Thursday -- Mythology
Jun. 21st, 2012 01:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rattyjol here again. Get out your tridents and thunderbolts, everyone, because today's theme is mythology!As always, please remember the rules:
- Don't post more than five prompts in a row. If someone fills one of your prompts, you're free to prompt again.
- Don't post more than three prompts in the same fandom.
- No spoilers in prompts.
- If your fill contains spoilers, please warn, and leave plenty of space.
And throw our codemonkeys a banana; always format your prompts correctly, like so:
Greek mythology, Artemis + Apollo, target practice
Percy Jackson verse, any, name-dropping gods to get into places
Good Omens, Aziraphale +/ Crowley, factchecking the Bible
Queen's Thief, Eugenides-the-god + wee!Gen, the kid's only just learned to walk and Eugenides has already had to stop him falling off things half a dozen times
Doctor Who/Norse mythology, any Doctor + Loki, conversation
tag=mythology
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Date: 2012-06-21 08:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:32 am (UTC)Bloodied Goblins
Date: 2012-06-22 12:53 am (UTC)“There was a goblin,” the god said, with that tiny, cracked smile of his. “Wasn’t that it? A trickster, a warrior, soaked in blood. Wasn’t that what you said?”
“Shut up,” the wizard said, but quietly, almost gently. “Shut up,” the Doctor said, and bathed the venom-scarred cheeks carefully.
“You should have guessed,” the jotunn whispered, in his chains beneath the earth. Bound before the threat of Ragnarok. But not forever. No, no. Not forever.
There is no prison, in all the universe, that may hold a goblin, a trickster, forever.
“Yes,” the alien admitted. Shrugging ruefully. “Maybe I did. Maybe, a little bit, I did.”
Loki laughed. Low and rough, from a throat ragged from screaming. Breaker of worlds, lying in wait of fire and the world’s ending. His cheek cupped in the hand of a being who had already seen it. A hundred, a thousand times over. Fire-scarred, bringing solace to the bringer of fire.
“Why do you come to me?” the god asked, soft and amused. “Do you see a mirror, here? Or an enemy?” A grin, black and glittering. “Or both?”
The Doctor looked at him. Long and thoughtful, distant and alien. Utterly familiar.
“I see a past,” he said, at last. “And a future.” He smiled, a little, soft and bleak. “I see a goblin, a blood-soaked trickster, caged.” A tilt of his head, a whisper. “I want to free you, sometimes. I want to see a fire set by someone else, a different goblin, one who is not me.”
Loki looked up at him. Leaned up in his bonds to press his cheek closer into hands that had destroyed worlds with one, gentle, push. “Will you kill me?” he asked, gently. “All of us? Every goblin in the world, until there are none left but you?” He laughed, soft and bleeding.
“I want to,” the Doctor whispered. His hand trembling about Loki’s cheek, one small, gentle push from ruin. “I want to.”
Loki laughed, rich and vicious and pained, chained tortured beneath the earth. “Then do,” he snarled, light, savage, compassionate. “Do it, destroy it, all of it. Kill us, one by one, all at once. Set the world ablaze.” That grin, that shining smile. “Ragnarok after Ragnarok. The goblin soaked in the blood of a billion worlds. Until there is nothing left. Do it.”
And for a moment … For one, long moment, while the shadows drew near, and futures clustered close, and the mirrors spun endless potential about them … For one moment, the Doctor’s expression darkened, and the Doctor’s hand tightened, denting a scarred cheek, and, for one moment, Ragnarok, in truth, beckoned.
Then, with a wrench, with a sigh, with a desperate closing of his eyes, the Doctor released his grip, and smoothed away the marks he’d made, the pain he’d caused, and whispered, soft and sad:
“I can’t. I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
And Loki, mouth twisting darkly, turned his face away.
Re: Bloodied Goblins
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From:no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:43 am (UTC)no fic but
Date: 2012-06-21 09:04 am (UTC)And would totally fill your Bela prompt if I knew more about Hawaiian mythology.
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Date: 2012-06-21 08:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:45 am (UTC)No fill, but
Date: 2012-06-21 02:21 pm (UTC)Re: No fill, but
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Date: 2012-06-21 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 08:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:13 am (UTC)Shortish fill
Date: 2012-06-22 04:03 pm (UTC)He gazes at his ship, disguised as a huge tree, and gives her a hug, feeling her living warmth through the ridiculous robes the natives had given him. The TARDIS welcomes him back and lets him step through the false shell into her larger insides. As he vanishes inside, he can hear the startled gasps and exclamations from the hill, and he rolls his eyes.
He really hopes they don’t make a big deal out of this.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:17 am (UTC)not a fill
Date: 2012-06-21 09:37 am (UTC)Gabriel is awesome.Re: not a fill
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2012-06-21 09:41 am (UTC) - ExpandRe: not a fill
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Date: 2012-06-21 09:19 am (UTC)untitled - dark, AU, gen, I have no idea when in canon this would be
Date: 2012-06-21 09:45 pm (UTC)(So, um, this turned out a bit darker than I had intended. And I play around with the sequence of events in canon. And kinda go a bit AU, I think?)
...
Everyone keeps telling him he's so very powerful, that no one like him has ever been, that he has such a grand destiny - stars and dragons and an entire people know his name. Or, well, a name they say is his, though he still feels like Merlin. Just Merlin. Just a peasant from Ealdor.
Just Merlin. A warlock. A dragonlord. Calls down lightning and stops time.
Nothing special, really. Nothing to see here. Keep on walking.
.
Arthur will be a great king. One day. He will unite the land, and restore magic, and all will be bright and wonderful. People will smile again. People will laugh. People will not shudder when the king's gaze turns to them, because the king is a good man. The best man.
One day.
But right now, Uther thunders his hate down upon the land, and Arthur stands by his side – not agreeing, but not disagreeing either. And Merlin watches a woman burn, a woman who has done nothing wrong except enrage her neighbor. There is no proof of magic, only an herb in her home. And an angry neighbor, jealous of her strong children.
Accusations of a curse and three stillborn babes, and a woman burns while the king watches, and Arthur does not look away.
.
Emrys. Destined to protect the golden king. The most powerful sorcerer in the world. Perhaps, the greatest warlock in the history of the world, that has ever been or will ever be.
He cannot believe it, because he is so terrified of anyone discovering his magic. He knows he could escape, were he arrested. He knows he could tear the castle down around him, topple it into the catacombs imprisoning the dragon.
He knows he could. He just doesn’t quite believe it, yet.
.
Gaius pleads for Uther’s life. Uther is Gaius’ king, and Merlin understands that. He truly does. Uther is Arthur’s father, and Arthur is a good man. So, too, Uther must have been, once.
Merlin can save Uther again. Spare him, as he has never spared anyone. Protect the man who eradicated the dragons and tried to erase magic.
Staring down at the dying king, Merlin smells roasting meat and feels oppressive heat.
“Please, Merlin,” Gaius says, eyes only on his king.
Gaius will never forgive him. Nor will Arthur, once he realizes the truth (as he must, one day).
But Merlin has a destiny. The druids and the dragon have told him so. Arthur will be a great king, but every moment Uther lingers, he poisons the land.
“I will do my best, Gaius,” Merlin promises.
.
Uther dies in the dead of winter. Arthur is crowned as snow falls on Camelot.
He will be a great king.
And if he is not…
Just Merlin is Arthur’s man.
Emrys is the most powerful person to ever live. The druids and the dragon swear to that. He is magic. Calls down lightning and stops time. He is meant to restore magic.
He will restore magic. And if Arthur is as great a man as Merlin hopes, he will welcome magic back to the land.
If he is not…
Merlin will grieve forever; Emrys will do what must be done.
Re: untitled - dark, AU, gen, I have no idea when in canon this would be
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Date: 2012-06-21 09:20 am (UTC)Not a Fill
Date: 2012-06-21 09:29 am (UTC)not a fill
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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2012-07-11 11:35 am (UTC) - Expand(no subject)
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Date: 2012-06-21 09:24 am (UTC)I regret nothing!
Date: 2012-06-21 09:27 am (UTC)Owls and Messengers
Date: 2012-06-21 07:41 pm (UTC)“Hermes?” the Goddess of Wisdom asked, lightly, as she stepped onto the gallery. “Fawkes is in the foyer. You wouldn’t have any idea why he’s here, would you?”
The Messenger looked up from his papers, blinking ingenuously. “Athena. What?” Bewildered, innocent, the very image of someone disturbed from important thoughts.
Athena smiled at him. The smile contained no small amount of teeth.
“Hermes, dear one. What did I tell you, about sending Glaucus to Hogwarts? What did I tell you, about pranking the wizards?” She raised a hand as he opened his mouth. “And do not think to deny it was you. Do not deny, to my face, that you have used my owl for your tricks. If for no other reason than that Glaucus will not lie to me.”
Hermes … blinked, for a second. And then smiled, casual and amused, as if he had had no such thought. “Why should I lie?” he asked, mildly. “Why should I be ashamed? Glaucus was happy to help. The treatment of their owls, the insult to him and his brethren, let alone myself and all messengers … Why should I be ashamed, dear Athena? Am I not as entitled to my vengeances as other Olympians, when mortals insult me so?”
She stared at him, for a long second. And then, sighing, her shoulders slumped, and she nodded wearily. “But Howlers?” she asked. “Can you do no better, Hermes? Fawkes is getting very upset, particularly at those you’ve sent to his familiar, the human Dumbledore. They disturb him at odd hours, and he is getting rather annoyed.”
Hermes grinned darkly, raising a hand to his chest in mock shock, faux affront. “Really? Why? All I sent him was the sound of our father singing. Does Fawkes really find the voice of Zeus so offensive?” His smirk turned dark and satisfied. “And if so, would he like to tell him so, do you think?”
Athena blinked at him. “There are times I am reminded, brother,” she said at last, “that it is not at all wise to incur your wrath.”
Hermes smiled the smile of the innocent, sweet and casual where he sat beneath the Olympian sun. “Sister,” he said, laughing softly, “You have no idea.”
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Date: 2012-06-21 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:42 am (UTC)untitled - PG, Demeter/Hades & Hades/Persephone
Date: 2012-06-21 10:11 pm (UTC)Once, they had been lovers.
Before that, they were friends.
In the beginning, she was his sister and he was her brother, and everything was golden.
Now, she is only a grieving mother, and he is the man who stole her child.
Oh, dearest, he says sorrowfully, 'stole' is such a harsh word.
She does not listen. She never forgives.
.
Hades had the gentlest hands. The sweetest lips. He made her laugh. Held her in his arms. They walked the world together, Death and Harvest, and she was happy.
She was so happy, then.
.
Persephone comes to love her realm of darkness. She is as the sun, and flowers bloom in Tartarus.
Hades tries to speak to his queen’s mother, but Demeter is deaf to him and only greets her daughter, welcoming her back into Spring.
.
Once, they had been lovers. Friends. Brother and sister.
Now, Demeter never speaks his name.
.
Before, all was golden. Now, winter is dark and cold, and she is a mother grieving, and he is a husband whose wife spends half her life away from him – and is glad of it.
For all that Persephone has come to love her realm, she never loves her husband.
.
Mother, Persephone asks during the height of summer, what was he like, when you were young together?
Demeter smiles sadly. He was beautiful, she says. The kindest of my brothers.
Persephone gently takes her mother’s hand and leads her outside, into the brilliant sun.
Re: untitled - PG, Demeter/Hades & Hades/Persephone
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From:no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:49 am (UTC)Fill: Earth, Pandora/Prometheus, teen
Date: 2012-06-21 05:05 pm (UTC)Pandora still tastes faintly of earth. When he presses his fingers against her skin, he tries to remember why he hated her. (The times he watched her through veiled eyes, in his brother's house.) But of course, he knows, his memory is perfect, his mind, never impaired. Death, and sickness, misfortune, everything wrong that could (and would) happen to humanity - all could be laid at her door.
Her fingers thread through his hair, she tuts quietly over the tangles.
"Brother, you have not been keeping well," she says, and in the dark, her lips are deep red, the color of spilled blood, ancient. Enduring.
It has not been long since that son of Zeus (doom lagging behind him like a faithful dog) cut him down, and he has wandered to the edges of the world and back again and found her at the end of his journey. Where his brother was, what had become of him, she would not tell and he would not ask. Instead, they now journeyed together, silent for the most part.
At night, they find themselves beside a river, so wide that even Prometheus cannot see to the other side. He builds a great fire, roaring and bright. She sits on the sand, picking stones from her shoes and singing soft snatches of songs, the words of which he does not know. She watches him, as he watches her.
Oh, she is still beautiful, she still has every grace.
A thin white cloth, cotton, and not silk, she uses to cover her hair, dark as a night without stars. It slips from her slippery hair when the fire burns low, and he tears it without thinking when he kisses her.
She tastes like earth, and rainfall, of death, and life. She is wily, and will not be held. Or held down. She is maddening, unreachable even when when he is within her. She scratches the place where the eagle long worried his flesh, and he cries out in pleasure, and in pain.
Foresight, forethought, she takes it all. There is no thought in his head that she has not left a mark on.
"Thief," she says.
"Curse," he says.
She smiles.
There is a distant low roll of thunder. The wind picks up, and whips away Pandora's shroud.
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Date: 2012-06-21 09:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 09:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-21 10:10 am (UTC)fill
Date: 2016-03-26 02:26 am (UTC)There is a story that hasn't been told yet. One day, it'll be whispered by breathless con artists who've just begun, by art thieves and forgers, by anyone in the game.
There was a crew, once, the greatest in the world - a hacker, a hitter, a grifter, a thief, and the brains behind it all. Each of them were the best, and they also learned to play each other's part, and there was absolutely nothing they couldn't do. The stole things that were unstealable, and they hacked the unhackable, and they never got caught.
It surely can't be true, some doubters would say.
They had Eliot Spencer,, the hitters say, and Parker! the thieves chime in, and Hardison, the hackers add, while the grifters sigh, and Sophie Devereaux.
What about the brains? the doubters ask.
No one knows, everyone says.
There are rumors, now. Hearsay. But it'll be legend soon enough.
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