for 3k followers here's a first draft of my tlou hucklerobby Dennis was in a cult and Robby "saves" him AU that I honestly may never finish (you've seen some of it before lmfaoo but ☝️ this is the full thing) (it's not that long at all lmao) (writers block!)
A few feet from where Dennis lay, a browned blood smear stains the hardwood floors. A few feet. The body was dragged out— the church is a sacred place, and even in chaos, no one dared to truly defile it— but he watched it go down, heard the gunshot, the squealing clicks like cries of a wounded animal.
Dennis has always felt bad for the Infected, compassionate, in a way he knows is a fault. It reminds him too much of pigs raised for slaughter, too much of being out of control. He looks at mangled walking corpses, alive only through parasitic fungi, and sees the human they used to be. He’s never shot one. Never stabbed one, never hurt one. He doesn’t know if he could.
All he’s ever been good at is running. Lithe, quick feet, always aching but more than used to it— a grounding, sharpening factor rather than a drawback. His soles are scraped up but toughened, calloused, weathered. He can take it. He’s good at taking it. Pain, sharp and biting, pain, dull and aching, pain, familiar. He can take it.
Lips dry and cracked, he winces as his tongue stripes out, licks over them in a futile attempt to wet the bloodied split in the center. Banged up and bruised, he’s not once tried to uncurl his limbs, not sure if he could. Why did he try so hard to stay alive? All to rot here with the wood, all to sit with himself in his shame.
He wants to pray, swallows thickly to whisper the familiar words, but they won’t come out. Throat dry as his mouth, an invisible hand around his throat keeping him from reaching out to the unseen force he’s never quite been on good terms with. He doesn’t know why he still tries, when God has never once heard his pleas. When God inflicts the pain instead of taking it away, bears down on his laden shoulders instead of lightening the burden, as he was taught. What a fucking lie.
But it’s a comforting lie, one that used to widen his eyes in wonder as a kid, one that gives a semblance of soothing even now. Silly, pathetic, Dennis just wants a father. Even an unseen one, even one who would hurt him. A figure to decide his fate, to tell him what to do. All knowing, all powerful. A hand guiding him forward, leading him like a lamb to slaughter.
The creak of the church is haunting, wind groaning through the wood like phantoms buried. The daylight is trickling away again, beams retracting from the windows, dimming the heavy atmosphere. Ever since Dennis was a child, he’s been scared of the dark, and years later he hasn’t shaken it. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathes shaky, the dust making him cough quietly as his head slumps back to the floor.
He’s so, so tired. Cold and shivering, impossibly heavy for his slender frame. He just— he just wants to go to sleep. That’s it. Just for a little while.
Just for a minute.
…
“What’s a little thing like you doin’ out here, huh?”
The voice is gravelly, low, quiet, like whoever it belongs to is talking to himself, not to Dennis. Vaguely he registers hands on his body, trying to uncurl him, gentle but prodding, taking note of his bruises. A quiet groan is all he can manage, coming out as more of a whimper, weak and spent as his eyes crack open to the man, knelt, leaning over him.
The church pew that used to be safely over his head is gone, or maybe he is, dragged out from underneath it. Like a prey animal, his heart start to pick up, pitter-pattering painfully in his chest as he blinks away his bleariness, hiccups out a quiet noise as the man’s thumb presses gently into a bruise on his hip. He should feel revolted, he should pull away, fight, but he can’t, the man’s palms are warm and all over his body and he doesn’t hate it and he should. He should.
“Hurts,” he manages to whisper, hoarse, aching.
Dennis catches it, the flicker of darkness in the man’s eyes before they soften. It pulses fear in his chest, but still, he does not pull away. Breathless and woozy, he considers maybe God heard the quiet pleas of his heart. Maybe this man is an angel. Maybe this man is going to help him.
…
Robby doesn’t know if he’s ever experienced luck this good. A miracle so palpable it almost makes him wanna believe in G-d again, this sweet, adorable little thing blinking up at him with the biggest, bluest eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. In the middle of nowhere, alone, vulnerable… poor baby. Don’t you need someone to take care of you? I could take care of you, sweetheart.
His hands slide from the boy’s torso to his neck, pressing into his pulse, tamping down a grin when he feels it rabbit under his fingertips. How sweet.
“What’s your name, little mouse? Can you speak?” Robby inquires, staying gentle, quiet, not wanting to scare the kid off.
The boy blinks up at him, throat bobbing underneath Robby’s hands with a thick swallow. He tries to open his mouth and obey— what a good boy, doesn’t even hesitate— and fails, mouth too weak, vocal cords uncooperative with disuse. Only a small sound comes out, raspy and weak. That just won’t do.
“Poor thing,” Robby whispers, sliding his hands up from the boy’s throat to cradle his face, stroking the pads of his thumbs under those pretty eyes. He watches satisfactorily as the boy droops ever so slightly, shudders. You like that, huh, mouse?
Robby inches closer, head tilting, studying the boy’s pretty face— so pretty it’s hard to believe he’s real, alive in a place like this. Cute, sharp nose, and even cracked and bleeding his lips look so invitingly pink. Sweaty and tangled, his dark blond curls are still cute, chopped haphazardly like he’s done it himself. He’s on the thinner side, hungry, but Robby can fix that. Robby will fix that.
Little pants tremor out of the poor kid, puffs of air brushing over Robby’s hand. Still so scared, baby. That’s alright. It’s cute. He pulls the boy’s lip up to expose his teeth, bringing up his other hand to trace along the sharp edges. His mouth parts readily, pink and pretty, licked nervously dry. Even as the younger man trembles, a little whimper caught in the back of his throat, he is still, easy, pliant. Something to be guided, something to be molded and taught. A prey animal that knows he’s done running.
Robby has him in his maw, and he’ll keep him there, won’t bite down. It’s enough for the kid to know that he could if he wanted to, feel the pressure around his throat, caged and helpless. Robby chuckles, presses his thumb gently into a canine. The sharp point is a tiny pain on the pad of his finger. The boy doesn’t try anything, doesn’t fight, even though he could, even though Robby has offered a way to hurt him on a silver platter. It’d be as easy as breathing, clamping down on Robby’s fingers ‘til they bled. The sweet thing doesn’t, of course.
“You really don’t have any bite to you at all, now do ya, kid?” Robby coos, softens himself, because while he wants this pretty thing either way— would look so good in his cabin, in his sheets, on his floors— it’d make things so much easier for them both if the boy chose it himself.
The boy responds, a small shake of his head, followed by a wince. Robby frowns, upset at the reminder of the pain the boy— his boy must be in, the possibility of it being inflicted by someone else, by foreign hands. That’s not right, not at all, but it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s another thing for him to fix. It’s another thing he can fix.
“Gonna get you up, now, okay? Yeah, oh, I know,” Robby sighs, sympathetic, as the boy’s eyes widen again, a protesting whimper falling from his cracked lips. “I know, honey-baby, I know it’s gonna hurt. How’d you get so banged up, mouse?”
The question is one the boy can’t answer, not right now, at least, but Robby hopes the attempt to explain will distract him for at least a few seconds as he scoops his arms under the little thing, hauls him up into his grip. His boy hiccups, the cutest little tears slipping out of his eyes as his chest heaves, body tremoring with a mix of fear and ache. Robby feels a little tinge in his chest as he carries the poor thing out of the church, but it’s hard to focus on much else when his boy is such a pretty crier, sniffling in his grasp, noises pitiful and soft.
Between the ages of about 14 and 24, the period where my social anxiety/whatever other shit was at it's most intense, there was effectively one person on earth I ever spoke to. I won't belabour this point too much but you need to take my word that that's not an exaggeration; I was never literally mute but the substantive conversations I had with anyone besides this person throughout that whole decade could probably be counted on fingers.
This friendship began suddenly--in my memory we went from hardly noticing each other during the first couple years of secondary school to talking every day with no build-up at all--was kind of involved and intense in both good and bad ways, was intermittently sexual but never romantic throughout basically the whole ten years, became slowly and steadily worse after a time until it eventually became awful for reasons that were wholly my fault, and ended decisively forever one day after an incident that's far too embarrassing for me to be willing to describe it here. Today--I didn't have the date memorized, I had to look it up, but I've been conscious for a while that it was sometime this April--it has been exactly ten years since I last saw him. I have no clue what's going on with his life now beyond that I'm pretty sure he doesn't live in this city anymore.
I've tried to write about him on this blog a few times, there's some drafts in the drafts, but never really got very far, beyond a few peripheral bits (you may possibly remember him as the friend from the nearly-stepped-on-a-frog anecdote, for example). It's all very embarrassing and hard to summarize and a long time and a long time ago (<-two separate things), I don't seem to be able to talk about it in a way that feels satisfactory. This post won't satisfy me either but I feel a superstitious need to get something down before the 10 years has officially passed, like I forfeit the right to mention it if I still haven't by then.
I remember so clearly the feeling that my capacity to make even shallow connections with new people had been permanently destroyed somehow in early adolescence, and he was the one exception that had been mysteriously granted me by providence; I could be smart and funny and candid and charming when I was around him, while with everyone else in the world I could barely get a sentence out, and no amount of exposure to other people seemed to change that. I fully expected, was completely convinced, that I would never have another friend or even friendly acquaintance for the rest of my life. I was wholly convinced that if I ever lost him that would be the end of all communications between me and the human species, it would make me fully a ghost forever.
(Which sounds extreme in retrospect, but please understand that it was years and years and years until I received even a small scrap of evidence contradicting this; the entirety of my teenage years and then the entirety of my student years and then some more time went by without me ever really existing in the presence of any other person. I don't think I can truthfully say my anxieties about this were irrational.)
That's a very me-centric write-up; of course he was wonderfully curious and playful and intelligent and aesthetically-minded like nobody I'd encountered before etc etc, of course he was beautiful. I'm not going to try to describe him in any detail because I'm writing to a deadline. If I've ever been in love, which who really knows and who cares, but if I have it's only happened once and this was it.
When this went bad it went bad in ways that are probably kind of predictable if I've accurately communicated the situation so far. My attachment to him was too neurotic to make a stable and good friendship. I needed him a lot more than he needed me, he had other people and I didn't, I was never going to feel like I was getting what I wanted out of the friendship in the long run because he was one singular guy with his own life who I was relying on to fulfill 100% of my social needs forever. Eventually the gap between how much time and attention each of us wanted to give each other became awkward, then tense, and then honestly downright creepy on my part. It was only later in retrospect that I really appreciated how deeply this all must have sucked from his perspective as well as mine. I did not, to understate significantly, handle the lack of reciprocity gracefully. I was pretty shameless about the kind of guilt-tripping and boundary-ignoring talk and behaviour that puts me in a bit of a cold sweat to think back on now. I was a terrible, terrible friend to him towards the end and I'm amazed looking back that he put up with me for so long.
Well, so it ended, which was obviously right. It was hard, but also since our relationship had come to largely consist of anxious tension by that point there couldn't not be some relief there too, to have a clean break. It took a long time to adjust; my thoughts had been habitually oriented towards him for almost as long as I remembered, things I experienced and read and saw and etc kept offering themselves as things to talk to him about, long long after we'd stopped talking. Nowadays I virtually never think about him, but when I do I notice that I'm still capable of missing him, not very painfully, but it's there. And then I'm sometimes uncannily conscious of the strange fact, which might apply to many or most intense early friendships(? not sure about that), of how much of my personality was originally built with and around him, of the way (eg) much of my sense of humour was calibrated on wanting to make him laugh, of the way many little idiosyncrasies and quirks in the way I speak became firmly established because he responded to them, way back then, all kinds of stuff like that. Strange to be reminded that you made yourself at a specific moment in time and made yourself for someone, and for a specific someone.
heey! so basically I really need like 20 urgently for train fair and public transport tickets until the weekend and also my wisdom tooth got pulled and it hurts like hell so i'd like to buy some painkillers too and I've got ...2 dollars in my bank account so that's a problem in general ahaha... if you'd like a cool drawing and help me out in the process I'd be super grateful :")
I'll put the link in a reblog to the kofi listing of comissions, but it's also in my pinned! my ko-fi link that is!
I didnt mean to fall for you, but im glad i did. Pt1
Minors DNI. 18+ violence. Cursing. Y/N x Winter Soldier. Y/N x Bucky Barnes.
(I didn't proof read, so I'm really sorry if its bad, but please enjoy if you can, support by liking and reblogging <3 )
you were 24 years old, you were smart, fast, and strong, you had skills, you were made to use them more often than not, you were apart of an organization, not hydra, thank god for that, but you were apart of an organization that had it's similarities, you know how the government is, always trying to make another weapon better than the last, well you were one of them.you were born in 1993, you had a decent little childhood, a decently bright future, that's what you'd always been told anyways, well you guessed they weren't too wrong, your future was something alright, you grew up a somewhat happy child, you had your friends, and family, you had a good little life, but something always felt off, different, you never understood what it was, what that feeling deep inside meant, All you could understand was you weren't like everyone else, you were faster than all the other kids, you were somewhat smarter than the other kids, you moved differently, the older you got the more those feelings increased, as did your abilities, when you were older, preteen, you'd find yourself in fights with other kids, you'd never lose, you always managed to kick the shit out of whoever tried to attack you, you were just skilled, that's what you told yourself, that's what you were told, it wasn't until years later you learnt the truth. the truth being you were in fact born different.
you were 2 years old when your biological mother died, you were 2 years old when you were placed with a nice loving family who took you in and loved you deeply, you were 17 when you learnt that your biological mother had been impregnated by a 'super soldier' you were 17 when you learnt that your mother was hunted down and killed, you were 17 when you learnt that hydra had figured out one of their own super soldiers had created a child who bared the abilities of a super soldier without the need of serum, you were 17 years old when shield found out about you and brought you in, they said it was for your own safety, you were told that hydra knew about you, that they have been hunting you down for years, you would be a gold mine for them, a child born with super soldier abilities without the need of serum?, if they could get their hands on you, that could be the beginning, of another world war, if hydra had been successful in creating another 'super soldier child' then they wouldn't be trying so hard to get you, something about you would be deeply beneficial to them, and the government wasn't about to let that happen* *you were told that you could be a 'hero' could help save the world, you were told that with your 'natural' abilities you could use them for something besides yourself, something told you that you didn't have much of a choice, but you also knew you'd be safer if you did what was 'asked' of you, and hell you could make a difference, so you agreed* *you were 17 when you joined shield, a decision that changed your life forever. you were 17 when you learned how to properly 'kill' a man. you were 18 when you took a life for the first time. you were 19 when you met the avengers, shield wanted you to learn something or two from an actual super soldier, and learn you did, captain Steve Rogers had taught you more ways to defend yourself than ways to kill, you liked it better that way, you learned to get used to this life, and sparing with someone who didn't want you to kill every target you came face to face with, was relieving, you'd met them all, you liked them, you had already known Natasha since shield first took you in, so you two were already well acquainted. you didn't fully trust banner, but you liked him, Tony annoyed you deeply, but you leaned to like him, honestly you preferred his AI system 'jarvis' over him* *you were 20 when you first met 'Him' the winter soldier, deadliest assassin known to man, the year was 2014, just a few years after shield had taken you in, you thought maybe you'd be safe from whatever hydra threat was out there, no, you were just wrong, the soldier wasn't specifically sent after just you.
you'd caught his attention though, you'd caught all of hydras attention, and hell you didn't even mean to, you'd got caught up in some heavy shit, one moment things were fine, you were working under Nick fury, actually enjoying your life, doing small missions. the next thing you know, fury is 'dead' Shield is corrupted by Hydra, and you're just caught in the crossfire, hydra intended infiltrate shield, and finding out you were apart of shield that was just icing on the cake, they knew your location, your address, everything about you, they knew, and suddenly you were on the run, when Natasha and Steve had caught on to the fact that shield was corrupt, they went for you, told you it was time to get the hell out of here, and without question you followed. that's how you met Sam Wilson, that's also how you fully found out that hydra had been slithering their way into Shield for a while, and that it was no longer safe to be with shield. it broke your heart finding out that fury was 'dead' the man was an asshole sometimes, but he had his good days, he was nice to you, you'd get along pretty well, you and Maria were good friends too, you could only imagine how this was all affecting her, she was closer to fury than you were* *you were in a car, speeding down the highway, Sam was driving, Steve was in the passenger seat, bickering with the low level hydra trash, jasper Sitwell, Natasha and you were in the back seat, crammed together with the hydra agent, everything seemed fine, until you heard a loud Thud from on top of the car, your head snapped upwards, confused* "What was tha-OH SHIT!" *A large metal hand shot through the back window, grabbing and ripping the hydra agent from the backseat through the window, flinging the man into oncoming traffic into the next lane, like it was nothing, Natasha wasted no time, she shoved you down onto the floorboard* "stay down!" *she yelled, ordering you to do so, she climbed into the front seat, as bullets rang through the air, she took Steve's shield, throwing it into the back seat, over you, blocking on-coming bullets, you felt a hard bump from the back of the car as bullets fired all around.
You lifted your head a little, looking around you couldn't just do nothing, Natasha's gun had fallen out of her reach, you shifted yourself, pulling a gun from your holster, you took the safety off, pointing it to the top of the car before you pulled the trigger shooting at whatever the hell was up there, Sam slammed on breaks, throwing the person off, sending them flying several feet across the highway, the sound of metal scraping pavement could be heard, you shot up, looking ahead of you, towards the highway, a man, a large man, with a metal arm, a mask and goggles hiding his face, kneeled in the road, slowly he stood up, messy brown hair covering most of his face, making him more that intimidating, you looked the others, the look on Natasha's face was that of fear, something you didn't see on her much, she knew this man, anter vehicle hit the back of the car, sending Sam speeding forward, inching closer and closer to the masked man, just as the car was about to make contact with masked assassin, the jumped forward, doing some sort of in human side flip, onto the top of the car, a metal hand shot through the windshield, ripping the steering wheel from its place, you screamed in shock and fear, as Natasha finally grabbed her gun, aiming and shooting at the roof of the car* "Oh my God what the hell are we going to fucking do?!" *you screamed, as the car swayed from side to side, you knew this would be how you fucking died* *you looked behind you, in the now broken rear windshield, to see the metal armed man on the hood of a huge military looking jeep, hydra was on your asses* "Im going to die, this is how I die" *the car was hit from the rear once more, sending it to the side* "No were not!" *Steve yelled through the chaos, Steve reached into the backseat, grabbing his shield, as he tried to work the door open* "Y/N move up here now!" *he yelled* "All of you hold on!" *thank god this man was a super soldier, he somehow managed to get all three of you, safely enough out of the car, the three of you were skidding across the highway on the broken car door, Sam and you had went rolling a few feet across the highway, a few scratches but that was it, you were both lucky considering the situation* .*you stood up, looking around, your eyes wide, the masked strides forward, being handed a goddamn grenade launcher?.* "Shit shit shit" *Steve wasted no time in pushing both you and Natasha out of the way, she grabbed your wrist, jerking you along with her, the two of you barley missing the explosion as it hit Steve's shield, sending him flying*
*you and Natasha made a run for it, but oh his eyes were on you both as the two of you ducked behind a car, you pulled your gun, as did Natasha, shooting at the other hydra agents, the soilder aimed his weapon, shooting another explosive in your direction. you turned and jumped over the lane barrier, sliding out of the way, just in time as an oncoming car passed you* "we're fucked" *You said to Natasha, you tucked and rolled beside of a car as bullets shot through the air, you two made another run for it, as the soldier sent another explosive in your direction, she grabbed you by the waist as she shoots a grappling hook into the the cement bridge, sadly lowering you both down, once your feet hit the ground she ran, and so did you. you looked ahead, you could see the shoulders shadow from where he stood above you, you pulled out your gun, holding it between both hands, the soldier looked around, trying to locate the two of you, you aimed upwards, and took your shot, you got him, in what wou;I've been the eye if he wasn't wearing protective face gear, you turned on your heel running* "I got him but I don't know if he's dead" *you called out to her, as you two made a run for it, to a nearby safe spot*.*the soldier stood up, in his hand held a large gun, he took his aim and began firing multiple rounds at you both, Natasha shot back, you went around the vehicle where he wouldn't see you, and took your shot, you missed but it got his attention enough to aim bis shots at you, you took your chance, running, giving Natasha time to get away*"What the hell are you doing are you insane?!" *she yelled after you* "I got this nat! go find Steve! I can handle myself for a few minutes, just find Steve!" *you yelled back to the redheaded assassin, she hesitated for a second, but she did as you asked, she went in the other direction, while you distracted the soldier**the soldier jumped down from the bridge, landing on a car beneath, you turned to look behind you, and there he was, striding forward, holding his weapon, his eyes trained on you, watching you like his life depended on it, you turned to your left, hauling ass down a side street and beside of an abandoned car, crouching down, you took a few deep quiet breaths, you could handle this of course you could, you had to, if you didn't want to fucking die right now* *people screamed and ran throughout the streets, you knew he was close, oh so close to you, that thought sent fear through your veins, you reached down, into your pocket, pulling out your phone* "Come on come on" *you mumbled, tuning on a recording, Natasha was right, this would come in handy one day, you propped it against the wheel of the car, and quietly moved to another car, watching silently and quietly as the soldier stalked forward, stopping in his tracks in front of the car you'd just been behind, moments ago, he slowly kneeled down, reaching behind him, grabbing something, and slowly rolling it underneath the car, you watched silently as he stood up, aiming his weapon, waiting as another explosion went off*
*you stood up while his attention was on the explosion, where he thought you were, you hopped up onto a car that was behind him, and lunged forward, you kicked dhis gun right from his hand as you landed on him, legs wrapped around him straddling his shoulders, you pulled out a retractable wire device, throwing it over his head, you attempted to choke him out, pulling it tightly, but his hand came up faster than you could move, preventing you from your little attempt, he shifted backwards, slamming you backwards into the car behind, he reached up grabbing your arm and thigh, lifting and throwing you forward into the nearest car, your body hit the car with a loud 'thud' a groan fell from your lips as you lifted yourself up,just as he went for his gun again, you stood up, shifting fast, you threw a high kick, kicking that gun right out of his hands again, it slide across the pavement hitting the curb, you looked at him, as he reaches beside him probably to take out another fucking gun, you reached into your pocket, pulling out a small round metal device, you didn't hesitate to throw it forward, it landed on his arm, temporarily immobilizing him, you raised a brow, before stepping back, the soldier shifted his arm, lifting it and rotating it forward, it made a sound, you stepped back, those big visible brown eyes held hatred as he made eye contact, he reached back, pulling out a knife* "you just don't give up do you?"
*you took a deep breath before you ran forward at him, he threw a punch at you, which you ducked, he swung his knife ar you, missing your chest by an inch, you dropped to the ground, kicking your leg outwards, sweeping his legs out from underneath him, he hit the ground hard, instantly sitting up, you shifted fast, kicking him straight into he face, before you rolled to the side, you stood up as he leaned back, kicking his legs forward, landing in a standing position, gripping his knife, you'd only managed to piss him off more* "Not much of a talker huh?" *You said, as he strides forward, slamming you into a van behind you, he made a move, bringing the knife down, but you grabbed his metal wrist, preventing it, you weren't as strong as him, by no means were you, but you were strong, which gave you an advantage, you managed to keep him from stabbing you, he looked at you, with shock? on his face, you breathed hard, looking him in the eyes, breathing deeply, you were shocked with how beautiful his eyes looked to you, you were both so close to each other, faces just inches away from the other, crazy assassin or not, there was just something about him that just drew you in, he seemed to loosen his grip, momentairly, he shook his head, blinking, before he shoved it forward again, you shifted his arm, causing him to stab the van, slashing through the metal, you duck as his other fist comes forward, you duck underneath his arms, turning fast, you kicked him in the back of the knee, taking his knife from where it was stabbed into the van, you held it before bringing it down, stabbing it into his shoulder, you couldn't win against him, but you could run,
so you turned, on your heel, making a run for it, you were fast, but he was faster, as you turned, you didn't see it coming, the knife you had just used to stab him with, came flying towards you, hitting you right in the chest, thankfully it hit more to the side and up, closer to the shoulder, just as it did, Steve and Natasha entered the scene, Steve went forward to handle the soldier, and Natasha tended to you.you learnt something during that fight, as you were bleeding out watching Steve and the metal armed hunter fight, you learned that you could not win a fight against the soldier, and that his name was Bucky. your eyes closed, as the world went dark*
I’m interested. How do Apollo and Artemis’s desire to protect each other drive a wedge between them?
I'm glad you askeddd. Thank you for being my first anon ever btw. (@crowmakeska-boom idk if you are the anon but anon, whoever you are, sorry for the wait). This is probably not a very good meta cause it's mostly vibes, gut feelings and filling in the blanks with below the bare minimum of textual evidence but oh well.
First I'd like to talk about why I think Artemis and Apollo's relationship is kind of distant. They're a confusing duo. When you first meet them in the titan's curse it may seem they don't like each other much or atleast Artemis seems to not be paticularly fond of her brother. Calling him “irresponsible”, “lazy”, “big headed”. But reading between the lines reveals how much the two of them care for each other, especially on Apollo's part from all the illegal help he was dishing out to the questers.
But then when you read some more, their relationship just feels a tad too distant to completely take what they say as just banter. When we see them on Delos in Blood of Olympus the distance is literal. They're recycling banter that's getting old and you can tell that even if it had been lighthearted before, it’s definitely getting on both their nerves now (stolen from fsinger lmao). They’ve both been playing the part for a long time but it feels like they don’t have the closeness anymore to recognize they’re both just playing parts.
So what happened?
I think it's their need to protect each other that's causing this rift between them. From my point of view Artemis & Apollo are protecting each other from different things but Olympus is at the core of it for the both of them.
The twins have a very different experience of Olympus. Since her introduction Artemis seems pretty critical of Olympus. According to the hunters she's the only one who can get the ball rolling during solstice meetings and she's shown to not really act the Olympian way. Taking the sky off the shoulders of a mortal girl. Shrinking herself down to make the human heroes feel more comfortable and demanding they get rewarded.
It wouldn't be far fetched to assume that she's never fit in with Olympus and doesn't agree with most of the views of her family.
Then there's Apollo.
Who fits in so perfectly with the messed up inner workings of Olympus or so people think. He's perfected his mask over the years and no one is the wiser about the abuse he's gone through or even the fact that this isn't actually who he is.
To me, Artemis wants to protect Apollo from Olympus' true nature. In her head she's got every part of Olympus figured out and for the most part she has. Even if it's not something that works for her I think she would want to protect her younger brother from knowing what the kind of people he surrounds himself with are truly like.
I feel like Artemis would be conflicted on it for other reasons too because if Apollo is aware of the kind of people the Olympians are and he's alright with that, what kind of god is Apollo?
So she'd much rather think of him as stupid and irresponsible cause those atleast mean that it isn't he isn't a bad person. But I feel deep down she doesn't really believe completely that what she knows of her brother is correct.
But then she sees the way Zeus loves Apollo and cares for him and in her mind it's the right decision to let him live this way. He is safer now than they ever were as children.
Apollo on the other hand wants to conceal their father's true nature from Artemis. We know that he cares deeply about appearing fine on the surface because of how others would worry and who would worry more than his older sister.
Artemis and Apollo may be the protectors of youth but the first ever youth they protected were each other. It's the foundation of their relationship and caries on into the present day. Both of them feel a desperate need to protect each other.
I would go so far as to say that this is THE relationship they have with each other. The both of them never find comfort in each other, only protection. You can tell that comfort is not something they usually derive from each other from the way they're both completely blindsided by simple things like an "I love you" , a hug and just concern in general.
Comfort from each other is not a priority for them no matter how much they crave it. The twins purpose to each other is to protect.
So of course Apollo would never tell Artemis about the way Zeus hurts him.
I also think there's a little bit of denial on Artemis' part on just how abusive Zeus is. Cause Apollo is dropping hints. Even the way Artemis talks during Blood of Olympus makes it clear that she understands Zeus is gonna massacre the guy. She just doesn't want to believe it will be permanent.
And it's got a lot to do with the fact that she wants to protect him. Because if she acknowledges this isn't a situation Apollo is gonna come out from unscathed that means that she's incapable of protecting him. That means that she's failed to protect him before and cannot protect him again.
So she'd much rather pretend that Zeus is persuadable and not that bad. That it's Apollo's fault Zeus comes down so hard on him and if he were a little better and a bit more like her he could be safe.
And this would hurt Apollo because Artemis can pinpoint exactly what Zeus is like. But instead of comforting him she confirms for him that this is his fault. That if he could be better none of this would happen. Artemis helps prevent but never helps heal because helping her brother heal means he was in a position to be hurt in the first place.
All this mess and miscommunication and disbelief stemming from the fact that they love each other and never want to see each other hurt creates an impossible distance between them.
But there is light at the end of the tunnel. Slowly but surely they're trying to comfort/ seek comfort instead of just protect each other.
I wept on my sister’s shoulder. I felt like if I let go of Artemis, I would fall back into Chaos. Huge parts of my identity would shake loose, and I would never be able to find all the puzzle pieces.
“Whoa, there.” She patted my back awkwardly. “Okay, little fella. You’re all right now. You made it.”
Apollo's trials sucked. But I'm glad it's given the twins the opportunity to bridge the gap between their relationship again.
You yelled at Ghost angrily. You both got into a bit of a heated conversation. You both share a room since there’s no more room even though you’re a female..(If you want, I can do a male version! Just ask!) It’s 11:30 Pm and you enter into you and Si’s room. (Si is short for Simon.) He’s cleaning, sharpening, anything he can really do to get his mind off of the argument you both had with weapons. (Argument not about weapons. He using weapons to get his mind off of argument if you found that confusing.) He doesn’t even bother to give you a glance as he goes away sharpening one of his knives. You don’t say a word as you walk past him and flop down onto your bed. (Aka, u both share a bed >.o) You just kept flipping positions every minute. He’s sitting I. His chair as this desk, sharpening faster and harder, louder and uh…more aggressive to just drown out your shuffling noise. It didn’t help and he just made a super sharp knife anyways.He got anointed and turned his chair to face you. “Can ye stop movin lass?” He asks in a gruff and absolutely irritated voice. You don’t reply as you kinda sound like…your panting? He huffs annoyed as he went to reload one of his mags. Again, trying to make as much noise as possible to drown out your shuffling and panting. Didn’t help. He got up and walked over to look at you. Your back is turned to him. He grabs your shoulder and forces you to turn to him. You’re hot to the touch and your face is sweating, your whole body is sweating.. Your face pale and your eyes closed. “Shite…Lass…” He goes to touch your forehead after removing one of his gloves. The refreshing feel of cold hand. “Shieße (Shit in German)…Your forehead is hot..” Just as he’s about to remove his hand you grab onto his wrist keeping his hand on your forehead. “c-cool…” you mutter. “I’ll get you some Tylenol and a wet rag…” he tries to pull his hand back again. “Don’t go…” you mutter again as your eyes weakly flutter open then shut. “I’ll be right back…” You finally release his hand and he walks off to get the supplies. 2 minutes later he comes back with a bowl of cold water, rag, Tylenol and some cool water. He places the bowl next to your bed and wets the rag before placing it on your forehead. “Take some Tylenol and water then get some rest..” He also came back with a thermometer so he checked your temperature “109 degrees Fahrenheit…Bloody ‘ell…Rest lass..”, he says in a rough but surprisingly gentle voice. You take the Tylenol and water before muttering “Not so mean now aye Si?…” “Don’t get used to it lass..” He grumbled as he got ready for bed and laid down on his side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling and turned his body to look at you. He taps the sheet two times. You tap back once. When Simon does that he’s asking permission if he can hold/cuddle you. Also doing that just in case if you aren’t awake. One tap back means yes and two taps back mean no. He pulls you in. He made sure to take a cold shower before coming in bed just so you could snuggle up to him to get his coolness. Your face shading his cold chest. Well more of the side of your face cause your trying to do everything just for the rag not to fall off your face and you having to put effort into putting it back on your forehead. Every so often Ghost would get up and wet the rag again and put it on your forehead. You both fell asleep and you went back to normal temperature the next day.
I have successfully made this longer! Hope you enjoyed and remember, I take any and all ideas! Even if it’s complicated or a lil spicy!
Tbh the more I think about it the more I don't even agree that "does Omelas having a suffering kid make it more credible?" is solely an indictment of an inability to imagine a perfect utopia without there being some catch or dark underbelly.
Why does your imagination fall short? Why is it so easy to imagine that these happy people are doing something heinous behind the scenes, like taking pleasure in hurting a child? She gives an answer, a point of view, and I think there is a genuine frustration. I think she is genuinely going, when you think of a perfect utopia where everyone is happy, why are people often immediately skeptical and looking for holes? Why do people often imagine something fairytale-esque? Why do people so often imagine everyone must be stupid in such a world, that people are secretly unhappy?
And, you know, glancing at the wiki, the work seems to be in conversation with specific, kind of insufferable instances of this exact hypothetical being used.
And I kind of get that like. The inclusion of a hidden abused child that adults insist must be abandoned and abused and that most kids see the injustice of but many eventually grow up to tell themselves excuses of how "well, this is the way it has to be" is still sort of condemning a skeptical reader, and I get how walking away from omelas means to walk away from this entire hypothetical and imagine a different world rather than believe that a perfect world without a suffering child is true just because you've been told so. The metaphor is certainly there.
But simultaneously I don't agree that it's just walking away from the hypothetical. It isn't just, here you go edgelords, I gave omelas something terrible to make it more realistic, are you satisfied? There are reasons beyond a lack of imagination to be doubtful, and there are reasons beyond not accepting the "banality of evil" to find the idea of the secret suffering child compelling and, almost certainly, familiar. Maybe you've even been that hypothetical suffering child, told that your mistreatment is just and necessary for others to prosper.
I also don't think walking away possibly being read as acceptance of the framework isn't a little bit on purpose as well. I think going, "what, I'm supposed to believe this framework just because the author said so?" is a response she's purposefully trying to provoke in people! "I would save the kid anyway" is protesting against the framework of Omelas as much as "walking away" is. The hypothetical omelas likely sparks your desire to fix things, encourages you to come up with solutions, to think about what you'd do, a want to build a better world that doesn't involve the child's suffering, and going "Omelas is just a hypothetical it's not about finding a solution and you're stupid if you say you'd try to save the child" is also I think incredibly reductive, and I think it's a take that bothers me so much more because it so quickly contradicts itself and refuses to engage with a good chunk of the story put forth.
She's not just criticizing a disbelief in perfect happiness, she's also stoking your desire for one. She almost certainly put in a suffering child because most people would respond with wanting to save it.
Or maybe I'm crazy and this is nothing. Maybe I don't even believe this 100%. You'll never catch me
