SCHERZANDO

APOLLO & ARTEMIS: GENDERBENT LOOKBOOKS

in this light, they are the same shard of the sky, the same kind of holy, the same kind of wild. do not forget. ( x ) 

Like the bubbles they used to blow as children, gauzy & iridescent over the pond’s surface, so too Artemis pierces the tension between them. She pops it in a single motion: two fingers rise, and they flick Apollo’s ear as if he were a fox-cub. Gravity disperses in waves of pathos. Whatever they had been approaching, whatever unspoken conflict neared on its haunches, is now rendered powerless, declawed.

The Huntress relents a wide grin.

❛ Don’t be silly, beloved. I think you worthy of everything earthy & celestial, chiefly among which a good thrashing. ❜ From their strategic position, her fingers drift into his hair, tousling the evenly trimmed curls, ruining the gilded band meant to secure them. ❛ You do take to your dramatics like a maiden to the pole. ❜

An arched eyebrow, far less chastising than permissive, a mutual clemency. For now is not the time —and the Moon Goddess, unlike her perennial twin, is bidden to time, to its phases of rightness, its rhythms of justice. She tries to devour the second voice: the one that says, with him, it never is the time. That’s what got you here, drawn in the backwater business of a city you nurse no feelings for. Yes, that second chorus, that onslaught of reason. What was Troy to her ? Nothing. A dynasty’s final stumbling steps, just one more prey fallen to the transition between ages. What did Troy mean, what did it awake ? Nothing, the chorus titters, then furtively, singong melopoeia, a different note sets in: nothing, except—.

Aeneas. Already adept, she drowns that thought as well, crumbles it inside a clenched fist and wills her mind to divest a new course.

❛ Have you had your closed doors with Hector yet ? Do you know what it is the Trojans plan to do ? They’ll be fought tooth and nail if they stay. ❜

he remembers the moonlight chasing him, his face reflected in hers and hers in his, half bathed in moonbeam and sun-crested. for her wilderness, there are his cities, carefully architected, and for his father’s brashness, there is her mother’s river-calm. 

like this, balance. his ire dissipates as quickly as it came, and mock-scowls are sent in response to wide grins, though he wears one matching moments later. 

“i have earned no such thing, and i have done nothing yet. are you not supposed to be fair in your punishments, dear sun?” he teases, leaning into her touch as she did mere moments ago. how they are both being and reflections; mirrored opposites. 

troy is no home, but apollo’s birthplace is in her arms, in the sigh just before sunrise - the city may call his name, but he is a god borne out of the wilderness, her touch blooming. the king’s palace is a crude attempt at grandeur, but delos blossoms where they stand, whispering their name until it becomes one breath, one being. 

be it known that they are two halves of one soul. there is something aching in how he presses his forehead to yours, some kind of wild-animal-hurt, sunlight bleeding into hands. 

it disappears too quickly, mere mirages. there is that familiar curve of lips, daybreak over the horizon. it is almost familiar, almost carefree. 

“not yet, my sun. soon. i wish to provide guidance to hector, but i am wary of what the goddesses may have planned. have you heard any news from any of the three?” 

he is just a god of hollows, and sunlight bleeds through him. // his vile spit does not push cassandra to flee from his embrace, in actuality, she burrows herself deeper. as if her limbs could fit inside of his as if to escape the mortal plane to become one with the god and man she desired more than any other. oh, and how it burnt to feel his fingers trace her. how such fingertips sketch out her being. 

even when he touches her cheekbones ( leaving scars upon olive skin ) she begs for more, she begs for him to feel her lips, to press the tips between petals of flesh. she begs for his hand to waver, to dip closer within.  madness may take her as it had taken any woman who dared to say no, but it is his memory that keeps her upright.  it is the joy he also brings that remains as a beacon.  of hope. 

“i dare you to do no such thing,” cassandra bled, her limbs all the more relaxed as she dares to ghost her lips above his own once more - daring, as heracles would do the sharpened teeth of dogs and madmen. in slow motion she falls, her knees buckled beneath her weight as she falls down his body to trail her mouth upon god kissed flesh; a body sculpted by the thread of the fates, a body that had once been proposed as her own; for a moment, for a night. 

“i failed you once,” she whispered, her knees once again tucked against the cooling stone of the floor, aching to be released from the coldness as she rests the side of her face against his belly. 

oh, and he was warm. once more she pressed against him, her cheek thoroughly pressed upon his stomach as if to hear the inner workings of his physical being as her arms clung to his legs; like a child greeting a loved one, like a lover before their partner leaves for a ten-year war. 

“i shan’t again,” she pleads, her dignity ( mayhaps ) bleeding as she produced soft, tender tears to roll down her cheeks. she wettens his belly, leaving him moist to touch - his hair darkened by such emotion. “prepare hector, save troy. save the many deaths plagued to rot on my shores and in return i will swear upon any godlike head that i will be yours forevermore.” 

truth: the god can tell no lies, candor carved into the inside of mouths. you taste histories told by the sun, all-seeing, all-knowing, when you kiss him; myrrh and honey. you cut your tongue on it every time. 

she presses into him, not even space for sunlight to come between them. if he is a god of hollows, then there must be a room for you, somewhere between the ridges of sternums and curve of rib. there, where a heart should be. you hold your ear up to skin and there is nothing beating, only ichor, silent streaming. 

only sunlight. only hollows. this is all your god is. 

she falls to her knees and you think of burning skin, flesh melting under fingertips, just so you will have been the only one to have held it. childish, perhaps, but you are carved in zeus’ likeness and your love has always been just as bright-blinding with just as much consequence.

“you have failed me before, priestess. once more and i will show you a future worse than what you see.” 

he says it like truth, he says it like fact. coming from your god, it is a promise. 

she weeps into his skin and he thinks her beautiful at his feet. the tears etch themselves into his stomach, and he curls a strand of hair behind her ears, cups her chin gently. bends down to press lips to tears, tastes fears, tastes futures that are doomed to exist. there is not one where the fates are kind to them. 

a kiss, sunlight to lips. it has all the tenderness they do not deserve, and for a moment, the story of apollo and cassandra could almost be rewritten. 

“you are mine forevermore even without troy, my dear priestess. another lie i have caught you in.” he pulls away, just a breath. it is full of teeth. “what are you, if not mine? all that you love is not needed, save for me.” 

a laugh, quiet. sunlight caresses her, comforting. 

POINT INVENTORY 2020/04/15 - 2020/04/20.

replies ( 5pts per ) - 5 x 5 = 25

starter ( 10pts per ) -  0 x 10 = 0

chara dev ( 10pts per ) - 0 x 10 = 0

task ( 20pts per ) - 0 x 20 = 0

in this god, he sees all the trappings of his boyhood and, indeed, even a glance of his manhood made to be forgotten in favor of the thundering of horses through a wide plain and the merciless clanging of lances. racing through the wild woods with naught but a bow and a quiver of arrows, laying prone on a riverbank, grass tickling skin flushed with a pleasant heat, sunlight trickling through the leaves overhead like water through a sieve.

for all the glory of battle, can it be compared to these wild offerings? 

“i am grateful. if there’s anything i miss of battle, it is the aftermath, when the slaughter is done and all there is is the quiet, the rest.” could he truly say he did not miss the surging adrenaline? it is not the killing he relishes, but the sure victory. “i miss the forest. hunting. talking of big things and delicate things. having to explain the intricacies of mortal artforms to you.”  his smile is sunlit, fond as he reminisces - and yet, when he thinks of what could come of this contest, the curve of his mouth dims. his mother’s and athena’s intentions have surely hung overcast over olympus all these years, and he’s never heard the poems in which the gods’ discontent dissipated away into nothing. 

“you would bestow such a gift unto a lowly captain?” he grins. “tragically, i have no interest in fortunes - i’m afraid i would hoard such treasures for myself. a gift so invaluable deserves as much, wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

he laughs, ducking his head bashfully. “then if you must spotlight me in victory, it would only be fitting if i declared my victory in your name, wouldn’t it?”

“if you ache for the sunrise dawning after a victory, then you miss me.” there is a quirk to the corner of lips, an unashamed honesty to words spoken. there is a boyishness to his candor; god of truth with his tongue in his cheek. 

he thinks of aeneas and summer afternoons, doe-eyed offerings and calloused fingers running themselves through hair, laughter reverberating through chests, memories peach-sweet and almost enough to run his lips over. yes, he thinks, i will miss you too. hearts of soldiers are never yours to keep, for they belong to the forest, to the never-ending wars they will always return to, to their blood-hungry mothers. 

hearts of gods are no better. yours must be a cursed thing, and you know you gave the better parts of it to your sister. what is left is buried with the bodies you planted like seeds to a land too far for you to reach. 

“i tire of strife.” he says quietly, meeting the other’s eyes. “i miss hyperborea, and the nymphs, and the muses, and the hunt. i miss your explaining of mortal intricacies, knowing i will never understand it.” 

perhaps there is a sadness to it. still, the sun shines. it has no time for ache, even if it is his. 

“for me to say you are lowly is to ask for a death sentence from aphrodite. you are no mere lowly captain, and i am not a god known for lying.” he tilts his head slightly, coquettish. 

he has built kingdoms for mortals, but he thinks a sunbeam will do for this particular warrior; no offering, only a sliver of the sun. only a glint of how he looks at you now, grinning. 

something shoves her closer, her frail body plunging closer as if to take him into an embrace that may emulate the poets. apollo and cassandra, softly taken as they were, were never to be lovers or indeed friends; she had only spurned the god out of duty to her role as priestess, seeing his advancement as a task or test of faith that would surely hit her moments onward. 

and yet, there she remained, her nose close to his as she inhaled his heavenly scent. she could not determine what he smelled like, but she remembered how he tasted:

cinders quivering against her legs an exhilarated delirium a river crimson of blood poetry withering on the tongue expectant eyes of a thousand lovers 

yes, she could remember the taste. 

when she is with him time passes by without notice. one minute it is the apex sun and the other it is midnight. so she remains, feet anchored to his body as she allowed him to hold her if he so wanted to. did he want to? did he desire her as she desired him? ( sickly luscious, heavenly profanities, craving bodies and moaning souls ). did he miss her?

“it is a concern to me,” cassandra gasped, as if he took her breath away - her knees even buckled, suddenly overwhelmed with her frail weight as the tip of her nose pressed softly upon his cheek. she breathed against his celestial coating, lips puckered in case he hungered for a kiss rather than abuse. “i love my brother, i love my home…” 

but they think you are insane! they locked you up; alone, madness, blood, nails.  how can they love you back? if they already despise me, then i am a satisfactory sacrifice. 

she is hauled back by his breath ALONE as she looks into his eyes. swirls of colour she could not place or name as her hands shake against him. flesh upon flesh, breath intermixed. apollo and cassandra stood together yet apart. how complex their situation was, and how foul he was. 

though as mean as he could be, with his uncaring voice, cassandra still fell for him with as much loyalty as a baby wishing for its carer. 

“what do you want from me, o’ apollo? you have my tongue, what else do you desire? for i shall give anything if you promise to protect troy and hector… i sacrifice myself utterly to you.” 

there is something to be said of the delicate intimacy of such not-enemies, not-lovers; know the taste of teeth more than mouth, know how all those songs of his touch being tender was made out of fear for how he delights in watching light thread with blood spilled before sunrises. 

do not forget: he is a son of an unforgiving thing; sun and its coldness. 

there is a desire with how he looks at you, carnal and all predator. he remembers the taste of lips; pariah-sweet, cities crumbling, blade-edged and sunburnt. if you pressed your mouth to his, would you taste every plague, open your body to the ruin? 

she falls into his arms and he holds her gently, traces fingers eyes, lips, cheekbones. artists of another time will say he loved her. poets will wax their parallels of how he damned her. gods will know that there is no difference. 

mouths skim over hers, as if to swallow her words. there is an ache around the consonants, sharpening around his throat, and he can taste the threads of sanity slowly unraveling, runs his teeth over it. he knows it stitches his name into her skull, and he presses lips to foreheads, smiling. as if in praise. as if in tenderness. 

and i loved you, he doesn’t say. what did it mean to either of us, in the end? 

instead: “love will not be enough to save anybody, my darling. we wage war from it and watch as we perish in the name of it, but it will not bring back what is meant to be dead.” 

( he thinks of wilting flowers in his arms of   laurel leaves and their victory and his heartbreak of  the cities he has built for lovers who forget his name of  her lips and how he tasted the future and how she cut herself into fragments of a mind  to avoid being loved by him. ) 

he is just a god of hollows, and sunlight bleeds through him. 

“what good is your sacrifice?” he burns, only to feel corporeal, capable of being something, even if it is only cruelty. even if it is just another one of his father’s sons. gold rims black when you look into his eyes, blazing. 

❛  if it lasts, then it lasts,  ❜  he concedes.  ❛  if it doesn’t, then it does not.  ❜  a slight tilt of the head, a hazarded smirk: he dares to play coy even with an immortal, slowly but surely thinking of this game as one between equals.  ❛  either way, i will make do with the circumstances.  ❜

he is fluid and changeable; he is impermanent. his nature is that of adapting, evolving, change. flux, he thinks, is something that these immortals will never understand; but permanence is nothing if not tied to meaning. he thinks of forever, and he cannot imagine such a static existence.

(  dare he think that this aspect of frailty makes him better than all of them combined ?  would he forward the notion that his weakness is, in the end, his strength ?  dare he ?  )

in the end, however, he fancies himself a grander part of the narrative than he inhabits. however, he is at least self-aware. but what about the others ?

❛  i think a god will know more about the importance of narratives more than me, sire,  ❜  he says, and though the title falls from his lips, it is almost sardonic. he plays with his cards close to his chest, giving an answer that isn’t an answer at all.  ❛  they say that i have stolen helen,  ❜  he says, wry tone decorating his words, the hint of a smile haunting the corner of his lips.  ❛  tell a story enough times, and it becomes truth. what does it matter what really happened ?  ❜

he goads. he tempts. he says even you do not know everything. 

(  and though he does not know it, he acts this out as a ploy. though unarticulated, it is as if he is saying: stay a while while i entertain you. let me bask under your light for a little while longer.  ) 

he shrugs, a careful motion of the shoulders, an action almost calculated.  ❛  yet it is for a human’s foolishness—or dare i call it by its proper name and say ambition ?—that we have all gathered here, have we not ?  ❜  tyndareus’ hubris is understandable, if only because he possesses much of the same.  ❛  i dare say such a quality for this event would be fitting.  ❜

“oh? as you did in the underworld, waiting for hades’ wrath to fade?” he arches an eyebrow, amused at the other’s boldness. there is a bite to his words that other mortals would fear having when speaking to a god, but apollo did not expect any less from him. 

it is predictable. how kings and thieves think themselves gods in their own right, how we will watch the flesh decay from their bones and forget their names. their glory is human-made, decomposing as they speak. he, too, will forget of this in a blink of his eyes, decades in their mortal time, but this human will remember his god encounters for the rest of his life. 

for all they know, hades’ punishment may have only been minutes, seconds to the primordial. how merciful he seems in that context. 

“perhaps another god will care for narratives. i do not care for your stories. funny how the god of truth values the actuality of what happened, and how the god of underworld will judge you not for your tales, but for what you did.” he leans a touch closer, more shadow than sun. smiles, and knows how the dark suits him as much as the light. “i have no doubts of how beautiful you can spin your stories, dear theseus. you may fool a king, but that will only mean so much in the end.” 

his sister may be the protectress, but is he not half of her? 

sunlight paws at his feet and shards illuminate the edges of theseus’ face, caressing jawlines like mother to babe. close your eyes and you can pretend it is the touch of fingertips, feel the ghost of sunkisses on skin. indulgence. warning. 

modern au headcanons

11. thoughts on sports.

in mythology apollo was really big on sports so i imagine that he’d be pree big on them in a modern au as well ?? i imagine he likes being active & plays a little bit of everything ( idek maybe a preference for like. soccer / track / ultimate frisbee ) and is always down for a game but i don’t think he’d play anything too competitively. likely watches and follows sports as well ?? soccer fanatic most likely tbh. 

13. show us what their last ‘sent’ text message is from five different text convos.

TO: THESEUS ( 1:09AM ) - you’re not going to get into any trouble without me, now, are you ? share your location with me you coward 

TO: CLYTEMNESTRA ( 11:39PM ) - i literally told you there’s nothing between me and her anymore damn why are you so invested ?? also what’s ur starbucks order i’m almost at the front of the line 

TO: ACHILLES ( 2:08PM ) - you’re still a piece of shit. don’t be late for practice tmrw morning or coach will have my head again. btw did u watch the vine compilation i sent u ?? 

TO: APHRODITE ( 3:49AM ) - sometimes i think this is all for nothing. one day i’ll be 30, 40, 80, dust, and none of it will have meant anything. i want to be beautiful but i don’t think my bones are meant for it. 

TO: ATHENA ( 8:45AM ) - just because i’m an idiot doesn’t mean you can call me stupid ?? i may be a dumbass but i’ve got a great ass thank you very much 

modern au headcanons

5. top five favourite things not available in their canon verse.

another five, in no particular order: 

poetry clubs/readings 

skyscrapers with glass floors

ballet 

polaroids & scrapbooking

potcards & snail mail 

7. one example of a significant change in their backstory now that the world’s changed.

well. he can’t go around exactly SMITING people left and right as easily anymore so i suppose there’s that wkegwkej

i think if it’s completely modern au-ified, a lot of apollo’s backstory can be modified to fit - just with less Punishment tbh. he still cares for artemis and leto with his whole being though instead of killing for them probably is the one who puts his career/studies on hold to earn what he can to move them away & keep them afloat ?? might not have gotten exiled by zeus & might not have taken his whole feud with achilles as seriously tbh. still loves too many people and is a stupid Fool regardless. 

14. favourite and least favourite thing about living on this era.

modern au headcanons

2. how is their social media presence?

answered here !! 

8. describe their closet.

layering like it’s nobody’s damn business ?? lots of neutrals & whites; turtlenecks, collared shirts, sweaters, blouses with too many buttons unbuttoned ?? brand name everything, leather belts w/ logos, dress shoes, long trenchcoats ?? lots of accessories - chains/loops, watches, rings, necklaces, earrings ( u KNOW he pulls that one dangly earring bullshit ) - all silver or all gold. the occasional beret and scarf. v put together and well pressed, enough to make a fashion statement but not enough to be gaudy. sweatpants & beanies at home. ( here & here for inspo ?? for visual learning purposes, ofc ) 

modern au headcanons

6. how technologically savvy are they? for example, do they know the parts of a computer, do they have a smartwatch, do they know what a browser is?

probs a little bit above average for your regular millennial ? he likely uses a phone / computer quite often so he knows the ins and outs of those devices’ capabilities when it comes to social media, connecting with people, online shopping, streaming movies, getting the news, etc. won’t know anything intense about hardware or parts of technology ?? doesn’t own a smartwatch but probs has a google home and a smart fridge if artemis lets him. please. 

9. how do they like to travel in the 21st century—both day to day life, and possible international travel?

apollo is a WALKING bitch ?? loves to get out and walk to places if he can to get the sun and all that shit ?? i imagine he doesn’t mind public commute & always has earbuds in regardless of what method of travel he’s using. cabs if he’s late or going to some fancy event. 

international travel listen this bitch is flying business or first class if he can fucking help it ??? though wherever he ends up i’m certain he would still love to walk if only to be able to get some fresh air & wander like the little shit he is. 

12. name a few of their favourite pieces of popular culture.

in no particular order: 

memes 

shit twitter humour

tiktoks bc i’ll be damned if he isn’t one of those guys who sits in the sun, stares at the camera with beautiful bone structure & gets a million likes 

really bad reality tv 

youtube compilations 

netflix & chilling

dance challenges 

modern au headcanons

13. show us what their last ‘sent’ text message is from five different text convos.

TO: ARTEMIS ( 2:57AM ) - i had the same nightmare again. do you think i’m a bad person ? lie to me if you have to. 

TO: AENEAS ( 5:47PM ) - have you seen the sunset yet ? it reminded me of you, a little. btw, same time as last night, the usual - i have a surprise. counting the minutes xx 

TO: HELEN ( 3:01PM ) - if i get you that moscato you like can i borrow your morphe palette next week ? also be there in 20, traffic’s a bitch. 

TO: CASSANDRA ( 4:23AM ) - missed you in my dreams, darling. when am i seeing you again? 

TO: PERSEPHONE ( 10:00AM ) - YOU MEAN ALL THIS TIME YOU HAD A FUCKING DOG AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME ??? FAKE FRIEND I’M COMING OVER TO PET IT 

[ @ofartcmis @ofaeneas @swanheir @prphcies @darknessbloomed ] 

14. favourite and least favourite thing about living on this era.

his favourite thing about a modern au i imagine would be the connectedness & the ease of accessibility towards everything ?? he loves loves being able to reach all his loved ones in an instant and being able to see what they’re up to via social media even when he’s not with them ?? loves being able to learn more and see more through the internet bc at the end of the day he’s a curious babie with a big heart and modern life makes those needs so much more easily fulfilled ?? 

i think what he would dislike the most about the modern au would be how dirty things are - pollution and littering ?? dirty streets and people not knowing how to recycle ??? it would Physically Pain him. 

15. how does their diet look like?

modern au headcanons 

2. how is their social media presence? 

you CANNOT tell me that apollo isn’t all over social media.?? whatever social media there is that everyone’s using, he’s definitely one of the first onboard & likely with a good following ?? updates regularly on stories. likes to post pictures of himself, his friends/family, his life. will stop and ask you to take a thousand pictures of him if there’s good lighting. has some bright-lighting/summer colours instagram theme and his tweets are probably only slightly concerning at times. 

4. what do they ( plan to ) do for a living, and where do they aspire to go with it?

listen call me a basic ass bitch but u canNOT be the god of music and poetry and all that bullshit without him being some fucking indie guitarist singer-songwriter ?? if he’s gonna be the god of this tomfoolery he better be hozier ??? 

but alternatively: pre-med apollo bc idiot god of healing and this NEEDs to be a concept ??

5. top five favourite things not available in their canon verse.

in no particular order: 

selfies & cameras in general 

fashion week around the world 

vinyls / cds / spotify 

starbucks summer drinks