shoulder. For brief moments the two even smile, shaky and uncertain, but still there. Traitor. Liar. Failure. Persephone wishes for the sloshing of liquid in her flask, anything to take the tormenting thoughts away for just a moment. She thinks of her husband back at home in his slippers and robe, wondering why he suddenly can’t keep tabs on her. There’s a millisecond-a brief flashing of time where she envisions herself following her nephew and his girl all the way through their journey, of getting back up top through this self-created railroad of bramble-laden paths and ash-covered ground. She doubts that spring will come this way, and curses. She envisions her husband’s face, contorted with pain, and although she can’t seem to stand within the same space he occupies right now the thought of his agony is too much for her to bare. Persephone stops in her tracks, somewhere within the crunching, deceased brambles they’ve been weeding their way through. She stops and sinks to the ground, allowing the arid earth brush a new layer onto every surface of her body it can reach. The lovers stop too, glancing at their surroundings. Eurydice’s feet shift-her knees bend and retract, as if she is ready to release herself and run the rest of the unknown way. Orpheus’s presence is strong, however; Persephone can feel the emotional shift in his energy before he shows it, kneeling down beside her and searching her expression for some kind of clue as to what has happened.

“If you need to rest, we can stop for a bit.” Eurydice’s grip on Orpheus tightens, then releases. Persephone realizes it’s a silent message-the girl is antsy, anxious. She really looks upon her now, the tiny girl who would seem so delicate without her storytelling eyes and closed posture. Distrust, almost a hint of malice…Eurydice keeps herself glued to Orpheus, uses his name through her whispering and shakes her head a lot, arguing.

Lover, Persephone makes the word out as Orpheus holds Eurydice in both hands, his eyes pooling with tears. He pauses their conversation to kiss her, to bring one hand to her chin to comfort. Eurydice breathes with him, glances between Orpheus and herself quickly, shifting. When she resigns, she sits and holds both his hands, wraps them around her and leans her head back onto his chest. Eurydice does not look at Persephone. Persephone understands.

Orpheus lets her catch her breath, but she does not let go of the words that have been chasing her through these deserted catacombs and undercover paths, following her on the breath of ever-present smog and rusted railroad tracks. Instead she rests, closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Even here, on the outskirts of the city her husband had built her, the air is too thick for her lungs. She longs for the sunshine-for the ground up above where there is dandelion wine and the days are long, where she can dance and sing to her heart’s content-where the world isn’t her prisoner by relation. The world above cheers when she returns. The world below groans with the sound of machinery. Responsibility pushes on the weights that sit upon her shoulders. She glances between her companions, whose bodies are still pressed together, one entity. She watches her nephew with his girl-thinks of flower crowns and innocence, of a boy who craved love and the happiness of others over everything else.

She thinks of Hades, when his arms would hold her like that. She thinks of a time when there wasn’t a flask stuck to her hand, when they’d sit together in his kingdom and just exist, taking stock of their time together until she’d have to leave him again. She looks upon Orpheus and sees everything she’d had-everything that had gone away. Persephone looks away then, as Orpheus brushes the hair from Eurydice’s cheek, kisses her and whispers to her, pulls her as close as physics will allow. She turns from their comfort. Her heart aches. She rises, brushing the dirt from her dress and stretching her knees. Clearing her throat, she startles them apart. Even in this state of running, the noise startles them. Of course-they’re in love. She remembers what it was like to be in that deep. Her heart aches.

“Come on, you two. I don’t know how much time we’ll have, and we’ve still got some walking to do.”

Persephone doesn’t realize that she’s crying until the tears wash some of the dirt from the back of her hand. The lovers pretend not to notice, and she is thankful.

#hadestown #it's not long #but it'll do #i just wanted to post something tonight #UG Railroad au #orphydice #with a good deal of persephone

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occasionalfics · 5 years

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worth my while // p. 4

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 3 | p. 5

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: So this chapter gets a little dark. There aren’t actual mentions of things that might warrant trigger warnings (I don’t think), but there are implications of possible suicidal thoughts (Reader here is not actually having those thoughts herself, but there are reasons for Thor to think she might be) and pretty overt examples of abuse. I just want to warn anyone that might be sensitive to those subjects.

I think these things should be digestible here, but I just like to be careful and mindful.

As always, leave me your thoughts!

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). A little more harassment on Hades’ part this time around.

Words: 2,821

When you had started dating Rick, you’d texted every day. There had never been a moment you hadn’t thought about him at first because you were always in communication with one another. That was why you were sure you’d make it - you had clear, open lines of disclosure that made being honest and intimate easy.

But he’d left you for another woman anyway. And now, by your own stupid, stupid mistakes, you’re stuck being Hades’ servant for the rest of time.

That’s why you’re so conflicted after your coffee date. Because, on the one hand, you’re still thinking about Thor. The longer you stayed and chatted, the more you liked him. The more you liked him, the more you wanted to run, because liking him wasn’t an option.

He hadn’t given you a phone number - because he didn’t have a phone, he’d assured. Which means that, if you want to see him, you have to initiate the meeting.

Which is completely out of your playbook. So for a week after the coffee...date...thing, you avoid Avengers’ Tower. Hades makes that easy by not avoiding you anymore.

“You were a great distraction last time,” he says one morning over breakfast. You hardly eat anything, not because you’re not hungry, but because, you know, you’ve read about Persephone before. Doesn’t matter that Hades has insisted that the food in his mansion doesn’t work the same way as the food in the real Underworld. You don’t want it either way; never have, never will.

You’ll grab one of the granola bars from your purse later.

“I wanna keep you doing that,” he says, shoveling a forkful of sausage into his gob.

You stare, open-mouthed and a little offended, honestly. You know you’re capable of doing more, and since you’re in this job for life, you may as well do what you can to make the time worth it.

“What about recruitment?” you ask. So what if you didn’t get Doom on the first try? It wasn’t your fault, and Hades knew that! He’d basically said as much!

But all he does is shrug. “Got someone else on that. Don’t worry, babe.”

You grind your teeth, both at the name and the absolute condescension in his tone. The funny thing about Hades, you’ve noticed, is that he might think he’s above human men because he’s an immortal God, but when it comes down to it, he’s just like everyone else. Just as greedy, just as pompous, just as ignorant. Only he has magic powers and doesn’t age or die naturally.

But you don’t say any of that. You’re already demoted to being nothing more than a pretty face.

You stew through the rest of breakfast. After Hades clears the dishes with a wave of his hand, he tells you to get ready to head out, but not where you’re going. In fact, he doesn’t even say another word to you until you’re in the back of his town car with him, his silent, dead-eyed chauffeur never even acknowledging your existence. It’s probably for the best, you figure.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Hades tells you as the car pulls away from his curb. The house disappears - literally - as you drive off, but by now, you’re used to that effect.

“Sounds dangerous,” you mutter.

Hades chuckles like he thinks you’re the cutest little toddler in the class. You cross your arms and stare out the window, but you’re listening. You have to be, to catch the things he says. And he knows it, all too well.

“The Avengers work as a team. They’re powerful on their own, sure, but they formed a group for a reason, right?”

You know he doesn’t expect a response, so you don’t bother giving him one. You can see in the reflection on the window that he’s not even looking at you anyway.

“So, if I want to get to the heart of the team, I have to separate them first.”

That makes you stop. What he’s suggesting is...impossible. Lesser foes have tried to do exactly what he’s talking about - that Zemo guy from a few years ago is a prime example of how well that endeavor went. Especially since the United Nations found his manipulation of the Winter Soldier to be treasonous enough to somehow outweigh Captain Rogers’ disobedience of the Sokovia Accords.

Clearly, there are things no one outside of the U.N. and the Avengers will ever fully understand about the situation, but your case rests, if you’re going to make it.

“How do you plan on doing that?” is what you ask, finally turning to look at him again.

He winks at you. You hate him with a fiery passion.

“Let me worry about that, Babe.”

You wish, so much, that that answer might mean he doesn’t have a plan. But this is Hades. He always has a plan.

The car drives around busy Manhattan for too long. Hades never commands the driver to stop, never demands to be let out, never asks if you even want so much as a hot dog or a can of soda or anything.

It isn’t like Hades to keep every detail of the plan from you. Sometimes he doesn’t divulge everything - just the things he thinks you need to know - but the fact that he hasn’t said anything for at least twenty minutes is...startling. Unnerving.

You start to wonder what it is he’s planning when the car comes to a full-stop, despite the light being green. You’re sure you’ve driven past this building at least three times already, but then again, a lot of the buildings look alike. Still, the traffic stands still, even as the light stales, turns yellow, then red again.

Then the ground shakes. Your eyes widen, and you lean forward to try to see out the windshield. You swear Hades chuckles beside you, but you ignore it.

The shaking gets worse. People step out of their cars all around. It’s like 2012 all over again, only when you look at the sky, there isn’t a portal opening into the middle of space. There’s no beam of light shooting up from Avengers’ tower.

There’s just shaking. And screaming. That is loud and clear. People start running. Your heart beats six times faster than it normally does - or at least that’s what it feels like. But Hades and the driver don’t do anything. Well, Hades watches the crowd and laughs, but the driver… He may as well be dead.

You glare back at Hades and push your way out of the car. You don’t even notice that he doesn’t stop you.

This monster is huge. Well, they’re all huge, but this one… It towers. It stomps around buildings, uncaring of what it steps on. It yells out like it’s in pain, and you notice that it only has one eye.

The first thing you think is This thing can’t be from here because the last time you saw a monster, unprovoked like this, it had come through the hole in the sky.

But the last monster you’d seen had been an invention of Hades. It was of Earth. And the cyclops before you looks...half-human, if you had to guess. It looks too human to be anything from beyond this atmosphere.

You’re stunned. Of all the things you’ve seen, this is what gets to you?

But it does, either way. You don’t know where to go or what to do, so you stand in the middle of the road and look up at the monster as it nears. You can barely hear what it’s asking for, but between its thunderous roaring and the yelling of the people around you, it doesn’t matter.

It’s all chaos.

This isn’t Hades’ forte, though. This isn’t his domain. He deals in Death, and in life, like you’d told Doom.

You wonder if he’s gotten in contact with Eris. If she has anything to do with this at all, or if she’s just simply feeding on it.

As far as you know, Eris isn’t here. Something is flying, but it’s not a Greek God.

You notice the cape, first. Deep red, like the center of a sunset. Silver arms glinting under the bright midday rays, and a golden crown that billows as the wind passes.

Not Eris. Not Hades.

Thor.

Something in your stomach settles. At the mere thought of Thor, you’re twice as calm in less than an instant. He shouldn’t have this effect on you, but he does. All you can do is watch as he halts mid-air, throws his hammer back, and catapults heavy, hot lightning bolts at the Cyclops.

For just a split second, you think that this is what it feels like to look up and see a superhero. To know the day is saved. To really believe in one person’s ability.

But you crush that feeling quickly. You like Thor, sure, but as a person, and just barely. He’s one of the most powerful Avengers, if not the most powerful Avenger, and therefore, the most dangerous, too.

More of them join. A jet flies overhead, and out dropps Captain America, Falcon, Black Widow, and Hawkeye. Iron Man comes in, then War Machine. People in blue tac gear come out into the street, pushing crowds back as the heroes do their work.

A hand wraps around your wrist. When you try to pull away, it gets hot enough to burn, leaving a mark without truly causing irreparable damage. And then you look up and meet Hades’ smoldering navy eyes and know you’d have to do whatever he planned.

With everyone else so distracted, Hades merely vanishes, bringing you with him. Instead of walking into a building, he transports there, continuing to go unseen by most mortals.

Only you, and those desperate like you were when he found you, are special enough to see him. Those were his own words, of course, from the day you’d agreed to his terms for bringing Rick back.

Hades leads you up a staircase and onto the roof of a building, so close to the fight that, if the Cyclops turns in your direction, you’ll stare right into his one, giant eyeball.

You look at Hades, wonder what kind of monster he is, but quickly stop. If he’s a monster, then you’re the monster who sold your soul to him for a man that doesn’t belong in this world anymore. If Hades is the worst the world has to offer, then that taints you.

But he is. He is the worst that the world has to offer. You’re sure of it as he tugs on your wrist again, and as you pull back against him, despite how hot his palm is against your skin. He’s stronger, immortal. He pulls on you, and you scream, you plead, you cry, even though you know none of this will change his mind.

You don’t know why he wants to feed you to his monster. You don’t know what this could possibly gain him. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s going to do it one way or another.

He gets you to the edge of the building without calling attention to you. But then, with your toes on the ledge, you cry out into the world that you are sorry, that you regret whatever it is you did to deserve this end.

“Whatever it is you did” was wake the dead.

You don’t know if you blacked out or passed out. Did your mind save you from having to relive the trauma of falling from a building, or are you dead?

You wake up in a bright room. It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s a hospital room. A nurse is standing over you, and as your vision clears, you make out the little mole she has right above her lip. It’s cute in a very Marilyn Monroe sort of way.

She smiles at you, says something that you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears, then nods and leaves.

She’s replaced with a crown of gold. No armor this time, no glinting sleeves of silver, no hammer and no cape. Just a simple red shirt, dark pants, and a gray hoodie. Hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a few strands dangling around his face.

“Thor?” you ask, because he’s definitely not the first person you expected to see.

He coos. You can only tell by the soft roundness of his lips, the kindness in his lightning eyes, and the bright day outside the windows. He coos like he’s known you for years, drapes himself over your bed like he’s your only friend.

In a way, he kind of is your only friend. Besides Cerberus, of course.

You shake your head. “What the…” But that hurts a lot, so you stop.

“Don’t get up,” he says, in a way that makes you think of the opposite of Hades. Something light and happy and easy and gentle.

He can’t be gentle. He’s huge. He’s a God, and a man. His hands could cover your face easily. He’s not supposed to be gentle.

But he really, really is. His hand on your shoulder doesn’t press, except to keep you against the bed. His voice is low with next to no echo in the room. And when you’re done struggling to sit up, Thor slowly puts himself on the side of the bed, facing you with eyes clouded with concern.

“What happened?” you ask, but the second it’s out, you remember.

Hades pushed you off a building.

Gods you hate hm. He’s not even here, after pushing you off a building?

You know your feelings don’t matter to him, though. He owns your soul. He more or less sees you as nothing more than an annoying meat sack around his real prize.

“You jumped off a skyscraper,” Thor says. You meet his eyes to find concern, worry, even sadness. For you. “I had to catch you before the Cyclops got you.”

You’re almost surprised that your initial reaction is to be flattered. You know what really happened, but what makes your chest warm before you can stop the feeling is that Thor had rushed to save your life. He didn’t know Hades had pushed you - he just thought you were attempting to get in the way, for no apparent reason.

But all you say is, “Oh. Well. Thanks.” You feel your hands shake, like news that you jumped off a building is startling to hear. In reality, you’re shaking because he is too good and too nice and completely contradicting everything you’ve thought about the Avengers. And he’s making your job so god damn difficult without even knowing it.

The swirl of emotion that causes your hands to shake is the same swirl that made you swear off men. For good.

You haven’t noticed that Thor’s been staring at you, but he has. And he keeps staring, going so far as to dare to ask, “What were you even doing up there, (Y/N)?”

What do you say to that? While he might believe the truth - that your employer is another God who’s Evil and using his power over you to the detriment of yourself - it’s not like you can or should tell him.

Hades has taught you that there are worse things than death, and that he alone has the power to inflict those things.

So you’re sworn to secrecy.

You sigh. “I took cover when the ground started shaking.”

“You do know you’re not meant to go up when the Earth shakes, right?” He has a glint of something fun in his eyes. It takes you off course, sets your mind racing at a pace you’re not used to. Are you angry or happy that he’s joking with you?

Since you can’t decide quick enough, you move on.

“I couldn’t find a bathroom in the lobby. I took the stairs to the next floor and…” Your voice cracks at just the right time. You force yourself to stagger your breaths, to elongate the next few as your eyes widen. “Some guy - he started chasing me. Shouting awful, terrible things. He...he followed me all the way to the roof and...

It’s all an act, but Thor seems to buy it. He’s finishing the scenario in his head. Then he puts a huge, hot hand on your knee. It’s just light enough that, if you’d flinched, he’d be able to remove it in a split second. You know it’s just meant to comfort you - and it does, because even if you hadn’t been thrown off a roof by some random dude, you’d been thrown off a roof in any case.

You’re just grateful that you hadn’t seen the street from the top of the building.

More than that, you’re grateful that Thor was there to catch you, and that he’s here now.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor fic #thor au #hercules au #worth my while fic

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fyeahwonderbat · 5 years

Text

Keywords #7

Theme: Commitment Rating: PG / T Word Count: 1,635 words

As he held Diana in his arms, Bruce stared down the man who claimed to be a god, the lord of death, the ruler of the Underworld. Having lived his entire life haunted by the two exact instances where his parents were gunned down by some lowly criminal in Gotham City, it dawned on him when he met those cool grey eyes that every moment of his life meant that he had been fighting this one man in some way or another. He didn’t believe in mythology or even in religion and so his take on the afterlife was much more morbid than the average person could take. However, when he gazed upon the physical embodiment of loss - of the grief he lived with for all but eight years of his miserable life - it staggered the typically composed Batman.

“Barry,” He murmured low under his breath.

“On it.” Whispered back the speedster as he lowered himself into his racing pose. Bruce felt the static in the air against the lower half of his face just before the Flash vanished from sight.

It was at that moment that Diana tried to rise up onto her feet, obstructing his view of the Godkiller disappearing from its position in Hades’ throat, disappointing him to some degree. By the time she had risen, Barry had returned with the sword in hand and he immediately presented to Wonder Woman. She would have taken it from him, had she not been distracted by the helping hand the shot out at her, garnering the attention of everyone in their presence.

“Diana,” Hippolyta choked on her daughter’s name and it managed to stir something in Bruce’s gut. Just as she had in the great hall of Themyscira, the queen tried and failed to remain composed in a moment when her heart strings were being tugged. In front of him, the woman he had come to see as a warm and passionate partner now looked like nothing more than a wax figure of herself, incapable of moving or reacting to what or who was right in front of her.

For once, he couldn’t be accused of ruining an emotional moment, as Hades took it upon himself to ruminate aloud, “How long has it been since an Amazon has come into my chambers? Not since her highness i believe, has one of your kind approached me so openly, begging for my… aid.”

“Scan complete,” a computerized voice muttered in Bruce’s ear piece, along with comms of every other League members’. “No vital signs detected. Oxygen levels: zero. Heart rate: zero bpm.” Victor’s ability to examine Hades from across the chamber did very little for them other than confirm what they already knew. Still, Batman always relied on scientific avenues of research before he allowed himself to believe in the fantastical.

The god of the Underworld could not be slain like his brothers and sisters it would seem.

Having no foreseeable way to defeat him only enraged Diana further and she stomped her foot forward in an agitated stride as she screamed, “Don’t you say another word!”

“No, I will not be silenced in my own home,” Hades barked back. “I’ve waited centuries to once again have such arousing company.”

“That only proves that you were a fool to choose Persephone over me.” Hecate growled venomously. She had retained her animal-like mannerisms since Bruce had last seen her and it made him worry to himself over what she might do to them should she ever see the Justice League as her enemy.

Before he could dare antagonize the seething goddess further, Hippolyta walked a few paces ahead of her daughter and demonstrated the exact sort of domination he expected from her. “That’s quite enough. These foolish games you’re playing have garnered the attention you so desperately craved. If you want to see your regency unharmed, I advise you to remain silent and allow us to depart in peace.”

“What!?” Hecate’s screech reverberated off of the many stony edges in the Underworld, her immense displeasure palpable by every single person present. The queen held out her hand in the direction of the infuriated witch, her elbow bent so as to appear less authoritative and more sincere. Then, she carried on. “I warn you now, Hades. We have all lived without our gods for many years, and should you choose to challenge the forces of the Amazons and these heroes of mankind, you will be reduced to the very same state as your brothers and sisters: dead--”

The mere mention of death made him cackle at the proud queen. For a man who appeared to be so lifeless, his amusement only made him seem even more sick and twisted. Everything about Hades reminded Bruce of the horrible villains he dealt with in Gotham - drunk on their own power and existing solely to torture others. “Pitiful Hippolyta! To think that you would have the gall to threaten me? We both know that none of you could stand in my way, no matter what it is I plan to do.” “And what is this plan of yours?” Bruce challenged him with the same amount of aggression he usually reserved for the Joker. He walked up to Diana’s side and simplified his inquiry for the man who enjoyed dodging whatever it was they said to him. “Why make some demon army just to leave alone to kill each other in Russia?”

The interrogation amused Hades, and he knew it. “To grow stronger in a human-made cesspool of energy.”

“Why!?” demanded the Batman. While he panted after releasing such a harsh shout, the lord of the Underworld stared at him with an eerie smile on his face. He even looked past the Amazonian queen to stare into Bruce’s soul, almost as if he was communicating the answer he sought through the silence that befell them all. But no, he realized soon enough that he didn’t say a word because he didn’t need to. “You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” Asked Hecate, panic in her tone.

“Indeed I do.” Hades confirmed.

“What do you know?” Taking a step backwards, Hippolyta turned to face Bruce at a proper angle as she looked to him for an answer.

Eyeing Diana, he decided if it was best for her to decide if her mother needed to know what it was the League was made for, or why she was on a team with superpowered men. Diana appeared grateful a mere second before she acknowledged her mother and explained, “There is a threat coming to Earth from beyond the cosmo, from another world.”

“It’s why you have your precious team,” Hades acknowledged with an unflattering sneer. “To protect this planet from the reach of those who wish to claim us all as theirs to control. I will not be anyone’s subject. I will take control over the Earth before I allow an alien to take what is rightfully mine!”

“None of us are YOURS!”

“You have no right to the Earth!”

“How dare you threaten all of mankind!”

So many cries of disapproval and trepidation sounded off once he had admitted to his scheme, but that wasn’t what Bruce had his focus geared towards. No, all he could think about was the probability of a mythological god defeating an alien that commanded a legion of creatures like Doomsday. He fretted instantly over the lives that would be lost between two almighty forces colliding if they made the earth their battleground. All he heard was more and more chaos spilling out of Hades lips and he couldn’t stop himself from spewing out some tactless words of his own, “Those monsters you made are nothing compared to the alien that Diana and I have already faced.”

Once more, Hades zeroed in on the anxious Bruce and paid him the closest attention. With a tilt of his head, his leer somehow became even darker, even more devastating as he lifted his hand into the air. “Those ‘monsters’ were merely for the numbers. What I have in my grasps is all I truly need.” Then, he snapped his fingers loudly enough to rival the sound of Hecate’s shrill wailing.

Bruce was prepared to deliver to him the very same snide remark about how his plan would fail, about how there was no secret weapon to overcoming the monsters that could descend upon them from outer space.

Until he heard a familiar boom in the distance. He had no idea which direction it came from. All he knew was that one moment there was only Hades glaring at him.

And then next, there was a reincarnated Superman hovering at the lord of the Underworld’s side.

Bruce heard Diana gasp with the exact same amount of shock that he was feeling, but he had his breath stolen from him at the sight of their deceased friend under the influence of Hades. The entire purpose that the two of them had made the Justice League was gather together the strongest people on Earth and protect it, in Clark’s memory. Their shared commitment to Superman, to Lois, to the human race was meant to carry on the promise he’d once made to Superman: to save.

“Diana,” his voice broke as he said her name, as did his conviction.

“Bruce,” she replied with the confidence in her voice that he needed to rely on in that moment. Within the depths of the Underworld that he never thought could exist, locking eyes with the friend he believed he’d never see again, the only one who could pull him out of his stupor was her. And she did just by saying his name.

That’s why they were a team.

That’s how they were going to defeat the unkillable god of death.

Together, with their team.

To be continued...

#wonderbatkeywords #wonderbat #wonder woman #batman #maiden writes

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cornacopicimagines · 6 years

Text

hades and persephone │p.t 2

not my gif

part 1 part 3

masterlist

pairing: hades!tom holland x persephone!reader

words: 3.4k

warning: SMUT, fingering, oral (male receiving), swearing, teasing kink?

summary: being away from a husband that is the god of hell for six months can sure do things to a goddess of spring.

a/n: this is a part two if my previous fic - hades and persephone, and if any of y'all can spot the myth reference i will love you forever x

☆.｡.:*

The day had arrived, y/n couldn't sleep the night before. Her heart was racing and her mind was running with an abundance of thoughts. Zendaya, on the other hand, was seeing red.

She had to let go on the one thing she loved most for half of the year. Zendaya couldn't despise Tom even more and then he stole y/n right from her grasp. She went to Tom's brother in the earlier stages of their arrangement to try and change it, but Zeus shut Zendaya down quickly saying that this plan was all y/n's idea.

"I know you're upset Daya," y/n spoke softly as she slowly walked over to Zendaya, who was sitting angrily at the stump of a tree. She said nothing but glared up at y/n, who had know folded her arms. "I won't be gone forever," y/n tried to tell her.

"But it feel's like forever to me," Zendaya said under her breath as she slowly wilted a few flowers near her. y/n sighed quietly as she placed herself near to Zendaya and softly laid her head on Daya's shoulder.

"I know what happens to the earth when I am gone Daya," y/n said sadly as she brushed her hand through the grass underneath her, trying to bring the wilting plant back. Her eyes met Zendaya's in a moment of sadness.

"I do try y/n," Zendaya told her desperately. "It's my job to keep the earth healthy and thriving, do you think I want to plunge the world into complete darkness for six months," she said as she put her head in her hands.

Quickly, y/n embraced Zendaya in a warm hug, giving her a silent reminder of y/n while she was away. They pulled away from each other, y/n's eyes met Zendaya's as she placed her soft hand on Zendaya's cheek.

"Did you have to fall for Tom?" Zendaya huffed out and she now slumped against the tree. y/n scoffed loudly not knowing whether to scold her or reassure her.

"You of all people should know you don't choose who you love," y/n responded as she looked up to the clear blue sky and wondered what the other gods were doing at that moment. Zendaya didn't respond to y/n but stayed silent giving y/n a sign of acceptance.

"I don't what it is about you," Zendaya started as she stared straight at y/n, "but you are not the young innocent flower I once knew." The way she said it not only broke y/n's heart but it also made her angry. Zendaya couldn't lock her up for eternity, she couldn't shield y/n's eyes forever.

"I will miss you," y/n finally spoke up, her attention wavering from Zendaya and the lush surroundings. y/n's hand travelled over to place itself ontop Zendaya's and squeezed lightly.

"As will I," Zendaya squeaked out as if she was afraid that those words would hurt and in a way they did. y/n saw the sun setting over the horizon as Apollo ran in the light and Artemis geared up to drag the moon across the sky, she had to leave.

As if on cue Hermes appeared infront of the two women, his shining glory making Zendaya almost weap.

"Lady Persephone, are you ready for your descent into the underworld?" he asked her politely, he asked her that same question everytime she was needed to accompany her husband. Zendaya got up before y/n did in an attempt to call off the arrangement and spend more time with her companion.

"Could you give another day or two with her Lord Hermes?" Zendaya rushed out as she blocked y/n's way of passage to the god.

"I am sorry Lady Demeter, but this is what has to be done," Hermes told her woefully, his eyes not meeting Zendaya's. y/n got up from her spot under the tree and passed Zendaya's frantic state. y/n gave her one last hug before she took Hermes's arms and disappeared from Zendaya's view.

☆.｡.:*

Tom had been waiting for this day to come ever since she left for the earth above six months ago. His heart hadn't stopped pounding against his chest since he woke up this morning.

Currently, though he was dealing with an issue that could have been solved easily if it weren't for the ignorance of the other gods. Sometime's Tom considered quitting this whole god of the underworld shit. He had made a pros and cons list a couple of weeks ago, case in point he had a lot of cons. First, the other gods were so egotistical that Tom had trouble figuring out how their necks didn't snap from the massive heads. Second being the Ruler of Hell doesn't really get him a lot of street cred with the mortals above. But he did have one pro which seemed to keep him glued to the jet black throne. y/n.

"I say we enlist some other minor god to fill his place," one god piped up, Tom scoffed at the idea. Like any other god could handle the job Harrison did every day for a millennia or so.

"That sounds utterly stupid," Ares snarled out, Tom could tell it was him by the way the table shook and the voice almost dripped with anger. "I am getting bored since Thanatos is nowhere to be seen, I can't kill anyone," he finished almost sounding sad for once.

"I think my brother should decide since Thanatos was his right-hand man" Tom's brother; Poseidon spoke rationally pointing to Tom through the mirrored hologram effect. Tom stood from his chair and walked toward the screen.

"I say that we look for Thanatos, he is just simply missing." Tom told them, "All we need to do is put our lovely godly noggins together and find a way to seek him out," he finished.

"Lord Hades is right," Athena said gracefully as her grey eyes burned into her father's skull. Zeus sighed angrily before looking at Tom.

"You will lead the search brother," Zeus exclaimed before Tom cut off the signal and threw himself back onto his throne. Even though Harrison was gone from his presence at least his wife would come back to him this evening and just the thought of her brought a smile to his face.

Tom sat in complete silence for two minutes before realising that nothing would be happening for the rest of his day and left his throne room hoping that y/n would be waiting for him in their joint chambers.

As he walked down the halls of his palace, he got a lot of suggestive looks from his maids and guards, others wound up running into their own chambers knowing those loud activities of the king and queen when they reunited with each other.

Tom opened the doors and started to take off more of his unneeded clothing, Jesus they were restraining. The one thing he never thought he would get sick of hearing was the sound of y/n's bathroom door and the soft padding of her footstep getting closer to him.

"There you are," her loving voice called out to him, "I was asking everybody where you were," y/n spoke as Tom swivelled around to spot her letting her flawless hair fall out of the tight braid. Tom couldn't stop himself from smiling like a flustered schoolboy.

Tom didn't say anything as he slowly approached his wife, his hands came up to cup her face as he stared deep into her eyes.

"I missed you so fucking much," he whispered to her as he placed his forehead against her. "You don't even know."

"I just think I might," y/n responded a slight giggle surpassing her lips. Tom tried his best to savour this moment just a little longer but as soon as that damned laughed rolled out of her mouth, he smashed his lips against hers. His hands went from her cheeks to grip at the side of her hips. y/n hummed against Tom's mouth in approval.

"I got something for you," Tom spoke as he finally pulled away from her heavenly kiss. He made his way over to the dresser and picked a long black box. He passed it to y/n, who opened it quickly and chocked in surprise. Inside was a necklace made of beautiful crystals and metals that weaved themselves around the jewels reminding her of the vines above.

"It's gorgeous," y/n squealed happily as she brought Tom's face close to her and place her lips on his in a quick moment of passion. "I wish I had brought you something from my gardens on earth," y/n spoke sadly, disappointed that she didn't think of something to bring to Tom.

"Don't worry princess," Tom laughed softly as he watched y/n walk over to a mirror and place the necklace against her chest. y/n couldn't seem to get the clasp on and silently asked Tom to help her out.

He happily obliged and fitted the jewellery around y/n's neck admiring it through the mirror. Her eyes met his through the reflection and an idea sprung into his head.

Tom swept y/n's hair to the side and started peppering small fluttering kisses across her collarbone, at first it was playful and loving but it became slower and longer. He started biting softly at her smooth skin. Her mousey moans pushing him to keep going.

His rough hands moved underneath the satin material of her robes and quickly started to make work on her breasts. Tom's hands squeezed and tugged at her chest, eliciting delicate whimpers from y/n infront of him.

"You know the one thing I missed more than that sweet voice of yours," Tom cooed in her ear as his free hand fell into her lace underwear rubbing gently against her wet folds increasing the noise y/n was making, "your even sweeter cunt," he said darkly as he bit the lobe of her ears.

Just his breath against her face was enough for y/n to drown her panties but the way his hands were moulding her like putty and his voice muttering absolute sex to her, how could she not almost faint when his long fingers suddenly darted into her hole.

y/n's head fell into the crook of Tom's neck as he continued to pump his digits in and out of her. She wasn't sure what pleased her more, the fact that with just his hands Tom could destroy her in a matter of moments or the fact that he still did it with some much passion and intensity that she fell more in love with him.

He hit a spot inside her that made y/n almost tumble to the ground. Her hands found themselves tugging harshly at the hair near the nape of his neck, Tom groaned in pleasure as he started to finger her faster, now circling her clit with his thumb.

"Holy shit Tom," Y/n kept chanting through breathless moans. Tom said nothing but smiled wildly as he felt her tight walls close around his finger signalling she was near release.

"Are you going to come, gorgeous girl," Tom purred in her ear as he continued to rapidly pleasure her. y/n nodded her head vigorously and gripped at Tom's jet black shirts as she felt the beautiful pit at the bottom of her stomach.

She was just about to release all over his fingers when out of nowhere the pleasure instantly faded and Tom started to walk away from her.

"What the fuck?!" y/n almost screeched at him as she stomped over to him with her arms folded under her chest pushing her cleavage up one full display for Tom's delight.

"That was just a bit of fun right?" Tom asked as innocently as he could, he wanted to tease y/n until she was begging for him.

This plan, however, did not sit well with y/n, "a bit of fun," she said almost scarily, it was the first time Tom had seen her like this.

"I was just having a bit of fun with you," he said again but this time he sounded uncertain within himself, which is the last thing he wanted to portray.

"So you wouldn't mind if I had a bit of fun with you?" y/n asked him politely as she strutted over to him and started to gently stroke him through the tough material of his pants.

To be truthful, Tom had never seen such vulgarity come out of y/n and he was so aroused he was afraid he was going to cum as soon as she touched him. Tom adored how when y/n was around other people she was happy, bright and most of all innocent, but as soon as Tom and y/n had time alone, a whole another side to her appeared.

"I would like that very much," Tom responded as he let the weight of y/n body press him up against a table. y/n smirked up at him as she sunk down to her knees and slowly unbuckled his belt and threw his clothes down to let his length spring free.

Her eyes met his as she dragged the point of her tongue from the base of his shaft up to the tip never breaking her gaze on Tom's. Still, she wanted to make Tom feel the slow release that he had inflicted on y/n earlier. She let his head enter her mouth before removing it with a loud pop.

"If you keep on teasing me, princess," Tom barely got out as she continued to mess with his head, "You're going to pay for it," he finished just before she almost choked on his dick as she took him fully into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she bobs at a slow but steady pace, whatever she couldn't fit she massaged with her hands.

While she was wrecking Tom with her mouth, Tom threw his head back and gripped the edges of the table tightly. Giving him a mischievous smile, y/n started to move her head faster and her tongue swirled around him. Tom started to seriously damage the wood of the tables as his hands kept clutching on the table until it started to crack underneath his palms.

"Oh my god," Tom spoke lowly as his eyes once again fell on her, pushing him even further to the edge and it seemed like y/n knew it too as she hummed against this cock as it twitched in her mouth. Just like y/n before, he was just about to cum when she pulled away from Tom and started to strut back to the door. Tom though quickly caught up with her and threw her over his shoulder making a loud giggle fall out of y/n for her robe to become looser against his shoulder.

Tom always treated her like a porcelain doll when it came to sex. He always drifted his fingertips over her skin when they got intimate, he either kissed her lightly or with enough passion to fuel a fire. He always made sure that she was fine and safe when they made love but it this time he almost threw her against the massive bed and crawl on top of her.

y/n tried to wrap her arms around Tom's neck but he quickly grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the pillows above her, "You keep them there unles you even more punishments, got it," he snapped at her. y/n said nothing but gulped loudly. Tom didn't say a word to her as he kept one of his hand around her wrist, while the other one made work of ripping her underwear and robe off her body. y/n couldn't be more aroused as Tom didn't wait, didn't bother giving her small kiss or to caress her hips.

Tom halted all of his movements against her skin, she still did as he told her and kept her arms above her head which was restricting her from looking as to why Tom had left her stark naked and literally dripping on the sheet. Out of nowhere y/n felt the tip of his dick flick over her slick folds making her back arch.

"I think I could get used to this sight," Tom muttered as he continued to tease her, "look at me y/n," he told her sharply, y/n change her position underneath him to stare straight into his eyes before he leaned in closer to her so his face was just touching her.

His dick was at the entrance of her core, not moving at all. It was like holding food in front of a starving animal, it was torture to her. "Beg for it," he whispered his gaze never faltering from her. y/n whispered a squeaky, please. "Not good enough princess," he told her once again this time going slightly further into her heat.

"Please Tom, please," she chanted quietly as her breathing got erratic.

"It sounds like you really didn't want me while you were up there," Tom sighed as if he was saddened by the statement that left his lips, "You're starting to hurt my feelings doll," he told her as his finger started to fiddle with the bundle of nerves that was her clit.

"Oh for christ's sake Tom, just fuck me already," y/n snapped at her and with that Tom madly started to pound into her, instantly starting y/n's dirty moans. Tom couldn't keep it in himself as his head fell into the crook of her neck, overwhelmed by the feeling of his wife's perfectly snug walls enclosing his dick as he fucked her.

"Forgot how good you felt around me princess," Tom murmured against her flesh.

"Ca-can I-oh god please touch you," y/n asked him through loud screams, Tom nodded and y/n instantly started to pull at his hair and scrape her nails against his back. All that could be heard was the sounds of their bodies colliding with each other and their names bouncing off the walls. Her hands cupped Tom's cheeks to bring his face to meet her's. "Please go faster," y/n pleaded as she felt her release nearing on her. Tom happily did what he was asked and picked up the pace of the rhythm he had established.

Tom started to feel himself getting closer as well, his chest started to tighten as he kept on fucking her so hard that the headboard of the bed started to violently bang against the wall. Not only did her pussy retract around him but y/n's hands started to gripped hard at his biceps as she felt the beautifully familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her face contorted with pleasure as Tom continued to slam the perfect spot inside of her.

"Come around my dick," Tom told her harshly as every syllable matched the beat of his skin slamming against hers, "Be a good girl for me," y/n couldn't keep it in as she suddenly felt the tidal wave of her orgasm crash over her as she screamed out in pleasure and started to see stars. Close after her Tom started to lose his breath, his pattern got irregular and with a loud grunt, Tom came. His warm salty liquid spilling over y/n's bare navel before collapsing atop of her.

"It's great to be back," y/n laughed as she softly stroked Tom's red naked back at he attempted to catch his breath. For a god of death, she was going to be the death of him.

☆.｡.:*

tags: @isabelmeza @bibliophile65 @younggodblood @fraunleinlee @ifyouholdmebackimightexplode @junipter @derekxsammy @spideytaeh @danicarosaline @stxck-in-the-internet @slythxr @rrainydayy @alex-misk @bluelalal @laneygthememequeen and the two anons that sparked this fire in the first place (blame them)

hope you guys like it and also someone give me tips on writing smut please xx

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sowingseedsandshootinghoops · 5 years

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When Curiosity Killed the Cat: Apuleius’ “The Golden Ass”

Note on the text: I used E. J. Kenny’s translation of Apuleius’ The Golden Ass as published in 2004 by Penguin Books.

This is the funniest book that I have read in a long time. To have to “reduce” the book down to something semi-serious is a crime, because I can’t adequately convey just how funny this book actually is. One of the genuinely interesting themes in this book though is the theme of curiosity.

The man character is a man named Lucius, and his tragic flaw is his curiosity. Although he certainly does not see it that way. As he himself says: “[It’s] not that I’m nosy, it’s just that I’m the sort of person who likes to know everything, or at least as much as I can” (8). It is his insatiable curiosity that gets him into trouble. It is his impertinent curiosity about magic that gets him into the trouble that really kicks the story into a higher gear. At one point he sees his hostess turn herself into an owl and this enthralls him so much that he asks his lover, who is one of the servants,to let him into the room where the mistress keeps all of her magic potions: “Will you do as I earnestly ask and show me where she is actually practicing her supernatural arts? . . . . For I have a passionate to see magic done with my own eyes” (49). It is at this point that he begins to reap a “bitter reward for [his] ill-starred curiosity” because he accidentally mixes up the bottles and instead of becoming a majestic bird, turns into a donkey.

Later in the book, Lucius hears the story of Cupid and Psyche. Psyche is a human girl who, like Lucius, is too curious for her own good. She is married to Cupid, the god of love. Cupid has one condition for their marriage, that she cannot look at him. In ancient days, it was believed that any person who looked at a god while the god was in his god form would die. So Cupid makes a deal with her where he promises to be the best husband he can, and to give her everything she wants, but in return she has to promise to not even try to look at him. In order to make it easier for her, he only comes to her at night and gives her free reign to do whatever she wants during the day. Initially Psyche agrees to this, but her jealous sisters, who know that Cupid is a god, convince her that her husband cannot be who he says he is and that she should look at him while he sleeps in case he is deceiving her. That night,

as curious as ever, Psyche could not restrain herself from examining, and handling, and admiring her husband’s weapons. She took one of the arrows out of the quiver and tried the point by pricking her thumb. . . . Thus without realizing it Psyche through her own act fell in love with love. Then ever more on fire with desire for Desire, she hung over him, gazing in distraction and devoured him with quick sensuous kisses, fearing all the time that he might wake up (88).

Eventually, however, Cupid does wake up and upon “seeing his confidence betrayed and sullied, flew off from the loving embrace of his unhappy wife without uttering a word” (89). Psyche had a god for a husband and now, because she let her curiosity get the best of her, now has nothing.

After Cupid leaves Psyche, the goddess Venus, his mother, tells Psyche that the only way she can see Cupid again is by completing a series of tasks, the last of which requires Psyche to go to the Underworld to get Venus a box that contains some of Persephone’s beauty. However before she reaches the Underworld, she is warned not to look into Persephone’s box. However right before she completes her mission, Psyche

madly succumbed to her reckless curiosity. ‘What a fool I am’, said she, ‘to be carrying divine beauty and not help myself [to even] a tiny bit of it’. . . . So saying, she opened [up] the box. But she found nothing whatever in it, no beauty, but an infernal sleep, a [truly Stygian sleep] which when the lid was taken off and it was let out at once took possession of her and diffused itself in a black cloud of oblivion throughout her whole body, so that overcome by it, she collapsed on the spot where she stood in the pathway, and lay motionless, a mere sleeping corpse (104).

It is only through Cupid’s intervention at the end of the story that Jove, the king of the gods, decides to have pity on Psyche and make her a god so she can continue to be Cupid’s wife. It is only because Jove chose to have mercy on her that she got her “happy ending”. Had she been left to her own devices it never would have happened.

Similarly, Lucius only gets his happy ending through the intervention of Isis who decides to have pity on him. She transforms him back into a human and accepts him as a member of her cult. But even at the end of the story, after everything he has been through and heard, he still has a “curiosity problem”.

Initially, Isis and her priests attempt to help him by, in effect, taking away the temptation. Lucius notes that during his initiation the priest is reading from a book that was written in “unknown characters. Some of these [characters] represented animals and were shorthand for formulaic expressions, and some were written in the form of knots or rounded like a wheel or twisted off at the ends like vine-tendrils to guard their meaning against the curiosity of the initiated. From these he read to me what I needed to procure my initiation” (208). In other words, he knows that the priest is trying to protect him from his own curious nature by only telling him what he needs to know and nothing else. He is hoping that Lucius will, in effect, lose interest. But what we see at the end of the story is that that is not the case. Lucius just as curious at the end of the story as he was at the beginning, and more than that he shows that despite everything that has happened the reader is just as curious as he is. He accuses the reader of having the same“self-destructively” curious personality that he does:

I dare say, attentive reader, that you are all agog to know what was said and done. I should tell you if it were lawful to tell it; you should learn it if it were lawful to hear it. But then your ears and my tongue would both incur equal guilt, the one for sacrilegious loquacity and the other for inopportune curiosity. But since it may that your anxious yearning is piously motivated, I will not torment you by prolonging your anguish (209).

So at the end of the day, despite all of the warnings regarding inopportune curiosity, he still just as recklessly curious and willing to spread the gossip as he was before, and, perhaps more importantly, so are we.

This was a hilarious book. One of the great things about this book, and about most comedies, is how it was able to say something semi-serious in a non-nonchalant way. Comedies are, in many ways, better equipped to send serious messages than dramas are because it is easier to digest. As Mary Poppins once said, “A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down in the most delightful way”. What a great, extremely funny, and insightful book.

#Apuleius #thegoldenass #curiosity #cupid #venus #psyche #isis #comedy

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, ALYX! You’ve been accepted for the role of VIOLA. Admin Rosey: As we all know -- I am a Viola stan first and a human being second. And a Phoebe Tonkin stan third. But that’s beside the point. Viola is a character who is highly complex because of all the moving gears and pieces that she had going on; deception, familial obligation, honor, and heart. She’s a self-made woman and it’s difficult to capture the voice and methodology of a character like that -- but Alyx, you have truly outdone yourself and capture her perfectly. She’s a catalyst and I can’t wait to see what chaos will come undone at her touch. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Alyx

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Pretty active! I’m out of school for the Summer and I have yet to find a Summer job so I’ll be around whenever you need me. I will be going out of town for one week in June but even then I’ll have my laptop so I can still rp and keep in touch with the players.

Timezone | CST

How did you find the rp? | Honestly I’ve known about it since its first release. I planned on applying the first time around but I just never felt a serious connection with any of the characters. Now, I was reminded of it when Rosie reblogged a character bio and honestly I was hooked after that.

Current/Past RP Accounts | https://camillepaol.tumblr.com/ and https://emiliadelacroix.tumblr.com/ are my most recent ones.

In Character

Character | Viola

Valentina- “Healthy, strong”

→She prided herself on being strong. At first, it was a means of survival. Toughen up, or you’ll die another nameless kid in the streets. She kept her chin up. She kept her mind sharp. She knew she needed to know the streets of Verona better than the people that built it if she wanted to live to fight another day. Then, it became more of a pride thing. She had made it through the first few years without her parents. She and her brother were still alive. She couldn’t crash now, or else the life she worked hard for might fall apart before her very eyes. She prided herself on being the strong one, the fighter of the duo, and she didn’t plan on changing that. Finally, it felt easy being strong. No tears were shed over meaningless things. No thoughts of giving up after a failed con job. She was told that she needed to break the world or the world would break her, so she any opportunity life threw in her direction and she ran with it. Working for the Montagues was just the peak for her. A purpose, a reason to fight, people to fight for. Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that her strength had gotten her further than any doubt or crying could have.

Persephone- “Queen of the Underworld”

→ She was too young to remember her middle name, so she chose one for herself. Queen of the Underworld, Goddess of Death and Spring. She felt that the name suited her as well as it suited the Greek figure the name originated from. She wasn’t that young girl that ran around picking flowers. She wasn’t naïve enough to think the world was a kind and good place. No, that mentality was lost the moment her parents abandoned her and her brother. That mentality brought on the girl she is today. The woman who calls the night her home. The woman who would walk through Hell to protect her brother. The woman who is locked in a dance with death itself, yet somehow always comes out on top. She was no maiden. She wasn’t as pretty and fragile like the flowers that represent Spring. No, she was the inevitable. She was a queen in the slums she called her home, and she was ready to make people see that she was more than meets the eye.

Gallo- “Family Name”

→ Valentina Gallo. Welcome to this world. Oh, how she wished that’s how her story began. There were days when she wished she had been born into a loving family. She used to be able to picture her brother and her living in a nice house and not having to worry about money or the struggles of growing up. Sadly, that’s not how her story went. There were no Christmas mornings spent around a fire. There were no family meals before school. Her last name didn’t bring about joyous memories, but rather painful reminders of a life that was lost. She had no positive memories of her parents. How could she, knowing how their story ended? How could she think about the good they did when all she truly knows is their absence? Some days she wished she could see them again only to tell them how well she’s been without their presence in her life. Valentina thought about changing her last name. Smith, Erickson, anything to scrub her parent’s burn marks away and allow her a new beginning. She had even traced the steps form her small hole in the wall to the courthouse to make the switch when something held her back— Santino. It was a symbol of their connection. He was the sun to her moon. He was the Apollo to her Artemis. Two sides of the same coin, she’d give up everything to keep him safe. Valentina kept going so he would live. She turned colder so that he could keep his light. He was a soft glow of a candle and she’d be damned if someone blew him out. She’d keep the family name, but only because it allowed them to have a connection so deep that only death could shatter it.

What drew you to this character? |

Honestly my usual type of character would be the soft ones with a tragic past, but I always found myself admiring the strong characters as well. There’s something so captivating about a character with a lot of fight and drive in their system, and I definitely felt that in Valentina’s bio. She’s had to fight from a very young age. She never got to be this soft, delicate little girl who got shielded from the bad things in the world. She’s someone who’s known pain and neglect since childhood and it definitely affected her in a lot of ways— even though she would never admit to the fact.

I think I like her because I understand her. I understand her need to fight the world. She’s a girl driven by passion. That passion could be good and help her, such as putting on a good performance to score some money for her and her brother, or that passion could hurt her, such as becoming a double agent for a mob that wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she stepped out of line. I feel like she tends to walk a fine line between the two, but she finds a certain thrill in that risk. She’s one to take chances and hope that it pays off in her favor. She’s someone that will accept any challenge thrown her way. She’s daring, temperamental, ambitious, and just a strong willed woman in this rp.

I know she may not be my strong suit when it comes to characters, but I genuinely feel like I can do her justice. I put my all into developing my characters past their bios and connections, and Valentina will be no exception. Especially since this is such an intricate and involved rp, I have no doubts that I can make our local Montague soldier shine in the way she rightly deserves.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Self: You weren’t born to be soft and quiet.

→ I want her to struggle between her roles. She’s someone who wants more, but more can become too much very quickly. She’s a girl balancing between the Montague soldier that she actually is and the Capulet soldiers she’s pretending to be. At one point, the balance will shift and one side will not be happy with the result. I’m waiting for that day because I feel like it’ll give Valentina a bit of a reality check. She’s someone who believes she could carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and be fine, but the mobs aren’t people to test and she’ll eventually have to learn that lesson.

→ Honestly this one would have to be discussed with the admins and the Santino rper, but I’d think it would be interesting if their parents resurfaced after all of those years. It’s my understanding that they left and didn’t die, so I would love the angst that would come out of the unwelcome reunion. Valentina’s a person who really doesn’t think of her parents with respect or fond memories, but it might be a different story if they were actually face to face with her. Would they be proud of the person she became? Would she care if they were proud? Would she even let them near Santino? All questions that might be answered in due time.

→ I want her to interact with more people. I feel like since she’s playing one side while remaining loyal to another, it could lead to a lot of interesting relationships. I like the thought of her actually being fond of one of the Capulets and being worried because she knows how deep the feud runs and knows people who interact with the enemy don’t last long. I also like the thought of her just getting to know some neutrals and letting the disguises she wears down a little. She’s so caught up in this fight that she often forgets how to breathe, and I feel like a neutral character could teach her how to let go of the breath she’s constantly holding.

Santino: Hell is just another place you’ll go to keep him warm.

→ I want all of the flashbacks from their childhood. They were truly the only thing that kept each other going, so I’d like to explore that dynamic. Go into detail about how they learned to survive on the streets. Explore their first con or first bit of change they snuck out of a man’s pocket. Dive deeper into how they reacted to being abandoned by the people that were supposed to care for them the most. Their upbringing played a bit part in who they are, so let’s take a trip to the past and really get into the mindset of these two street rats.

→ I want something that will tear these two apart. Maybe it’s a betrayal or death, but anything that will drive a wedge between these two siblings. They’ve always been around each other, but what if that weren’t the case? Valentina thinks the world of her brother. Santino loves his sister more than anything. I want to see what will need to happen for that to change. I’m not sure anything will truly turn them against each other, but I do feel like things can happen that will make these two kind of take a step back from their dynamic and explore other relationships.

Ramona: Not yet corpses. Still, we rot.

→ I love these two and would love to explore their dynamic. They’re just so similar, the same soul trapped in two bodies, and I want nothing more than to rp them and their adventures. Valentina’s someone who didn’t grow up around girls and wasn’t used to having female companionship, so I want to explore their first meeting. They’re like thunder and lightning, a frightening combination, and I want to know if people around them always knew they’d end up that way or if their friendship was a bit of a shock to the Montague crew.

→ I want Ramona to find out about Valentina’s secret. This could be done either by accident or Valentina giving her the information herself. Valentina’s someone who has a “I don’t need anyone’s help” mentality, so I think it would be interesting to see her give in and let someone know what she’s been trying to do. I also want to see how Ramona reacts to it. Would she be impressed? Would she think Valentina has a death wish? Would it be a combination of both? We don’t know. All I do know is that Valentina has to tell someone her secret sooner or later, and I’m hoping Ramona’s the person she’ll ultimately end up confiding in.

Easton: We were both created in chaos.

→ I feel like these two share some similarities with each other, and that was part of the reason Valentina sees him as a sort of weak link in the Capulet’s armor. They’re both from shattered homes. Valentina, with her abandonment and fighting to feed her and her brother. Easton, from his misplace in his own family. They’re people that could relate to one another, challenge one another and I feel like Valentina will use that as a way to grow close to the boy. If she was lightning, he would be fire, and together they could do some real damage if they were to become allies.

→ This one would definitely need to be agreed upon with the Easton rper, but I can see these two hooking up? Valentina’s trying to get through his defenses and worm her way into the Capulet’s ranks, and I can see her going this route to try to warm him up to her. They’re two people who definitely think highly of themselves, who wish to fight— whether it be their family or the world in general, and we all know passion and anger tend to walk a fine line.

Castora: You would destroy yourself for her.

→ She loves Castora as much as she loves Ramona. The cousins are the closest friends she has, and Castora definitely has a soft spot in her heart. Valentina knows the girl’s take on love and she finds it interesting. Valetina’s a girl full of passion, a girl that would go to the ends of the earth for those few people she holds dear, so Castora’s just an enigma to her. I like to play more on their opposite feelings. Do they ever get into arguments? Does Castora’s closed off heart ever affect Valentina? Castora’s not cold, but Valentina knows that her mother affected her in a way that was quite opposite to Valentina and her parents. I just think this pairing is interesting and I want to explore their dynamic even more than the biographies have.

Halcyon: You do bad things in order to survive.

→I would love for Valentina to manage to sneak her way into Halcyon’s trusted circle. She sees this woman in power and she’s intrigued—especially because she’s a Capulet. Valentina doesn’t know her story, doesn’t know the struggles she went through to get to where she is, but she’s determined to do anything to get the woman to trust her. If she has to go digging into the woman’s past, then she’ll do it. She just needs a way to connect to the woman, then she’ll be able to work her way up the ladder. It’s a dangerous task to be messing with someone so high up in the Capulets, but Valentina trusts herself enough to take on the risk.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Why am I even being asked this question? Of course you can kill her off. I dare you.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

Valentina was a shadow in the night, a lithe figure that seemed to move around the streets of Verona with an ease akin to that of a cat. She knew the streets like one knew an intimate lover, and the path she was on was certainly one she walked a thousand times before. It was the same every night: wander out, look for those who seem most likely to fall for a sob story or not notice a missing piece of jewelry, then come back and share the spoils with Santino. It was a routine she mastered, but it was also a routine that bored her. There were only so many times she could watch a rich businessman look at her with sympathetic eyes. There were only so many times she could walk away with an engaged woman’s ring before the nights began to blur together. She was a creature of substance, a creature of vices, and she needed to find another vice to fill her desires.

Her eyes always wandered to certain figures during her nightly strolls. Men with guns on their hips and knives strapped to their legs. Woman who walk the streets as if they owned the city itself. She watched them not with a jealousy, but rather a curiosity. She wanted to know more about them— to be one of them. They held power that she could never have in her state. They held fight that she had been displaying her whole life. Whispers were often heard about the Montagues and the Capulets, a rivalry as old as time itself, and she couldn’t help but picture herself alongside them. War is often said to tear people apart, but perhaps she was ready to be made into something new.

This would be the night it all would change. She would propose this idea to her brother: join one of the sides, move up the ranks, and finally make something of themselves. No more cons, no more stealing. They’d get enough money to get their own apartment. They’d be able to afford more food than just a piece of bread or a sandwich to split between the two of them. They’d be free to do whatever they wanted. It was a dream that Valentina only wished to follow. This rivalry would be her resurrection. This war would be her new beginning. If only she could somehow convince her soft hearted brother to go along with her plan.

Her feet carried her all the way back to the abandoned room her and her brother were staying at. She could walk around this city blindfolded and easily get to the right place. The streets had been her domain for so long that it was strange to imagine them actually living in a home and not some old motel or deserted apartment. It was a good kind of strange, though. She would love to finally have her own room and a place to store what little things she kept on her body. Her brother would be able to take up some hobbies and not have to worry about her safety all the time. It was perfect.

What was not perfect was the eerie feeling she got as she wandered up to their little hideaway. She had left her brother alone for a few hours but perhaps that was too long to be away from him. She trusted him, but everyone else in Verona? She didn’t trust them.

As she pushed the door open, her jaw clenched at the sight. The dead body spilling blood all over their few possessions. The man with a gun to her brother’s head. The quiet acceptance in her brother’s gaze—as if this truly was how he would die. There were many questions that ran through her mind, but she would have to ask those later. For now, she needed to pull off one last con and make sure her brother was well and alive.

“Well, I’m sad you all threw a party without me. Really, Santino, inform me next time we have some visitors. I would have cleaned the place up.”

She saw the man’s alarm that there was not one Gallo in his midst, but two of them. Perhaps he thought he would get done with this quickly and move on to whomever else wronged his boss, but Valentina was nothing if not difficult. She casually walked over the dead body in the room and stood near her brother and the man who was invading their space. She gently placed her fingertips on her brother’s shoulder before glancing at the man.

“Now, why don’t you put the gun down? I’m sure my brother and I can figure out some way to settle this misunderstanding. You’ll find we can be quite loyal to those that treat us well. Isn’t that right, Santino?”

And within a few more exchanges, she had sealed their fate. Work for the Montagues. A life of work in exchange for their lives. Her brother may have thought she was signing their death wish, but she found herself signing a new beginning. This wasn’t a punishment. This was a blessing, and she was ready to prove that she could be the soldier they always wanted.

Extras:

https://www.pinterest.com/aesthctics/oc-valentina-gallo/

#accepted #accepted: viola

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writteninparables · 5 years

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Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 5: Acts of Forgiveness - Hermes

The pain was still there. Breath still felt difficult. And that weight, even greater weight sits upon my chest in these moments. Something about collecting two of the most coveted weapons in the Olympian dynasty will do such a thing to you. At least finding them may be easy.

It may have been long since I've played messenger to the gods, but that doesn't mean my calls don't still get answered. I found myself approaching the place where Poseidon told us to meet. Peculiar to say the least. The land was a mostly uninhabited island captured somewhere in the Atlantic. The few inhabitants it did have were intricate creatures—there were no creatures friendly to land that weren't equally as friendly to the sea, swinging straight from branches to dive under the water. There were many varieties of creatures, but not one I'd seen before.

I massaged my neck trying to forget the images of Phobos and Deimos. Meanwhile, my breastplate still sat uneven from Zeus' foot. I debated how I would address the situation or if I should at all. Poseidon hasn't been seen in ages, who is to say he will even care of Olympian affairs anymore? Though, that does not mean he does not care for the power. Taking that Trident is basically taking half of the man's livelihood. I am a fool to think he will be the slightest bit indifferent to its loss. Does he even know his brother is awake?

Well, I could wonder no more. The water swelled as Poseidon approached the surface. His demeanor was that of someone awaken from a peaceful sleep, one that should've fit his brother. I eyed his trident in his left hand, as he made his way to the shoreline. He twirled it in his hand. Loose, relaxed, immune to stress, it must be true what they say, no tension sits below the surface of water.

"It has been long, has it not?" Poseidon said with open arms.

I embraced him as I responded, finding comfort in his strength. "Yes, that it has been." Still, I had not figured the best way to tell him what I came for. I just know that his movements made me welcome, moreso at ease. As I juggled with many words in my head, he pinched the edges of my neck shaking my body slowly.

"You are tense. And if I may recall this stature looks quite familiar. My brother wasted no time getting reacquainted with you I see."

"So you know he walks among us again," I said.

Poseidon laughed, "You speak of him like he was a dead man. As much as you may have wished it, he was not."

"Never would I wish such a thing." At least never would I make the claim in times like these. "He asks something unnatural of me and the weight alone slows me in times like these."

I explained to him the situation as he stood in front of me and listened. His eyes never broke from me the whole time, holding as much sorrow as curiosity. The very mention of Ares gave him disgust. His brother, Zeus evoked something worse.

"Zeus moves differently now. And there is no need to take chances, not with you." Poseidon said. "Do what he asks, take this Trident with you. And when you see Hades, tell him to do the same, by my wishes. This is a matter among us three. We will speak to him." Poseidon walked back to the shoreline twirling his Trident once more in his hand. As he took a deep breath he stabbed it into the ground below him deep enough the waves couldn't shift the sands that held it. He stared at the ocean, somewhat nostalgic. This mixture of pride and pain. Guilt and angst. Love and more love.

Meanwhile, my gridlocked body stood there in jealousy. How, how could he really stand there so nonchalantly. You would think I asked him for him to do nothing more than make a wave in the ocean. I yearn to be him, I yearned to be—untroubled.

"Come here," Poseidon said waving me over, breaking me from my thoughts. "Take it." As I pulled the Trident out the sands, the ocean became clear as day. I could feel waves as the wind and the very air I breathe. Only when you can see the full depths of the ocean does the ground seem so high up. I could've fallen 27 stories, but it would never compare to the descent of me taking one dive anywhere in this vast sea.

Poseidon grabbed the Trident, snapping me out of my mesmerized state. We each held one hand on it, but he was guiding me. He pointed it out in front of us, not too far from this isle we sat. I finally saw what Poseidon was staring at. The pieces all fit together now. I turned to Poseidon. "They tell stories of Atlantis, still, 'til this day. I must tell them how little their stories uncover."

I looked at the country that it seems Atlantis has become. Vast cities, gracious towers, exquisite design. It was as if I uncovered the last marvel of the world, and yes the best is saved for last. I looked Poseidon in the eyes admiring him just as much as I feared for him now. "You've been here this whole time."

"Why after, all those years, did I find myself still stuck wanting more and more in this Pantheon?" His tone was regretful, spoken with pain. "When his sleep came I noticed just how unsatisfied I was. They spoke to me many times about taking Zeus' place after his sleep, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted his seat at the throne."

Poseidon's hand slowly coarse the length of the trident as he continued his story, "That is —until I noticed it wouldn't be mine. No matter how much time passed it still would've been Zeus' seat. A seat made for him, waiting for him. So I reclaimed my time, making a place I could call mine." He walked out slowly towards Atlantis as if the waves were pulling him in. "Here, I could be King and God. To a Pantheon of my own." I looked out still captured by the city, the empire that was Atlantis as his fingers fell off the tip of the Trident.

"Will you all be fine without this? Are they safe?" I asked.

"We will be fine, boy. You get to Hades before Zeus finds himself uptight."

Poseidon looked back at me, gave me a wink, and then jumped into the ocean—where he belonged. Where he belonged...

It's something we've all dreamt of. We still get jealous. Jealous of Zeus. Jealous of Prometheus. Even at times Hades. Even Hades has a land of his own. What do those humans say? 'It may not be much, but it's home.' And that it was. I ran over land and sea dragging Poseidon's Trident behind me. It was heavier than I expected. It hindered my movements as I made my way towards Persephone's Garden—making for a trip far longer than I wished. Persephone's Garden was, by far, my favorite way to enter the underworld, and for many of us, it is the way we must choose if we wish to speak to Hades. Persephone has saved many lives guarding that gate, turning us away on days Hades plays more like his Father in Tartarus—ready to snap on anyone at first sight.

I came to a halt just before reaching the garden. As one enters Persephone's Garden, it must never be done with haste. A blessed hand has touched all that has grown here and these days there is nothing that doesn't grow here.

The path she made was laid purposely, lovingly, patiently; berries, fig, sage and such—forcing the air to hold an aura, a beauty, a distinct scent so unknown. My steps were soft, as to not disrupt their growth around me. I dare not be a hindrance to their day. My breaths were deep, knowing that I couldn't pick from the garden so these whiffs must do.

After winding down this single path of the garden where the foliage limits all view except for these marble slabs and greenery, I find myself at the arching gate that welcomed you to where, at most times, Persephone lies. With her garden so close to Hades there is little reason for seasons of change. They've made their peace and she gained much of her freedom.

As I walked towards the lawn I was given a sight not many would be granted, even in delusion. There sat Persephone, berries in hand, under the same the shade of the tainted tree that grew the pomegranates that poisoned Zeus. And laying down in her lap was the Lord of the Underworld himself, "Hades."

My voice startled him and he proceeded to wipe the juices that leaked from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling. It is wrong to interrupt someone, but even moreso when in their sanctuary intoxicated and embellished. Who is this man before me, and "What are you doing up here?"

Hades slowly rose to his feet brushing himself off as if he could get dirty. With every brush, his black cloak of ash spewed smoke the source of which will be ever unknown. He rose his rigid head full of grey hair up to me, "Mad Gods and Dead Titans, my boy."

For some reason I played confused, even though I knew what he meant. The face was really just a response to his diction. "A dead Titan came to my doorstep looking for asylum from Tartarus." A long pause proceeded before he continued. "He told me much. But the gist was that the underworld would not be worth watching for much longer. So I decided to take my leave early, and it could not be better." Hades looked back and Persephone, who once stood behind him but now draped herself over him, continued to feed him once more.

"Gods don't die, especially not Titans."

"We used to live by rules. The lengths you must go through to kill a god. No one would dare. But times have changed."

More than tipsy, Hades was obviously drunk as I walked towards him. The lust lingered from the two as Hades now babbled towards Persephone. I was trying to find a place to interrupt, but not soon after he abruptly turned returned to our conversation.

"I see you have paid Poseidon a visit. Tell me how does Atlantis look?" I was surprised he even knew. "Atlanteans may live long, but even they must die. They are few, but they all speak so well. They tell such great stories about the city—well cities now, I guess. Have you heard of..."

"Hades!" I said tired of the stale conversation. "I have come for your scepter."

I was trying not to be rude, but every second here angered me. Zeus has gone mad, Titans are being killed, wars are gearing to be waged on the surface, and this was all he could talk about. So much insignificant matter. Everyone is just so relaxed—so comfortable.

Hades shifted his demeanor. Pushing Persephone off his shoulder, he leaned forward—eyes looking straight through me. I silently regretted my outburst but committed to it on the outside.

Hades' cloak smoked no more. He raised his left foot and stomped the ground, splitting the earth between around his very foot. Hades kneeled, reaching his arm down into the abyss, searching for something. As he rose, I saw the scepter rise with him, and suddenly I could breathe again. But the relief I felt quickly escaped as he brought that scepter straight to my throat.

I tried to speak, "It is Poseidon's wish..."

The specter pierced into my chin as he shut my mouth.

"This is not your time to speak." His voice seemed to come not just from in front of me, but beneath the earth. My knee shook as the vibrations moved up from my feet.

"You are too tense for days like these," he said, slowly lowering the scepter just enough to make it comfortable to swallow again. "That is the problem with you gods who have never seen war. Are you ready to die? Gods live and gods die, but in war we all die, and in the most gruesome ways. Man is still learning to maneuver like us."

Hades released the scepter from me and continued to speak.

"I know I must give you this, but are you ready for what comes next. I would recommend you relieve yourself, treat yourself, because this will be the last time life will be as you know it. Enjoy it, enjoy these last moment."

His voice faded as he walked away. Meanwhile, he let his scepter fall, not caring much where it fell or if I would catch it.

I stepped over the crease in the earth to pick up his scepter. I hesitated before I would touch it, contemplating his words.

"Is this how you think it all ends, Hades?" I asked.

"This is war. Whatever comes from it will be anew. What be the Olympians without Zeus, or all forbid, just Zeus? Nothing. Nothing the same as before." Hades said.

Hades was one of the oldest of his generation and his years surrounded by souls facing eternity has him embodying even more wisdom. With that being said, why would I not trust him?

I walked away from the scepter and sat with Hades and Persephone to simply forget about everything that was coming—for just one moment. Besides, the clock starts by my hand. I couldn't avoid it forever, but there was time for me to enjoy it all before it was lost. So together we drank, we laughed, and we ate—but only from the fruit that were overjoyed with the best juices. And as the sun set, my legs became too heavy to move, and my heart finally felt contentment. Tomorrow, tomorrow will be a much better day for it all.

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blogofthenomad · 7 years

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I am now alone.

That was the first thought that had come to Ambrus, as he limped his way out of the ocean, and made his way to a nearby tree to rest.

And it was true, Ambrus had lost everything, he went on this quest hoping he could redeem himself, that he could become a hero, and that his misdeeds would be forgiven, but now all he has accomplished was being stuck in the middle of nowhere. He felt like he had let everyone down. He tried to save his crew, but it was no use. He knew know that no matter how far he went, he could not escape the wrath of the gods.

Oh no He thought to himself. He began to hear a large chariot of horses, heading straight towards him. It must be another god, coming to finish me off. He thought. He felt there was no longer anything he could do, so he lay down to rest, and thought about the quest he had went on…

Ambrus was never the never the strongest, the fiercest, or the bravest of the soldiers around him, but he always felt he was the smartest. While he was barely able to pass the physical exams, but he excelled at the mental exams, achieving the highest scores possible.ible. He trained as hard as he could for the next two months until he was finally given a chance to take part in the Trojan war. He felt proud to take part in this war, as he finally got to join his fellow Trojans in battle. He knew that his country could use as much help as possible. They had already lost their leader Hector and we are uncertain what our enemies will do next, but we were sure that we had the battle under control. Before each battle, one of my allies next to me would pat me on the back and tell me “Tell me, Comrade! Are you ready to die for your country!” I would say yes, but to honest, I really wasn’t. That same ally told me the same thing every battle, and the more I thought about it, the more I began to fear death. I didn’t help a number of allies I had to see die in battle, with me many times having to bring their bodies home, but it was clear that the war was almost over. Then that fateful night occurred.

We had believed that we had successfully won the war. Scouts had told us that there seemed to be no more enemies at the camps, and we believed that they had finally fled. During our celebration, we saw that a large wooden horse had been left at the camp, and we decided to bring it in. While we contemplated what to do with it, I saw a lovely woman standing near our walls. She had dark, flowing hair, and beautiful brown eyes. I went speak with her.

Fair lady, what are you doing idling about? It is a time of celebration! Join us.”

The woman had a look of worry on her face “Hero of Troy, sense something wrong”

“What is the matter?”

She sighed and told me “I went to pray at a temple at Athena today when I sensed that someone had begun to speak to me. I believe it was Athena herself. She told me that the war was not won, and we would soon lose. I feel that she was telling the truth.

I pondered about what she had told me for a minute and replied: “Nonsense, the gods on our side will make sure we live in peace.”

The woman smiled and we began to talk of our lives. She told me of how her son had died while fighting, and we talked of what our plans after the enemy leaves. Before she left she told me her name. “Ana” she replied and left.

That night, while we were all sleeping, a voice came to me in the dark. “Ambrus...Wake up.”

I slowly awoke to see a dog, resting near my bed. It was as black as night, and almost looked liked a wolf, there were scars and burn marks all over his body, and it stared at me with blood red eyes.

“Wake up. You must do me a favor.” The dog seemed to be talking to me, despite it not moving its mouth. I began to fully awake and see what was happening in front of me. I did not question it though, as I believed it was a god.

“What is it that you ask of me?”

“There is a well a short walk from here, I need you to fetch me some water if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” I replied, and went out of my tent to head to the well.

As I finally made it to the well, I realized that I could hear something going on behind me, and then I saw it.

The Fire.

The Slaughtering.

The death.

There was nothing I could do, all I could do was could do was watch as the Spartans Killed every single person in Troy….

That day, Ambrus felt more grief than he could ever imagine, he had all his friends and family, and he felt it was all his fault. Yet at the same time, he felt that there was a god watching him. He knew that if that animal had not woken him up and told him to go to the well, he would have surely been killed like the rest. Whatever God helped me live, I must figure out who it was and thank them. Ambrus thought to himself. Ambrus began to ponder a moment what god it was and remembered the dark, foreboding nature the dog had, and it’s sinister presence. Ambrus finally came to a conclusion.

That God must have been Hades.

But why would the King of the underworld want to help anyone? Let alone me. Ambrus thought. But he was sure of it, so he went to a camp far away from the city and went made a prayer to Hades.

“That is not necessary, I was going to talk to you anyway,” A man said to Ambrus while he was preparing his prayer. Ambrus turned to see a man dressed entirely in black armor. He had dark hair, and on his back, he carried a blood red pitchfork.

Ambrus recognized him immediately. “You are Hades, ruler of the Underworld. I had planned this prayer for you in hopes of speaking to you, and since you are now here, I ask you: why did you save me from the massacre of Troy?

Hades only responded with a question. “Did you ever meet your Father, Ambrus?”

“My father? No, my mother told me he left us when we were very young. She says he went to war and died in battle, and that the enemy took his body so we could not bury him.”

Hades let out a sigh and said “I see...Listen to me, my wife Persephone says he sees something “special” in you, so she asked me to save you. I could not care less who you are or what you want to do.”

“I understand Hades…” Ambrus replied.

“But… I could use a good sob story, so tell me, what do you want to do?”

“Well, I feel awful, I almost wish you didn’t save me.”

“And why is that?”

Ambrus respond with a deep sigh “I feel like I let my entire country down.Instead of dying in combat, knowing that I died trying to save my city, I feel I now live a coward, letting my city fall and all those people die.”

“Ah” Hades indifferently responded. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

“I plan on sailing to Sparta, where I shall ask the Athena to spare Troy from any more violence.”

Hades pondered this for a minute and said “That is not a terrible plan so I will make you an offer. I shall guarantee you a safe travel there if you do so, but once you attempt to return home, Poseidon and Zeus will attempt to stop you, since I am helping you. Are you prepared for this task?”

“Of course,” Ambrus replied, and with that, Hades left, leaving Ambrus to come up with a plan.

In the morning, Ambrus Told 10 soldiers still alive to go help him on his quest, and they all agreed, and with that, they were off to sail.

As Hades had promised, the journey to Sparta was one without any disturbance, and Ambrus soon arrived at the temple and made a prayer to Athena asking for her to please bring peace to Troy.

He heard no response.

Though he was discouraged at his failure, he knew he had bigger problems to take care of. He explained to his men the coming situation before leaving, and they all geared up. But problems soon began the minute Hades’ protection wore off.

Suddenly, the temple’s walls began to close in, soon all the men would be crushed, thankfully, Hades had temporarily give Ambrus incredible powers, and he was able to break a hole in the wall so that they could escape, but the fight was not over.

As they were sailing, Ambrus and his crew had encountered a Hydra, sent by Poseidon. The beast charged, tearing the ship apart and killing 3 men. Ambrus went head to head with the Hydra. The crew swam to the nearest island they could find, but it sported more problem. Sirens. They began to sing their lovely tune, hoping to bring the men close enough to kill, they were all entranced, but Ambrus was able to snap out of it and take the rest of his men to a ship left by men before, but not before 2 more were killed. As they sailed away, the worst of challenges came at them, Zeus became tired of doing nothing and struck the boat with his lightning, killing all the men left except for Ambrus, yet all he can remember was an explosion, and him falling into the ocean….

And now we arrive where we are now, a chariot hurrying towards Ambrus, while he lays on a tree dying. Ambrus realized he was very tired, and went into a deep slumber….

“Wake up Ambrus. Wake up.” A voice in the night told to Ambrus. He bolted awake to see that Hades had arrived in his chariot to speak to him and heal his wounds.

“Wake up my friend, you not going to my domain just yet.”

Ambrus had begun to talk “I’m sorry Hades, Athena did not hear my prayer. I once again let people die. I am no hero.”

“Listen to me, Ambrus. Your quest was not in vain, Athena has told the people of Troy what you did, and has brought peace to the land.”

“She has?”

“Yes! Now, go home go home and be a hero.” And with that, Hades pointed to a ship he had brought. Ambrus thanked him and began to set sail. When he was far enough, Hades said to himself ‘Go, my son.”

And with that, Ambrus went home to tell his epic tale, and to honor the men he lost on that voyage. Upon returning home, the people of Troy celebrated his welcome, and told him to tell of his quest, and did for many days on…

While he was honoring those who had died on his ship, he could see the dog from before in a nearby bush. Amrus let out his hand and the dog went to it, and Ambrus decided to keep him. In the depths of the earth, he could here hades say “Well done son, well done.” And Ambrus looked down and smiled.

#story #writers

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labellerose-acheron · 7 years

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You Will Go, You Will Return *** [Selle]

"You will go you will return never, in war will you perish. You will go you will return, never in war will you perish." -- The Delphic Oracle

In which Belle is visited by an old friend.

Want to catch up? Read in this order: Journey to Hell Saga w Helle Mother Blue, a Seph and Hades one shot in the underworld. Callie’s Nightmare Previous Callie/Hades threads, Ad Congregandum, ft. Callie, Howl, and Hades. Blue Lullaby, a Hades one shout ft. Cassandra.

PERSEPHONE: In one corner of town, a boy stood and peeled back the layers of the world as one would peel an orange, with just the sound of his voice. The veil curled back to reveal its spiderwebbed pathways, invisible to the eye. Across the pathway, through the tunnels, over the rivers and through the wood, the name of one spirit echoed.

Persephone Acheron. Persephone Acheron. Persephone Acheron.

The voice lit a candle. And now the spirit knew the way.

When Persephone Acheron was possessed by a ghost for the very first time, that same voice called out to her. She remembered how hard it had been to get back, just 7 years old, shivering alone in a corner of her body that was too small for her. It was a place where she did not know her name, did not remember a boy called Hades, or the colour of her mother’s eyes, or that she liked to spread honey and chocolate over toast. Only the sound of her brother’s voice (who she did not remember as her brother) stirred her from her own, self-inflicted banishment. It reached through the other spirit and plucked her, like a lucky clover, from where she could have been lost forever.

Traveling through the rings, jumping dimensions, it was an easier task if only because she did not have a body to begin with.

But she hit a wall. Or the idea of a wall, for she was an idea herself, a memory, a dream, a wish, a flicker in her brother’s heart. The wall blocked her on all sides. The wall had hands. It shoved her back.

My body now, sneered the wall, and Persephone went cascading through space with nowhere to land. Fear filled her gentle aura for she had once known of ghosts who had gotten lost here in the place between worlds. They wandered, a dying ember, breaking apart into little pieces, and then littler pieces of those little pieces. She began to break apart too.

But Hades was not the only one who was keeping Seph in his thoughts that night. The paths expanded, limitless, and one spoke her name. It was a passing thought, but it was enough. Persephone closed her eyes (or her idea of her eyes) and let herself be carried, like a message in a bottle.

When she opened her eyes, they were bright green and she was alive again. Persephone twitched her velvet nose. She could smell tea.

The clock read 9:17. It ticked like a metronome, the loudest thing in this old, familiar house. Belle Beauton was sat curled on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, her eyes flying over the page of a book. Was she reading or was she pretending to read, lost in other thoughts-- Persephone wondered this as she pad into the room in the body of her beloved Vincent and then hopped onto the arm of the couch. She did not have time to ask. Her ties here were tenable, the flame soon to be snuffed.

So she spoke, her eyes wide and pupils as dark and full as the void itself. “Belle-- Belle, it’s me-- Persephone.”

BELLE: Yes, Belle was thinking about Persephone. Well, she was thinking about Hades—and his plan to bring her back as she sat, alone, in their home. The house was empty, of people besides herself—of ghosts. Or, so she thought. It was just her and this sense of foreboding which hung over the house like a storm cloud. She couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that Hades would be careful, that Howl knew what he was doing.

Belle knew the truth. She knew that Hades was not thinking clearly. He was desperate. She didn’t blame him, but it made her heart tight in her chest. It made her worry—about Hades, but also, about if she made the right decision, not being with him through this process, not standing by him. Maybe along the way she could change his mind, somewhere, somehow—find some little crack that would let her slip in. But, he wasn’t having it. She knew that nothing she said would stop him and she couldn’t—she just couldn’t support what he was doing. She believed, she really did, that there was no way to bring Persephone back.

Her mind wandered, though she tried to read, tried to focus on what she was doing. This was what happened every time Hades left the house these days. She’d watch him go, his features always set in stone and she worried until he came back, his shoulders a little slumped. In the interim she tried to read but she could never focus, though, she was too in her head to hear the tinkle of Vincent’s little bell as she jumped up onto the couch.

It wasn’t until she heard a voice—a voice she was intimately familiar with, one that she had forgotten in the way you forget when you haven’t heard something in a long, long time. She jumped slightly, her book slamming closed. Turning her head, Belle came almost nose to nose with Vincent who was staring at her intently. She felt her heartbeat race, her brows furrowing, mouth opening and closing.

“Per—Perseph—what—how—what?” she said breathlessly and then sat up a little more, feeling tears catch in her throat. “Is it really you?”

PERSEPHONE: “Yes!” Persephone meowed, and she hopped down into Belle’s lap. She did not have time to waste, for the proverbial clock was ticking, the wax on her candle drip-drip-dripping. Even the journey to the couch in Vincent’s body made Seph’s soul grow tired, like it was full of rocks, and she was about to sink.

She held on though. She had once been the thing to hold on to, the anchor upon which souls perched. She knew how to keep balance and keep Vincent calm while she came to do what she needed to do.

She had found Belle, she knew, for a reason. Being dead had perks, you see. Where she drifted in the Wood, she drifted among the souls of everyone who had come before her and everyone who would come after. Everyone whispered their stories, as though they were talking in their sleep, murmuring and murmuring in hopes of someone hearing them, in hopes someone might try to call their name. So now Seph knew the stories of those souls as they knew her story; it was their stories that grew the trees high and crowded, that kept the wood ever expanding.

She came with answers. Seph could only explain a little though, that was the rules. The more stories she revealed, the higher the trees would grow, and their roots would pull her right back.

(What? You think ghosts wanted to be vague and unhelpful? No, it was the tether to the Underworld that determined what could be said).

“Hades summoned me. Or-- well, he tried, he-- Cassandra won’t let me in. It doesn’t matter anyway, I need to talk to you, Belle,” she meowed. “I only have so long. Hades and you-- everyone-- they’re in grave danger. This story began long ago, before we ever came to Swynlake, before Hades was the ambassador--”

She shook her head, because the words were already getting tangled. She needed to find a way to warn her. She needed to find a way.

Persephone blinked her eyes open again, round as moons. “Your fate is entwined with Urania Hesiod. Don’t trust her. Don’t let my brother be alone with her! Please, Belle! It will all fall down!”

BELLE: The book fell to the floor as Vincent—Persephone?—jumped into her lap. She startled a bit and sat up some, her brows pulled down and together in utter confusion.

As far as she was aware, this shouldn’t be possible. From everything she had ever read—bringing someone back from the dead was impossible, or very, very dark magic. The kind she hoped Hades wasn’t capable of. She hated that she was suspicious because she wanted more than anything to speak with Persephone then. This just felt like a cruel kind of joke, Persephone’s voice coming out in a purr, sounding just enough like her. It was like how Belle had sounded as the little sparrow perched on the inn balcony over a year ago (had it really been that long?)

She wanted to believe so badly. And—as the rest of Persephone’s words came out in a long, rushed string—she did believe. Because why would someone warn her of something terrible that was going to happen if they wanted that terrible thing to happen? Belle’s heart sank, her stomach twisted. This was everything she’d been afraid of. And the only question in her mind then, screaming louder than all the others—

“Hades? Is he all right?” But, as soon as that question was out, several more came tumbling from her lips. “What danger? What’s going to fall? Who is Urania Hesiod? Is she the danger? What does she want with Hades? W-with me? How—how do I know any of this is even true?”

Finally, finally, she asked that question she’d been dreading, tears in her eyes. She wanted so badly to believe, she missed Persephone more than anything. Her death had left a hole inside of her, had left a hole inside of Hades—one that wasn’t healing, one that felt like it would never heal, like, instead, it was just getting bigger and bigger.

PERSEPHONE: Persephone wanted to answer every question, but already, the roots curled around her and she knew if she spoke too much, she’d choke. Her whiskers twitched, ears flicking back and forth. She lashed Vincent’s tail too, but none of these things helped her find a way to warn Belle properly. Down every sentence, she found nothing but dead, dead ends. And worse. She shuddered to know the endings of the story (for there were several being written even know as they spoke, the gears shifting, the pieces in place). There were some things that could not be changed. But there were some things that could.

How she wished she did not have to play this game at all. She had not gotten to say goodbye to Belle last time, there on the river bank. She remembered her crying and yelling. Seph remembered her hands reaching for her. She wished this window she crawled through could be a second chance and instead of riddles-- she could tell Belle that she missed her.

Maybe Belle would read to her too, the way that she read to Vincent. How Seph wished for just a moment where they could pretend that they were together again and would not be parted. And they all live happily ever after.

But there was so little time. Aways too little. Persephone wished that she could have had just a little more, before her end.

This was not her end. This was Belle’s-- beginning.

“You just have to believe me,” Sephy said, with tears in her trembling, thin voice. “She’s coming so soon. Please, listen to me though I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry Belle. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry for everything that’s going to come and, and everything I can’t say-- tell Hades I love him.” The little cat’s body trembled now. Seph was holding on as hard as she could. “And I love you too, Belle. I know you’ll be brave.”

BELLE: Belle wanted to believe her, and the little break in Persephone’s voice, so desperate, crumbled Belle’s resolve. She was never very good at being suspicious anyways. It was how she had let a vampire into their house, it was how she had let Persephone’s death come to fruition in the first place. She was bad—very bad at keeping her suspicion in place.

And she missed Sephy dreadfully, she did. The girl was like her own little sister—if Belle knew what that was like. She would’ve—if her and Persephone had had more time. But, they hadn’t. Almost a year and that was all. But, still, her grief felt larger than herself sometimes, like if she stepped wrong, she’d fall into it and never come back out again. She missed Persephone so much, every day.

So, she brought her hands up to the little cat, whose body was trembling dreadfully, like it had when they’d come home from the snowstorm and Belle had scooped Vincent up and held her in Belle’s sweater, walking around with the cat perched there like a baby. Hades had told her she looked ridiculous, but she refused to let the little thing freeze. She didn’t want Vincent—Persephone—to tremble now. She gathered the cat up in her arms, so she was half-perched on Belle’s chest, her fingers stroking over the head and the soft fur. She hoped Persephone could feel that. She hoped it felt like a hug.

She had started crying, though, she didn’t know why or how. The tears made her eyes sting and Persephone’s words made her lips tremble. Persephone’s words made her afraid. Because she didn’t know what was coming. There was some big, nameless fear, so great that Persephone had found a way to come back from the other side to warn her about it. But, Belle didn’t know what it was, she couldn’t—prepare.

“Don’t—don’t apologize, Sephy,” Belle said, her voice trembling, her fingers rubbed at one of the cat’s ears. “I-I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do. Hades loves you so much, you know he does. I love you too. W-we will be okay, I-I promise. We’ll—we’ll take care of each other. And we’ll—we’ll miss you every day, we already do. I-I wish you didn’t have to go.”

But, she did. Belle knew that she did. She knew the rules, but her fingers clenched a little harder in the short black fur anyway.

“You’re so loved, Persephone. So loved.” She kissed the little cat on the top of its head and closed her eyes, a few more tears squeezing out.

PERSEPHONE: Belle’s arms wrapped around her, bringing her close enough to her chest that Persephone heard her heartbeat. Seph closed her eyes and sank into that sound. It was erratic, but so, so alive. Belle smelled just like Persephone remembered. Like tea and honey and books. Tea and honey and books.

She had forgotten all these things and would forget them again. You could not carry these things into the next life. That’s what made this one as dear as it was, why ghosts hung on with all their might, why others sought a way to get back. They reached for music, for flowers and chocolate strawberries, for ticker-tape festivals and those summer rainy days, each pellet of rain like a kiss. Oh, and kisses. How Seph wished she could have given and received more kisses, and hugs, and pinches and pokes. She missed the way cool soil felt between the fingers and the taste of a ripe tomatoes.

She held all of these things as Belle held her, like Belle could keep her and these memories together for just a few more seconds. And Persephone was grateful for those seconds. She counted them. She cherished them. She purred against Belle’s chest, like a little instrument.

And then she felt the underworld call her back.

Persephone knew better than to fight and cling and cry. She did not want her last moments to be spent in such a way. So she kept her eyes closed and let Belle’s words be the ship that would carry her home. You are so loved.

“Goodbye Belle,” she whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she was gone, and it was Vincent purring in Belle’s arms. She popped her head up and rasped her tongue over Belle’s arm.

#bdrppersephone #selle #you will go you will return #UGHHHH #katabasis

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shanastoryteller · 7 years

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*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are sofine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddessAthena.”

Arachne tosses herhead, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanchesand looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with histime. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for herwares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman withgrey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarledhands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid,but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyesand declares, “Athena should thank me,since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her andkeeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into thecrowd.

They will tell tales ofher hubris. They will all be true.

The next day she bumpsinto the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place,mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, andArachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do issay her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she sayscoolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as avirtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers herto a weaving contest. She accepts.

Gods are not so hard tofind, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” thebaker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for takingmoney from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag ofsweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well thefirst dozen times.

“Thank you for yourhelp,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She growshungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. Thesun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’stall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens tooverwhelm her.

But Arachne does notbelieve in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those taleswill be true.

She ties a scarf aroundher braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only toher thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma andbegins her slow ascent.

The muscles in her legsand arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once whitedress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her bodyand drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her headand bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easilyto the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. Sheswallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts hishead to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might besmiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” sherepeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, lookingat her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweetbread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are bigenough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Insteadhe gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comicallysmall in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He lickshis fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying thesecond time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaverArachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

They tell tales ofHephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad,angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legsonly to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?”he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into acoughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, anddoesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up atthe corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive insidethe volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal thatshe can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack offher shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I havewoven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrowand doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal handscould be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind theoppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its placestands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of herhusband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales ofAphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,”she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully.It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and upalong the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage andher worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experiencedartist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part insurprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestussays, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t takeoffense.

The goddess smiles andArachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphroditeis the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” thegoddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows.Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber.Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena willlose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says,“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales oftheir friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because whywouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, bothhappily married.

Gods hate being made tofeel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they sayAphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne winsthe weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestussays, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at herreflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestusleft if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrenchupon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger ather. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weaveme a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite asthe goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

The contest goes asexpected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goesred in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept thedeath blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’svolcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has nohope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe indefeat, in loss.

It was a terribly longjourney on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now shehas eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps inbetween crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver ofsunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke ofallowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellowcolor – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

It takes seven yearsfor her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all thattime, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’sa large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as thesun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched theearth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t returnto her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurriesand runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking forand scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looksonto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skittersdown his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is thata piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him,waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand–

His face slowly fills witha cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” Shejumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in hismassive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landingin front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s runningafter her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost toosmall for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares forseveral moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himselfout of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that samebreeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exactmoment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, madeentirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brushdown the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, thatAphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in sevenyears.

They’ve told tales ofher hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at theweb, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto thegoddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in frontof a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “GoddessAphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” shereturns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stayscool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuckin this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course availablefor her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Pleasecome with me.”

Arachne weaves a dressfor Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take yousomewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at herloom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would youlike me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Ofcourse not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing thespider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for thegoddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for amoment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at thegoddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where elsewould I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your companyequal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of herhubris.

“An excellent point,”Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

#asks #anon #my fic #gods and monsters series #here you go babe #hope you liked it #arachne #aphrodite #hephaestus #athena #greek myth #greek mythology #friendship!#or gayness if you want to read it that way #you do you friend

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