"Youths who were most handsome. Adonis, son of Cinyras and Smyrna, whom Aphrodite loved. Endymion, son of Aetolus, whom Selene loved. Ganymede, son of Erichthonius, whom Zeus loved. Hyacinthus, son of Oebalus, whom Apollo loved. Narcissus, son of the river Cephisus, who loved himself . . ."
- Pseudo-Hyginus, Fabulae 271
🌷 a time my muse said they loved yours.
There was a spell that Hyacinth could not cast, as deeply as a buried piece of him wished to breathe the words he did not dare affirm what Apollo had rightfully accused. There in the twilight afterglow, Patroclus slept peacefully in his arms, pressed tightly against Hyacinth’s frame, the rift breathed softly, peacefully. A smile placated the man’s lips as he did, evidence that whatever dream enraptured him, was a pleasant one.
Hyacinth wondered perhaps if Patroclus dreamt of the fields of Elysium, if he was thinking of Achille’s smile, or the cant of the man’s stare. Hyacinth wondered if he was dreaming of them three together, of their reunion in those very fields - or perhaps a fond memory of their past. Patroclus was kind, but saying as much made the rift feel slighted, he was also compassionate, but telling Patroclus this only reminded him of his failings. Patroclus’s heart was open-wide, bigger than any Hyacinth had ever known, but breathing this against his ear only made the rift flush in polite refusal.
He himself did not know how to mend the rift in someone’s heart, he did not know how to paint a scene with words alone. Hyacinth had always been someone of action, and too often his words failed him. His intentions were generally selfish, driven by Hyacinth’s own desires, his own ambitions, while Patroclus was mutable and nothing he did was for himself. He gave so much of himself that all too often the rift was left with nothing of his own.
There in the faded glow of waning light, Hyacinth bent his lips towards Patroclus’s ear, he was sure that Apollo was no longer watching, no longer listening, and he was sure that Patroclus too, would not hear Hyacinth’s fault. His arms tightened around him, and Hyacinth whispered: I love you.
💡 a time my muse laughed.
Patroclus screamed. Apparently flying was not something he enjoyed, but when Hyacinth had offered to let Achilles and him take Apollo’s chariot for a spin around Elysium, he had not expected the demigod to go that fast. Achilles stood with perfect balance on the brim of the chariot, the swans that pulled them forward flapped furiously as Achilles bid them to go faster and faster. Patroclus, barely clung to the back as his body flapped in the wind and was twisted and bent with every sharp turn that Achilles made.
The two of them were already dead, so there wasn’t much that could happen to them, which made the whole ordeal completely amusing. It had taken Achilles and Hyacinth hours to convince Patroclus to get on with him, the former had brought up several times how he would never endanger the other, how he could be trusted, how he would be careful - and while Hyacinth had seen through the cheshire cat deception, Patroclus was an eternal sucker and fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.
“Slow down!” Patroclus cried out, but it was drowned by the flapping of wings, the rumble of the chariot through the sky, and Achilles’s laughter that parried Hyacinth’s. His own swan sat in the flower bed next to him as the chariot made a sudden and sharp turn towards the earth, Achilles eyes went wide before he panicked and leaped from the brim. The swans made a sharp turn to avoid the ground and Patroclus was thrown before the chariot collided with the ground and exploded into a thousand tiny pieces.
With a simple wave of his wrist a giant flower grew from the ground and caught the wailing Patroclus, the cup tipped and dropped the rift from one leaf to the next before he landed softly on the ground. His face beat red.
Achilles ran towards him, laughing along with Hyacinth, who was practically keeled over in a fit, but Patroclus raised a finger of warning that stopped the demigod in his tracks. “Do. Not.” Patroclus said before he disappeared inside their house, he shot Hyacinth a look but his laughter did not cease as Achilles’s did.
The blonde made an oh no sort of face at Hyacinth before he smiled and followed Patroclus inside. Hyacinth’s laughter died down eventually, he looked towards the chariot as the swans landed beside him, it had reformed almost immediately after the crash, not so easily destroyed. It was then that Apollo appeared, leaned against the chariot, amused. Hyacinth smiled, saved from the fallout of that great catastrophe, he joined him in his chariot once more.
👀 a time my muse told a lie.
“And what happened to Polyboea? Is she here?” Achilles asked, the three rifts lay splayed together, Hyacinth with his arm folded behind his head between the two of them, his free hand rested neatly across the hard plains of Patroclus’s back. Achilles on the opposite, on his side as inquisitive eyes searched Hyacinth’s features for further information on his past. The tale of the prince Hyacinth and the God Apollo was known in the Greek world, but outside of Sparta, few knew the truth beyond stories that were traded.
Achilles and Patroclus had gone to war over Hyacinth’s niece, Helen. But it was not truly as such, the Gods had pit the Greek world against each other as they once again quarrelled among themselves.
“She is not.” Hyacinth answered simply, he had given some of his story, but the Spartan was not fond of discussing tales of his past at length, particularly this one, particularly his sister. It was painful, raw, she had given her life for him and she was not here as the rift had been promised she would be. He had searched the mortal world for her, and would continue to do so for years to come, until at last Hyacinth gave up. But never was there a sign of the woman he had known as kin.
“Well what became of her.” Achilles pressed, and Hyacinth could feel the air that Patroclus sucked in beside him, a warning that the demigod did not seem to pick up on. Or did not care. There was silence between them for a period of several seconds, Hyacinth was not one for deceit, not one for lies, and here in the after glow he wanted only to enjoy the two that had welcomed him into their bed.
⎈ My character pins yours to the ground while fighting/sparring.
Ikaros loved it when she was like this.
Unkempt hair wild, eyes blazing as the sun slowly dipped below an orange horizon at her back. Amidst the ruins of their villa, the juxtaposition between their old life and new was clear. The woman before him might carry a different name, but he would recognize that fire anywhere.
“You’ve gotten sloppy.” Eleni commented, stray locks plastered to the side of her face as a cold wind swept off of the Aegean and ripped through them.
“Who fights with swords these days?” Ikaros rebutted easily, she pressed another attacked, the kobalos tried to parry but ended with their swords locked instead as Eleni laughed wildly.
“Not you, apparently.” She teased.
Ikaros pushed back, pressed an attack of his own and loosed Eleni’s grip, her weapon clattered to the ground and she launched herself towards him. Surprised, his own blade hit the earth as the two of them tussled and rolled across the ground. Eleni pinned him at his wrists, legs straddled his waist, her smile just as wicked as it had been thousands of years before.
“Got you.” Eleni hissed, Ikaros rotated his hips and switched their position, he pinned the woman’s wrists on either side of her head and smirked devilishly.
“Got you.” Ikaros smiled, heady eyes met his before she arched against him, the trickster felt his grip on her loosen before her hands slipped from his to grab pull at the hem of his shirt and loose it from his frame. Their lips met, parted, and Ikaros felt his breath hitch in his throat as she pulled him impossibly close.
⊿ - Coming to visit them @emoryhart w/special guest @ptolemasroar
Micah did the math, it was only a five hour drive from Toronto to New York, six if there was a lot of traffic. Ptolema had said they were packing up and leaving the next night, and to make whatever arrangements he needed. It had been a little over a year since him and Emory had broken things off, and no small part of the shifter missed him. The human was connected to every thought that crossed his mind, there was a story intertwined with everything that Micah did, he was a hunter first, but what was a ten hour round trip when he could spend a few hours in between with Emory?
The drive was easy but nerve wracking, the roads weren’t great, it was late in the year so progress was slow. The snow acted as some kind of barrier, the faded light that was replaced by impermeable darkness was just another thing that was keeping them apart. Micah refused to be deterred, and while it took closer to seven hours, the trek from the car to Emory’s buzzer was familiar. He had a sequence that was distinct to him, and Micah rang it the due number of times, indicative of who was downstairs waiting for the human.
There was silence at first, the speaker crackled, but there was no voice that called through to him. A beat later, and there was a buzz as the front door was electronically opened. Micah looked up at Emory’s window and saw a figure stood there, an inherent smile spread on the shifter’s lips before he flung open the door and bounded up the stairs.
Emory was stiff when he opened the door, but the sheepish smile on his face made Micah’s heart dissolve right there. The shifter stepped forward and claimed the human’s lips in his own, needy and wanting, it had been over a year at this point but Emory was so under his skin it was like picking up right where they left off. “I’m sorry,” Micah breathed, “I miss you.” he added as the two men desperately pulled at each other’s clothes. “Take me back.”
~
Sun filtered through the window, the memory of what had happened the night before stirred a smile on the shifter’s face. He reached for Emory but felt only a hard metal rail. He opened his eyes fully and expected to see the warmth of the human’s home but instead saw the raw sterility of a hospital instead, with Ptolema sat in the corner.
“Good. You’re up.” She commented as she stood up and crossed to his bed. “Idiot.”
“What happened?” Micah asked,
“You were in a car accident.” Ptolema commented, then slowly the pieces went back into place, the traffic, the dark roads, it was snowing - there was ice, and then. He never made it to Emory’s. “Come on, get up, we need to hit the road and I hate this fucking place.” She didn’t ask why he had crossed the border, but Micah suspected she knew.
As many of the Christmas ones with Xander you want
tw:nsfw, tw: sex mention, tw: singing, tw: dancing, tw: GLEE
🎁 / our muses exchange gifts to one another .
Atlas was tired, Xander had apparently been away all week and for the first time in months the witch was forced to reacquaint himself with how deafeningly loud Alarick’s snoring was. The wall that divided their rooms practically vibrated, the entire night. But, it was Christmas Eve, and Xander had promised to be back, so after he’d pulled on a heavy sweater, the witch had headed closer to town and towards the vampire’s home.
There was something different about the place as the oracle approached Xander’s front door, he pulled the key that the vampire had given him out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. There was a warmth when Atlas entered the home that felt almost palpable, was that cookies? Xander stepped around the corner, a bright smile on his face, unusual, but welcome, as the two were quick to embrace. Atlas breathed out a few words, I missed you, I love you, Merry Christmas Xander, as Xander’s arms wound aptly around his back and pulled him close. The vampire’s face buried in his hair, he spoke the same soft words in return as the pair lingered there for a while.
“Do you wanna see what I made you?” Atlas asked, a smile on his lips, it had been expressly difficult given how dilapidated his old work space in the forest had become, the long hours spent weaving out in the wilderness was now less of an soothing retreat and now more of a hassle. His loom did not fit in Alarick’s cabin and nature had worn away at its once sturdy frame.
“Another sweater?” Xander quipped, Atlas shook his head, still in the vampire’s arms as he leaned back, Atlas added a heavy roll of his eyes, his hands rested on the back of Xander’s neck.
“It’s a blanket, actually.”
“Ah great, because I can never have enough blankets.”
The witch felt his face bright slightly, he enjoyed the labor that went into it. The satisfaction that gift giving gave him.
“I’m kidding, I’m literally wearing the sweater you gave me. I can’t wait to sleep with it, now c’mon, I want to show you what I got you.”
Xander took his hand and pulled Atlas deeper into his home, the silver rose-petaled daylight ring that the witch had gifted the vampire previously glinted as they passed through rays of sun that flooded from above. The ring felt cool to touch as Xander gripped his hand and led him through the den and to a back study that, as far as Atlas knew, had mostly gone unused.
“Ready?” Xander asked, his hand fell from Atlas’ as he reached for the double doors, he looked back with something akin to mischief in his eyes. Perplexed, Atlas merely folded his arms across his chest.
“I suppose.” There was no small part of the oracle that was not concerned, there was every possibility that he was going to hate whatever was through these doors. Atlas braced himself as Xander swung open the doors and all at once the oracle’s breath hitched, a gasp escaped his lips.
The study had been refurbished, significantly. Dusty shelves had been revitalized with every spellbook and reference guide the vampire had apparently been able to get his hands on. The witch moved to run his fingers along a herbalist’s guide to the native forests of Greece, bestiaries and spellbooks, hand written journals of witches and oracles alike. Shelves of every regent the witch could think of, fresh and powdered, local and imported; there were planters that hung across floor to ceiling windows that allowed for natural light to come through and join the soft rays that filtered through the skylight. Beneath sat a wide-brimmed cauldron, freshly polished and - bronze? Before the windows between planters was a desk, stocked with tools and equipment, items for enchanting, for brewing, for divining.
Perhaps the most beautiful portion of the room was along the far wall to his left, rows of different materials, and above all a hand crafted loom, the finely polished wood and detail was stunning, all at once Atlas was upon it before he turned towards Xander at the sound of his voice. A clearly satisfied smile on the vampire’s face.
“I want you to have somewhere you can work, why not here?” Xander stepped in, “I love you, and I don’t want you to go, so, stay - stay here, with me.” Atlas threw his arms around the vampire all at once, his lips upon Xander’s as he breathed yes, yes, yes, in between each kiss.
🍞 / to invite my muse to a holiday dinner with their family .
“You look fine,” Atlas insisted, his family had been making their own clothes for centuries, they absolutely were not going to care about the state of Xander’s holiday attire. Actually, he does look a little too put together.. The oracle shook the thought from his mind, he was only slightly nervous, and the last thing he wanted was for those nerves to rub off on his vampire fiance.
“Easy for you to say, what am I supposed to tell your father again, I’m thirty-two and holding?” Atlas rolled his eyes.
“Just be yourself, he’ll love you. They all will, I promise.”
🔌 / help hang lights or decorate with my muse.
“This is stupid.” Xander commented as he held the ladder while Atlas climbed it.
“No, it’s festive.” Atlas corrected. He reached off of the top to hook the last strand over the eavestrough, the witch wobbled a bit and Xander all but hissed.
“Be careful, just come down.”
“I’ve almost got it, just... a little more... -” All of a sudden Atlas lost his balance and he was suddenly falling from the top most part of the ladder, he landed in Xander’s arms and heard the ladder clatter to the side beside them. His face red, his arms wound around Xander’s neck, the vampire just shook his head.
“Can we go in now?”
🎄 / decorate and help my muse with a christmas tree.
Atlas hummed in between verses as carols played over the radio, they had been nearly nonstop since November first and while Xander was not amused, they were presently decorating the Christmas tree together and thus the music was on theme.
“You have a nice voice,” Xander commented,
“Thanks, it’s the only one I have.” Atlas offered, the vampire scoffed as the witch continued to go behind Xander and reposition the ornaments he had just hung up.
“What are you doing?”
“Just... It’s important to space things out so there isn’t any weird vacant spaces.”
“Right.” Xander shook his head and continued to not adjust his technique for placing ornaments.
🌿 / our muses catch themselves under a mistletoe .
“Look,” Atlas offered, his hands on Xander’s chest after they’d bumped into each other. One of their friends had a holiday party, and truthfully, neither had really felt like attending but here they were. Being social. being seen, together. The witch pointed above them as the pair swayed lightly to whatever holiday anthem played around them. “mistletoe.”
“Is this why you like the holidays so much?” Xander asked, an inquisitive but playful look in his eyes as Atlas merely shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Xander kissed him then, strong, certain, less of a formality and more of a promise: we’ll do this again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, too.
💨 / our muses are trapped inside a cabin during a snow storm.
The snow had hit suddenly, and hard. The two of them were visiting Atlas’ parents, and while they were enjoying the holidays with the Coven, the two had slipped away to steal a few quiet moments alone, and while they were out and away, a storm rolled in overhead. Out of blind luck, a cabin appeared in the distance, all at once Xander scooped the witch into his arms and sped ahead through the dense snow bank to burst through the cabin door.
Wind and snow bellowed behind them as their laughter rang through the small structure, their lips pressed together as Atlas kicked the door closed. It’s freezing in here, the oracle smiled as the vampire moved their lips in a heavy tandem. The other’s hands worked away at their clothes as articles were haphazardly discarded about the abandoned cottage.
I can think of one way to keep warm.
✨ / our muses watch the northern lights together .
“So, why the top of the world?” Xander asked, the pair had traveled about as far North as you could, beyond the closest National park, to a place that the coven had only ever heard whispers about. From within their walled tent, the pair managed to keep warm against the minus forty degrees weather that roared outside in the night air.
“Just wait.” Atlas promised his head nestled on the delicate curve of Xander’s shoulder, his hand wandered idly across the vampire’s chest as he traced small lines across cool skin. All at once Xander’s eyes went wide, the witch drew his gaze from the ethereal green glow that had been cast across his lovers eyes, to look at the roof of the tent.
The aurora borealis was close enough to brush the top of their tent, lines of green and gold and pink danced through the walled enclosure. Atlas’ eyes sparkled as he watched with some delight, his head canted to take in Xander’s expression, it was one of bewilderment and wonder, there was a smile, and that was all the oracle longed to see.
“It’s beautiful.”
NAUGHTY :
💋 / give my muse a hot steamy kiss .
“Xander?” Atlas called out, his home was welcoming, cozy, comforting. It had transformed recently, infused with new life, perhaps a bit of happiness. “Helloooo,” the witch called out again, he went from room to room until the oracle pushed open the bedroom door and all at once he felt Xander’s lips upon his. All at once Atlas groaned as he pushed his hands through the back of Xander’s hair, his lips parted as the vampire moved his lips against his in a fiery tandem. The witch kissed out of need, necessity, out of desire, he emptied himself into the other and continued to pour. Kissing Xander had always been unlike anything else, anyone else, and while the vampire slipped past Atlas’ lips he greeted him warmly, eagerly, hungrily. The oracle remembered every story ever told about Hephaestion and his prowess, his generosity, his willingness to please, and truly, he held nothing back thousands of years later. When Xander at last broke away Atlas was pressed against the door, nothing but his own hot breath between them as he panted, lips suddenly sore. Xander smiled, “I missed you.”
👗 / my muse dresses up as a sexy Santa for your muse .
The auditorium lights kicked on and from the stage, Atlas heard the doors swing shut. He felt some nerves as he wrung his hands together just off stage, this was a stupid idea, it had to be stupid, whose idea had this been again? The oracle looked down at the skimpy outfit he’d put together for this number and sighed, he’d spent too many hours hemming this sexy Santa skirt, too many days stitching these knee-high boots to not go through with it. Atlas fixed his hat one last time, the white pom-pom bounced idly on the side of his head as he walked with confidence onto the stage and took center.
The witch could tell by the look on Xander’s face that the vampire was shocked, good.
With a smirk he pulled the cropped red and white velvet top a little down so it at least met his upper abdomen before he leaned forward and folded his pleather-gloved hands on his knee. Leaned forward, the opening to Jingle Bell Rock began to filter through over the radio.
Preferring to sing acoustic, Atlas began on time, his choreography leading him to sway from side to side as he stepped to the beat.
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock,” The witch smiled, he did a short twirl as he pittered across the stage, “Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring, snowin’ and blowin’ up bushels of fun,” the talented tenor breezed across the lyrics, Xander’s stunned expression egging him on as he pun amidst a fake snowstorm. “Not the jingle hop has begun!”
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, jingle bells chime in jingle bell time.” Atlas effortlessly hit the high note as he stepped to the beat and did a broad wave of his arm, he drew it across his field of vision as if beckoning a massive and unseen audience.
“Dancin’ and prancin’ in Jingle Bell Square, in the frosty air!” Atlas twirled again into a high kick as the tempo increased, “What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away.” He punctuated this with a turn before he slapped his bare thighs, “Jingle bell time is a swell time, to go glidin’ in a one-horse sleigh!”
As if on an invisible sleigh, Atlas held the reigns as he stomped across the stage, his high-heeled boots echoed like a dozen hooves as he walked, “Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin’ feet, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell rock!!!!”
👅 / my muse licks your muse .
“Stop.” Xander swatted at the oracle as the witch ran a hand through his hair. The vampire was not amused, his gaze on whatever book he was reading remained fixed before Atlas ran his hand through his hair again. Again, the vampire swatted at Atlas’ hand. “Stop,” Xander empathized, “what has gotten into you lately?” The vampire pressed, his gaze severe as he leveled his eyes on Atlas at last. The witch smiled, grabbed Xander’s head between his hands and pulled his face towards his so that he could run the flat of his tongue across the entire length of the vampire’s face. “Ugh.” Xander objected as he pushed a laughing witch off of him, the hint of a smile on the vampire’s face despite his disgust. “You’re gross.”
△ My muse shows up outside your muse’s door after being presumed dead.
Apparently they pissed off the wrong person, or there was someone who wanted to separate them from Noah. It was not the first time such a thing had happened, knocked unconscious, bound in irons and locked in a sarcophagus of the same material, they were cast into the middle of the Aegean where they sank to the bottom. Drowning over and over again. The salt water in their lungs kept them from walking through dreams, and their chains kept them from breaking free. Nemesis could not say how long had passed, but they knew that eventually time would see them released from their Aegean prison.
As Fate would have it, a fisherman’s net got caught on their tomb, when one diver went down to untangle it, they spied the sarcophagus, some time later a research team was dispatched to retrieve it. Nemesis assumed themselves free, but they were imprisoned once more, this time in a lab where they were put through test after test in a sterile white environment. Gradually their powers returned, as did their drive, while the researchers were fascinated by their ability to heal, to levitate, and to render anyone unconscious with a single touch. They did not know the extent of what the oneiroi could do.
When the researchers who experimented on them had all but killed each other off, Nemesis freed themselves and left the facility behind, intent to return to Greece. They had long lost track of the phoenix’s mind, but they had a hope that Noah would have remained in Corinth, or at least thought to return, they were right. Their old apartment was still inhabited, and immediately the spirit could feel Noah’s magic burning within. The world had changed in the decades since Nemesis had disappeared, but not so much that they could not make their way to stand outside their old apartment door.
They knocked, and Noah opened the door, eyes immediately wide. Nemesis smiled.
"I will sing of stately Aphrodite, gold-crowned and beautiful, whose dominion is the walled cities of all sea-set Kypros. There the moist breath of Zephyros the western wind wafted her over the waves of the loud-moaning sea in soft foam, ad there the gold-filleted Horai welcomed her joyously.”
- Homeric Hymn 6 to Aphrodite
“You’re beautiful.” Dante argued, to which he was treated with little more than a tired roll of the woman’s eyes, but it was the truth. An objective statement of fact. Since they were dealing in absolute truths, Dante could only assume that was one that men and women alike peddled against her, frequently. “You’re successful.” He offered, they stood in her bar, after all. Her employees buzzed around them, bussing tabled, pouring drinks, checking in to see if she needed anything. Ejecting those who caused too much trouble. She peered at him now, more closely, but still with a waned interest. “You have a secret.” Dante guessed, some people carried mystery on their shoulders as some people held onto grief, her eyes cornered him, but she did little in the ways of confirmation beyond taking a tentative sip from the rich red in her glass.
“You don’t care what people think.” The genasi examined her more closely now, her poise, the cant of her chin, the way she levelled her eyes against him at last. She had permitted him at her table, that was step one, but Dante could not tell if the ice he treaded on now was cracking or expanding. His gaze softened, but only just. “You’ve been hurt before.” Dante cautioned, Kasandra drank once more, but the woman had not ejected him from her presence just yet. “You’re lonely.” She set her glass down, but here the woman sat, alone, in a room filled with people none of them were her equal.
Dante smiled. “You’re thinking about me naked right now.” Kasandra’s gaze hardened.
“No.” She denied, tired. Kasandra stood up from the table, clearly done with the very obvious game that Dante was playing at.
“It was worth a shot.” The genasi breezed, she looked at him with the same unreadable gaze as before, close enough that the scent of berries and lavender floated past his senses. He waited for her to eject him from the club, Kasandra had that power, but instead she gestured for the genasi to follow.
My mind is filled with cataclysm and apocalypse. I wish for earthquakes, eruptions, flood.
-Madeline Miller, Song of Achilles
The midday sun is what awakens the phoenix first, blaring, intense, taunting. A reminder of the cruel things done in the dead of the night. He reached for the half-empty bottle on the night stand and drew it to his lips and bit back the intense burn that followed the homemade brew. Alcohol was rare distilleries were a thing of the past, and what do-gooders remained in the world used such things for healing or to ward away infection.
The phoenix moved to sit on the edge of his bed, the warn mattress atop rusted springs groaned in agony as he tipped the bottle to his lips once more and polished it off. He thought of the blade nestled between the two beneath him as a warm smile burned in his mind’s eye. Laughter, love. Then anger flashed in its place and the bottle was obliterated against the far wall of his earthen home.
“Dúnamis?” A boy shouted as he entered through the cloth flap that separated the interior of his hovel from the busy street outside. The boy in question had seen no more than fifteen summers in question, but he had no parents to speak of.
“What?!” Dúnamis roared as burning blue eyes that flashed gold glowered at the boy who was barely more than a child. He retreated a step, but stood his ground.
“You said there would be more to sell today.” The voice was meek, but Dúnamis did little more than grumble in retort before he staggered with lethargic limbs towards the clay jars beneath the window. The phoenix lifted the lid on one of the oldest of the brews and sniffed at the fermented fruit, the thick fumes burned his sinuses and made his eyes water. Idly he fished an apricot from the jar with his fingers and swallowed it down, he coughed through the morsel before he replaced the lid.
“This one.” Dúnamis muttered before he waved the boy off and retreated towards the bathroom, he heard the boy slowly walking the heavy jar toward the market. He was annoying, but useful, the boy was nimble, quick, he gathered the fruit that the phoenix needed to make his brew, then peddled it for him on Dúnamis‘s behalf.
The townsfolk of the dilapidated ruin were frightened of him, and for good reason, when Dúnamis had first arrived in town they had tried to chase him from their home. He had reduced all of them to nothing but ash, not even bones remained of those who had stood against him.
Dúnamis splashed water on his face from a stagnant basin and stared at his reflection in a broken mirror. Unchanged. Thousands and thousands of years, and not even a grey hair, the only scar on his body nestled just above his gut. It had been so long since Hakon’s passing that Dúnamis no longer remembered his face, so long since Selene’s murder that he had forgotten the sound of her smile. The phoenix’s hands curled at the sides before his fist connected with the mirror, he watched as the broken mirror shattered his reflection further.
Blood pooled from his hand, but only for a few moments, then it was healed. Dúnamis had thought once that his power was a blessing, but he saw now that this was little more than a curse. Not at all unlike the cubi who once walked this Earth. For all that the Gods had been, they had abandoned their creations, yet Dúnamis remained.
A scream broke his train of thoughts, he was content to ignore it until he recognized it as the boy. Dúnamis was out in the street immediately and saw a group of thugs waiting for him, the boy under the arm of one, a blade pressed to his throat. The bone dagger that was under Dúnamis’s bed was held firm in his hand now, these men would all die, their actions next would dictate how.
“Release him.” Dúnamis demanded, his brow furrowed as his blue eyes flashed gold, the boy begged for the phoenix to save him, tears stained his cheeks and the scene was far too familiar. He remembered the way Gabriel had begged, Dúnamis‘s sister’s cruel smile. The dagger presently in the phoenix’s hand, pressed firmly to the incubus’s throat. “Nikephoros. Do not be afraid.”
The boy nodded, a soft whimper fell from his lips.
“You will leave Istanbul tonight, or the boy dies.” The thug demanded, the blade pressed deeper into Nike’s throat, a small trickle of blood appeared and Dúnamis felt his brow deepen that much further.
“I will not. Let him go or-” Dúnamis did not get the chance to finish the threat, the blade was drawn across Nike’s throat and those who were nearest to the phoenix rushed towards him. He felt a blade in his side, but it was not enough. He roared, in rage and hate and anguish. There was a flash, white, hot - bright as the sun. An explosion followed soon after as the jars within his home combusted, minute in comparison to him.
It was over just as quickly as it had begun, the homes nearest him were gone, small fires ignited about the area and everywhere people were screaming. They were afraid, as they should be. For an instant, the petrified bones of those who had been caught in the flash remained where they had stood, then crumbled to ash on the wind.
"He appeared on a jutting headland by the shore of the fruitless sea, seeming like a stripling in the first flush of manhood: his rich, dark hair was waving about him, and on his strong shoulders he wore a purple robe."
- Homeric Hymn 7 to Dionysus
🌷 a time my muse said they loved yours.
Ikaros was in another continent when he got the call. The trickster recognized the number immediately as Andreas’s biological father. Drawing a distinction between the two felt important, because Ikaros did not consider puffed up suit to be any real relation to him. Phillppos Diakos was made of hot air and oppression, overbearing and certain to try and sculpt his children in his own image. Unyielding and relentless. Ikaros truly grew to hate him even before the breadth of his memories had returned.
His real father was a craftsmen, whose hands were worn and scarred and practiced over years of carving. Ikaros had long lost the memory of his face, but the laughter that had filled their home, had ebbed over hills, that was something that the trickster would never forget.
“What do you want?” Ikaros had asked, his voice narrow with contempt.
“It’s Ari.” The man explained and there was nothing but silence from the trickster’s end for several seconds.
“I’m on my way.”
A plane with two transfer and a cab ride later, and Ikaros was at the hospital, looking for directions to his brother’s private room.
“He actually showed up.”
Ikaros recognized the sharp voice of Philip Diakos and set his eyes upon him at once, by now he knew the details of what had happened, knew what the pressures that the Diakos name had done to his baby brother. To Ari. He locked eyes with Philip first, then Penelope, Andreas’s mother.
“You’ve some nerve speaking to me that way.” Ikaros approached, “When we both know full well your fucking son is in there because of you.” His words were sharp, severe, he pointed to Ari’s room as he shouted loudly in the hall but none besides Philip seemed effected.
“Me? You walked out on this family and your brother goes to shit, so whose really to blame you pu-” Philip did not get the chance to finish his sentence, Ikaros’s fist connected with his jaw and the two were brawling in the hallway moments later. Penelope was yelling for Philip to stop, screaming that she wanted to know what was wrong with her husband.
Invisible to Andreas’s mother, Ikaros leaned against the wall of the corridor and watched as Philip wrestled with himself on the floor and threw himself against a med cart. He screamed all manner of obscenities before security arrived to escort them both from the hospital, without missing a beat, Ikaros slipped into Ari’s room. That would keep them from Ari’s room for the foreseeable future, his brother needed to rest, recover, and Ikaros was sure that his parents were not helping.
Ikaros felt his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of his brother, his hollowed frame, eyes that appeared sunken like a grave. He knew the look, had been responsible for driving people to even further edges, had laughed at their misery. But Ari was family, at least in this life, and he was good, and kind. They had had years together, and for so long, Ari had been all the trickster had. He confided in his baby brother his haunted dreams, how he could trick others into seeing what he wanted. Ikaros would laugh and make flowers bloom, cry and bend trees to reach towards him.
The trickster pulled a chair from the corner and sat at his brother’s bedside, he held the human’s hand in his own and promised:
“I love you Ari, and I swear - I will always protect you.”
🍃 a time my muse left home.
“If you walk out that door don’t you EVER come back!” Philippos Diakos had yelled, “Andreas!” He shouted, and Ikaros could only roll his eyes, he was once more trapped in the body of an eighteen year old boy, whose father believed he could control him. Ikaros ignored the man as he headed for the door with his suitcase. The larger man gripped his arm and tried to force his son to face him, in a flash Philip was brought to his knees, a concealed blade held to his throat as Ikaros glowered at him from above.
There was a scream as Penelope looked on, Ikaros glanced at his once-mother and saw Ari watching from behind her. He smirked and looked at Philip,
“I’ve killed men for less. Touch me and you’ll burn.” Ikaros promised, he pulled open the door and headed out of the home onto the streets of Thessaloniki, the world had changed even in the last eighteen years since he had left it. The internet was a huge deal now.
“Andreas!” Ikaros turned at the sound of Ari’s voice, he pulled from his mother’s house and ran across the yard towards Ikaros. Reflexively the trickster dropped his suitcase and felt his arms fold around his younger brother. “Don’t go.” Ari pleaded, but Ikaros only sighed.
“I must.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me - I thought, you said you were going to be a lawyer like Dad.”
“That man is not my father, and either of them are hardly parents to you.” Ikaros breezed, his brows narrowed on the two who still stood on the porch. “There is a lot that I need to do, that I must do, attending college - law school, neither of those things fit in with my plan.”
“And me?” Ari asked, eyes full.
“You will always be my brother, you have my number, I’ll keep it active so you and I can keep in touch. These people-” he looked back to Philip and Penelope, “they are no good for you, when you’re old enough, come find me.”
“So you’re just going to leave?”
“That’s the power of free will Ari, there is nothing tying us here, to them, to Thessaloniki, the world is a big place, and I want to see all of it. Experience every corner, and you should too.” Ikaros did not want to leave Ari, but neither could he remain, he had resourced to acquire, and no desire to remain among the human parents that still wished to call him Andreas.
