♕

on first and fierce affirming sight sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

[gildedtma]

       you may have noticed this blog is archived, i’ve moved apollo here . 

[sunbruise-archived-deactivated2]

𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰 !    @gildedtm.

to the loveliest sweetheart and my favourite gem !   🖤    all the well wishes and love for you on your birthday and hope you like this little gift for the home boy  xoxo

when this reached the ears of the crowd,     their minds were stunned,     and an icy shudder ran to their deepest marrow:     who readies this fate,     whom does    [   APOLLO   ]    choose?

[gildedtma]

“   don’t worry, it is only my son.  ”     he is made of eyes.  peaking out from underneath a layer of gilded wings.   an amused glare that warns the child behind him that he is doing something he knows he should not.    but when has kenneth ever listened to him?    reaching to wrap his fingers around one of his feathers,   and just before he can,  they are out of reach.  spread out wide like a bird about to take flight,   sending a shock of wind to his son’s face instead.  an arm reaches behind him,   wrapping tightly around young shoulders.   tugging him to his side,  and presented to the council in front of him.   “    my youngest.   ”   he sings with pride,   “   this is kenneth, ----  kenneth,  say hello.   ”     there is no ounce of anger nor irritation in his tone,  he’s thankful for the presence.   the unbearable meeting stopped in lieu of the newest guest,   the others giving each other worried glances, wondering how much the child heard,  and how much of it was appropriate for young ears.   wartime,  shadowhunters,  treaties.   it mattered little to apollo,   who willed their silence.    “   didn’t i tell you to stay with kayla and lee until i returned?  ”    /   @sunbruise​

[flores-et-dracones]

“After screaming, [Cassandra] calls out the name of Apollo sixth times, then again a seventh time, but the seventh time, by shifting the inflexion of the name slightly, she shows its etymology. Apollo’s name is cognate with the Greek verb apollesthai, “to destroy utterly, kill, slay, demolish, lay waste.” By crying out “Apollon emos”, Cassandra can designate the god as “my Apollo” and “my destroyer” at the same time in the same words.”

— Anne Carson, excerpt of Cassandra Float Can, from Float (via mythaelogy)

[gildedtma]

“    you know better,   babe.   ”     he is a shimmering glow and early morning light.   first rays of sunshine peak over the ocean’s horizon and bleed through the window.   lounging lazily along the counter top,   sweet mug of coffee staying warm in his palms.    “    don’t let me in with no intention to keep me,   don’t be kind to me.  ”   his word speaks of warning laced with a fresh brew and a hint of citrus.   he has not been here long,  but his presence is unmistakable :    the heat in the room,  the empty bowl of cereal on the table,  daffy’s low growls from the corner;  entertained by a new bone that the god had bought her silence with.  he grins with a hint of amusement as his sandal-clad foot swings against the floor.  nevertheless, he appears to have been there a millennia. never having left in the first place,  and with no plans to.     “   honey,  don’t feed me.   i will come back.   ”   /   @hisgrowth​

[gildedtma]

tmi muses .... interact with the elusive godlike fae that rarely leaves the court and hates shadowhunters

[gildedtma]

apollo doesn’t change his appearance for anything he’ll show up to a parent teacher conference for his 16 year old child looking 23 and then get offended that you don’t think he could be the father. 

[gildedtma]

                                            SUN GOD,   VISUALS.

[unwelcome-to-night-vale]

[gildedtma]

pjo: apollo is a bad an absent father and he doesn’t care about anything but partying and haikus ancient greece: apollo is the sun father. he’s my literal dad. he came down from olympus and made me sign these adoption papers.

[coldalbion]

“True myth may serve for thousands of years as an inexhaustible source of intellectual speculation, religious joy, ethical inquiry, and artistic renewal. The real mystery is not destroyed by reason. The fake one is. You look at it and it vanishes. You look at the Blond Hero — really look — and he turns into a gerbil. But you look at Apollo, and he looks back at you. The poet Rilke looked at a statue of Apollo about fifty years ago, and Apollo spoke to him. ‘You must change your life,’ he said. When true myth rises into consciousness, that is always its message. You must change your life.”

— — Ursula K. Le Guin “Myth and Archetype in Science Fiction”, PARABOLA, Vol. 1 No. 4: Rites of Passage, Fall 1976

[gildedtma]

sunbruise​:

when apollo’s fingers dig into his skin,    his pulse jumps with a sickening excitement.     golden eyes widen with anticipation.     would his father finally strike him?    would blood splatter against his teeth as he heaved out laugh after laugh,    in victory?    the words only provoke that twisted,    morbid joy,    but it sours too quickly to an end.     this was not what he had wanted;    this was anger and concern for his well being,    not anger and hatred at his blatant disrespect.      to not trust kindness,     morta warned.    that tattoo is his repute more than your skin.        ❝          what do you know about my mind?    they’ve stuck with me longer than you ever did.         ❞       again,    his head jerks itself away from his father’s touch,    startled by attempts yet too paralysed by the locks in his mind to move his shaking hands.      so he bears his teeth;    snarls and seethes,     just like his mother.     fever worsens him,    and he grows quieter,     but kenneth callahan vareck is inconsolable.          ❝         you,         ❞      a whisper now,    like an emerging darkness his voice becomes a warning.    huddled as he was,     he watched his father with alarming clarity.          ❝         i know why you keep coming back to me.         ❞       when he shifts,    the heavy coldness that sat over his bones deepens.    kenneth appears on his knees,    hands crinkled against the floor,    looking up at apollo;    at his father,    their eyes hanging off each other like thorns to a rose.      the short width that they now sat apart offered the sort of ardent details forgotten before,   and proved their striking similarities in looks and grief.    when he spoke,    it was without the intrusion of the fates.         ❝          i am everything you hate about yourself.     every dark thing you try to forget,   every unjust thing you’ve ever done.     this pity is really for yourself.         ❞

“   do you really believe that?    ”      a godly frown dips even deeper.   eyebrows knit together,   hearing thoughts he would prefer not to hear.   despite the quick pulse,  the wide eyes,   the crazed laughter in the back of his mind,   he does not lighten his touch nor move away.   he knows what kenneth is doing,   it is not the first nor the last time cruel words will be spoken between them.   he sees through it as easily as a thin veil obscuring his view.   “      i am far beyond hating myself,   and not one to fault you for things you cannot control.    ”     that is the cycle, wasn’t it?   mortals and their will,   gods and their might.   fathers and their son.  it always came down to a scythe and a balance of power,   and a mantle that refused to be passed.    the only difference here is which one held the weapon.  he did not make a mistake,   he stands by his actions.   no matter how many times   the fight   grows behind mirroring mortal eyes,  and no matter how many times it is drained from them the same.  he stands by his word,  by his care.  time did not diminish his guilt, but it strengthened his patience.   “  that was my mistake,   i will admit it.   but you.   you are not.     ”  he reduces the fever with a touch,  but it meant nothing if kenneth’s heartbeat did not slow.  to push himself off the wall he cowered against.   he would prefer it if ken had drawn virgil and held his own gift to his throat.  what he sees instead twists him inside.    i know everything about you,  and i understand more than you think.   he doesn’t say.  it doesn’t mean much.  i’m your father.  this means even less.    “    those are your mother’s words,   i can see it in your eyes.   a lying, spiteful woman,  look what she did to my son.   ”

[gildedtma]

sunbruise​:

as if they would listen;    as if they had ever listened.     his fingers bury themselves into the now damp tufts of his hair,    curling against the pale flesh of his forehead and eyelids,   blurring his vision with spots of orange and black until they shuttered to a close.    he had always preferred physical violence to this.    a hammer to the arm would be less soul numbing than the violent torrent the fates unleashed upon his mind,    a crackle loud enough to drown out the words of the god,   his father.    it was another full minute before his vision came to,    the quiet tremble of his body adjusting to the dimly lit room and his hands,    now wrapped in another’s.     his forgotten train of thought revisits its tracks,    and as he recovers from a routine torture,    kenneth is reminded of his aversion to pity.       ❝          it is unfortunate,        ❞      he begins,      the paleness of his face unlike his father’s warm complexion.    it was this aggravating hatred of being felt small that alone jerked his hands away,    as if apollo were poison.         ❝         that you,   just like mother,     think yourself worth touching me.         ❞      kenneth thought of the isolation that would come after,    the minute he could crawl into bed and push the world away,    welcome nightmares with courtesy than the voices spearing him.     silently,    with his back to the wall,   he pulls his limp knees against his chest,     bottom lip quivering feverishly.          ❝         look at me like that again,    [  … .   ]     and i will burn this lyre off my wrist.         ❞

the warmth gone,   his stare is no longer full of light,  and his hands even less so.     “    you will not.   ”     nails dig into pale skin as he grabs kenneth’s jaw.  the look in his eyes has lost all comfort,   and has been replaced with something akin to ire.   offense,   but not on his own behalf.  “   you will not harm yourself to spite me,  do you understand?  ”     a god’s will.    a god’s words.   setting deep in the air as if carved in stone.   it was this one.   this one,   he thinks,   that will be the death of him.    stubborn and full of anger,   dangerous and full of hurt.     “    i am not your enemy,   and the moment you stop treating me like one,   you will find yourself at odds with those voices in your head.   they enjoy seeing you like this.    ”      he knows it too well,  and so his own anger grows tenfold.    empathy and pity teeter on the edge of two great chasms,   threatening to tip the balance one way or another with each word that leaves his son’s mouth.   looks just like him,   sounds just like his mother.   he pushes sweaty curls back and places his palm against flushed skin.    “   you are giving yourself a fever,  now that’s enough.   ”   no, his hands aren’t warm anymore,   they are cool and soothing and indifferent to the protests they are getting.  

[gildedtma]

sunbruise​:

was that what he thought it was?    eyes widen,    more out of disbelief than shock.      surely,    that could not be what he thought it was?    nona,    morta and decima,   because they had heard his thoughts,    came back cackling and whispering:    yes,   you heard right,   that is pity in your father’s voice.    it was as if a match had lit his skin.     a sudden heat was rolling over his cheeks.    alight with hatred,    a wild blaze formed rings around his irises.    he would not accept pity,   least of all from a god of olympus!     kenneth swivels around.    his hair,   curled with cold sweat,   lay unruly over his eyes.    his mouth began to twist,   an ugly snarl in its wake.    and his hands,   grasping at the wall,    gave him the appearance of a mad prince.       ❝          you   ——      do not pity me !           ❞     he roared,     against the backdrop of his boot slamming against the ground.        ❝       i will cut your tongue if you dare !       ❞      he had not come this far,    he thought,    or suffered this much on his own,   for anyone to look down on him.         ❝           there’s not a chance i’m going to accept your h———       ❞         unexpectedly,    his knees buckle.    for a minute he was certain somebody must have driven a blade into his skull,    for the pain that stunned him felt as close to it as he could imagine.    he fell onto his knees,    bundled against the cold wall,     vision flecked with unusual shadows.    the voices were louder now.     all he could do was blanch at the sight of his own black-veined hands.    

he would not lie nor divulge false comforts.       he is nothing but open with his opinion over his son’s circumstance.     he does not deny the pity,  not does he try to hide it.   a fiery glare so alike his own dulls the edges of the face he puts forth.    “  kenneth.  ”     the boy’s anger and frustration pained him enough,  the sun god does not raise a hand nor does he move from the statuesque pose he’s assumed.   meaningless threats,    he let them float away in the wind as untethered as his son was unhinged.    “   you mistaken me,  this is what i’m talking about.   ”     his tone shifts,   from something from distant and guarded to honest and protective.   “   do you hear them ?    weaving   lie after lie   and feeding them to you until you   ----   ”    he stops.   knees buckle.   fingers curl.  the breath is knocked from divine lungs,   but it was not his own.   he spoke too soon.    “   okay that’s enough.   you’ve made your point let him go.   ”     he tells to listening ears.  privacy.  i cannot have one conversation with my son without the three of you -----  he does not finish the thought.   snapping their cord the way one slams a door.    he kneels down,   pulling cold pale hands into his warm ones,  long fingers forming a strong grip.   “   deep breaths,  can you hear me?  look at my hands.  ”  their bright glow expels the darkness.   “  you can do it too,  just focus.   ”   

[godbanes-archived]

@gildedtm  liked  melted wax

                      “ Tell me the story again , ”   He passes the mug of orange hot chocolate to Apollo , eyes lingering on his face , momentarily admiring his beauty. He grabs his sketchbook from the nightstand , sitting on the floor in front of Apollo.  “ Of how you slayed the python. ”  The story Icarus loves most , where Apollon Delphinius avenged his mother’s suffering by killing the chtonic serpent. Although there are various paintings of this , Icarus wants to create his own by listening to the story from Apollo himself.

[gildedtma]

"   again?   ”        legs  outstretched,  his  favorite  mug  with  the  hand  painted  sun  held  tightly  in  his  grip.  he  takes  a  sip  before  answering.   "   i’m  going  to  tell  you  a  secret, love.   ”    another  sip  to  build  the  suspense.  art  creates  myth  and  myth  creates  truth.  it  was  so  long  ago  he  himself  had  trouble  recalling  the  original  version  to  the  story.   he  closes  his  eyes  and  rakes  a  crowded  mind.  “   i  didn’t  use  a  bow.  scandalous,  i  know. ”     a  detail  that  has  been  forfeited  for  the  essence  of  a  recurring  theme.   “   i  killed  python  with  a  sword.  it’s  long  gone  now,  i  left  it  there  on  parnassos  and  it  was  stolen  by  thieves.  ”

[gildedtma]

me: how do i be active here again. unanswered memes in my inbox: me: no that’s not it.

[unkings]

        a    𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝      born a     𝕘𝕠𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕤 .       a    𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕞     born     𝕘𝕠𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤    .