Welcome to AppleSyrcus Week, a creative event centered around the characters Hermes, Amon, and Fandaniel! Taking place June 10th - June 16th, we welcome fanworks such as writing, art, gposes, and more. Additional info under the read more!🍎🐍🍏
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We also wanted to include overseas fans as well, so posted below are lists of the week’s prompts in both JP and KR! (Both mods are primarily English speakers, so please forgive us for any mistakes).
Guidelines
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• General, NPC\OC, and NPC/NPC are alright.
• NSFW is alright, but please be courteous and tag your work.
• Entries must be tagged under #applesyrcusweek
If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out in our ask box or replies. We hope to see you in June!
(This event is also being hosted on Twitter if you’d like to join there as well!)
Notes: late entry for @applesyrcusweek Day 1: Hope/Despair. This is my first time writing Hermes. I hope I did him justice.
Read on AO3.
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What does it mean to live?
Their voices grated on Hermes’s ears: detached murmurs, as though the hippe they had just released on Lethe was nothing more than a simple creation deemed unsuitable for life on Eitherys. Yet, perhaps, that was indeed what was going through the minds of his researchers gathered around the lake that afternoon. Surely the creature which had rampaged across the water and killed more than a few of their subjects should not be deemed worthy to live.
Hermes had seen his people bind the poor animal with magick, forcefully pacifying it and herding it away. They might have done away with the releasing of aether had they not sensed his presence and asked for his judgment. Any other person would have immediately waved them off, let them do what must be done. It was their protocol; Hermes knew it by heart. Yet he couldn’t help the pause. If only he could detect a semblance of recognition in those depthless aquamarine eyes, he would tell them to wait and let him examine it to see what was wrong. But the binding magick had sealed off any emotion the hippe might have felt. Its eyes had been as soulless as a doll.
“Yes, you may,” he had quietly said, ignoring the pang in his heart whenever he issued the command.
His researchers had nodded and bowed their heads, then taken the creature farther away into the lake. Not far enough, however, that Hermes could not see the entire process nor hear their hushed murmurs.
It had been its final day of testing. Had everything gone smoothly, the hippe would have been deemed fit for life. They would have called the owner to pick up his creation and register its name. But now all that awaited them was a report of a failed concept.
But was it truly a failure?
As the hippe’s aether dissipated into the lake, leaving only little motes of light that would soon disappear with the flow, Hermes thought back to the times he had seen to the creature himself. He had taken a liking to it—to this beautiful wavekin with its tangled green mane and robust body. Strong, and regal. The fins on its head, chest, and flanks glimmered like rainbow even at night. Its pools of aquamarine shone with stark intelligence. Sometimes, it would let Hermes stroke the powerful column of its neck or nibble on the apple he had brought from his orchard. It was a good concept and Hermes had felt proud to have witnessed it.
So then why had it gone berserk?
His researchers stepped away from the remains of the hippe's light and returned to firm ground.
“Such a shame,” one of them said. “But nothing else could be done when it had injured one of our staff.”
“That was the fifth attempt at a concept, was it not? Either they scrap the entire thing and start from scratch or…” He noticed his companion’s stare. “Have they done that?”
“They have. Which is why they should follow our advice and submit a different concept. Clearly wavekins aren’t their forte. Hippes aren’t meant to be docile.”
Their hushed murmurs faded into the distance as they went farther away from the lake. Hermes remained at his spot, staring at the now-empty water bed.
He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. Perhaps a bell—or had it only been a handful of minutes? He should probably visit the injured staff, but his heart lay heavy. His hands flexed on his sides. So much power on this feeble flesh. To create and uncreate.
Who were they to decide when someone—something—had no more reason to live? Was the briefest of violent impulses enough of a warrant to kill them? What about sloth? Greed? They said the star had no use for failed concepts, yet that dogma did not extend to the people themselves. They were beings created by Eitherys for Eitherys. How were they so confident in their hubris that they were perfect when each and every one of them were rife with flaws?
A flutter of wings caught his senses, breaking up his thoughts. Hermes did not turn even when a familiar set of footsteps approached him from behind.
“Hermes?” came the tentative voice of Meteion.
The little bird came to his side and held onto his fingers. Hermes’s breath shuddered. He lifted his face, feeling the gentle breeze of Lethe slowly wash away his tears that refused to flow. Once the beating of his heart steadied and the pain subsided, he looked down at his familiar and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Meteion grimaced. Her small fingers tightened on his.
“I’m alright, Meteion.” He returned the girl’s gentle squeeze. “Just a momentary sense of melancholy.”
“Has it passed?”
“It has.” His smile didn’t falter, but both of them knew his words were far from the truth. There was nothing that could be done. It was in their teachings, and no matter what Hermes said, his words would always fall on deaf ears.
He tugged at Meteion’s hand. “Come; let us go. I will need to see how badly wounded my staff is.” They should be at Anagnorisis or, had the wounds been more severe than any of them could handle, had been brought back to Amaurot. The heaviness still lay on his heart, but he decided not to look too closely. As such, he didn’t notice the troubled expression that graced Meteion’s features.
