"A dull roar is probably better than the usual craziness that comes from this ship. It seems like we’re a magnet for this sort of thing. Blue everything? Like, if I were to use it, I’d get blue cookies?”
To his kind of exhausted brain, that sounded like the coolest thing in the galaxy. But he had to rest, Ariadne was right.
"Aww, that’s cute. You’re cute."
"You’re cuter," Ariadne insisted, settling back against him. "And it was a really unsettling shade of blue, for the record. It was hard to eat some things, trust me."
Ariadne had found it all a pretty hilarious social experiment really, not that it had been her idea or anything. Replicators were notoriously finicky about behaving correctly, and sometimes things just happened.
"Blue pasta, sauce and all. Trust me, it was gross."
Sterling turned around when he heard his name, initially a bit nervous about who it might be.
"Miss Cooper! Indeed it has been. Are you alright? Fairing well?"
Her smile is genuine, and relieved.
"Things calmed down quickly on my end. I won’t pretend it isn’t great to see you alive and okay." Especially the alive thing. "Not exactly like it was easy to get news on friends after… everything."
“Really depends what you mean by ‘fancy’.”
"Hmm. Chicken or beef? That’ll narrow it down."
Eyes widen at the soft touch of lips against his. His body reacted, returning the kiss as he removed an arm placing his free hand against her cheek.
Pulling back he placed his forehead against hers, rubbing her cheek with his thumb.
Never had he thought would this moment happen. No he would always turn away from the thought of any kind of affection, but not tonight. He had returned the kiss and now all he could think of was to to rewind and redo it again and again.
They couldn’t mess it up by talking if their mouths were busy, obviously.
Ariadne didn’t deepen the kiss much, because she was smiling against his lips, hands fisting gently in the lapels of his tuxedo, ignoring the music or the looks from the rest of the crowd because for a brief moment, nothing else mattered.
Later there would be hell to catch. Questions about what it meant, what he wanted it to mean, what she wanted it to mean. Other people asking and snickering, and their own secrets coming between them.
But right now, there was just this.
"When you know how much you stand to lose, it makes you a little more— a little more careful?" Ilona suggested. "Otherwise, it’s too easy to believe that everything’ll have a happy ending."
She opened the door for Ariadne— it was an unusually pleasant day, a little on the humid side, but not at all bad.
Ariadne realized then just what had changed, at least for her, and it was oddly terrifying. She didn’t have anything left to lose at all.
"I can tell you for sure, I don’t believe that anymore, at least. I’m not sure anyone who watched what happened in DC could. But that’s me. I’ve gotten very cynical in the past few weeks."
“Since you’re insisting,” Jacob quickly answered, his tone cold monotonous. If Ariadne were to express to him how happy she’d been with him — at least, how happy she thought she was — he’d take her for a liar. How could she possibly be happy here? With him? After all that had happened to her?
“Look— I just want to be sure that I can help you get better as quickly as possible. I already feel real stupid that I let my hand get cut up, so I’m not exactly——” And then he stopped talking altogether.
Ariadne looked over at him, her expression difficult to read, mainly since her own emotions didn’t make sense at all. Being happy was a bizarre concept; someone could be enjoying company regardless of what had happened to them, and she enjoyed being around Jacob.
But saying that in the context of a day like today would seem empty.
She swallowed, looking down at her hands. Clearly, Ariadne had read this situation entirely wrong. She was a burden to him, nothing else.
And she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Sleepless nights and days spent in an almost coma. That was how Dean lived most of the time now. It wasn’t pleasant. He’d finally gotten to the point where he’d found some sense of normal and everything had just mentally began to crash around him. He’d never admit that though. How could he? Not when he was always expected to be the one to be strong and hold it together.
Another night—- there were 192 black speckles on the ceiling. He was going to have to remember to paint it at some point.
Finally the sun started to come up. Dean sprung out of bed to start the coffee. Ariadne would be up soon and Dean had made it a point to at least have coffee brewing by the time she was out of bed. Anything to avoid her prying eyes that he knew saw right through him.
Ariadne wasn’t such a hard sleeper that she wasn’t aware of the fact Dean didn’t sleep most nights. She normally would lay next to him with her arm over his waist, head buried in the crook of his shoulder, as if her physical pretense might somehow help.
It was a bit of a delusion, but it was this silent thing they didn’t talk about.
She didn’t know how to help.
But even so, her mornings weren’t exactly a ‘jump out of bed smiling’ sort of affair. A good twenty minutes after Dean had gotten up, Ariadne shuffled into the kitchen wearing an oversized shirt and truly impressive bedhead.
The noise she made might have been ‘good morning’, but it would be hard to swear to that in court.
There was a price to be paid for hurting his maenads, and it could only be paid in blood. Dionysus had marked this law long ago with Lycurgus, foolish enough to imprison his precious daughters. And, like all foolish men, Lycurgus died a dishonorable death.
He’d pillaged the city and he’d left nothing. All the men were driven mad or killed—often, it was both. He’d let them murder their own families and then he’d snap them out of their frenzy just so they could see what they had done before they died.
As for the king, he’d taken his daughter and his wives into his cult. He let them watch as the women he raised danced naked in the pools of blood—the blood of the guards—before promptly killing the sultan as if he’d meant nothing to them.
Then, after freeing his women, he’d sent them to the king’s horsemen, who had captured them in the first place. He let them take their own revenge, since they could easily protect themselves.
He’d returned to the camp with his wonderful white robes soaked red to the skin. The smell of rust was pungent in the air, as the smell of blood had a slight metallic scent to it.
Rather than their usual singing, they raved. They shrieked and laughed and cried, all around a fire less hot than the one in their hearts.
Andromeda held Ariadne back, knowing full well she’d never seen anything take Dionysus out of his bout of madness. If Ariadne spoke to her husband, he would hurt her. Plenty of the maenads bore scars from making the same mistake. Hopefully, seeing him would be enough for her to understand.
Ariadne looked exhausted, as if it had been her feet to dance in blood, her body caught in the frenzy of a thousand hours and endless rage. Dionysus was not a jolly, kind god as there were simply no such things amongst the Olympians. Their anger was terrible when aroused, when their pride injured by a mortal’s folly.
And here she stood, in the wreckage, wondering what on earth would happen next.
The smell of blood had always made her ill; the wafting smell of iron and violence reminded her too much of the sacrifices at the labyrinth on Crete, and she couldn’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes.
She felt as lost as she had been on Naxos, for if Dionysus could drift so far from sanity, what hope could they have for happiness, for stability?
What if one day, she brought on his rage upon herself?
[ Paris was a tourist city. Ariadne was used to walking the same paths every day and still running into almost no one she recognized.
So it simply wasn’t a strange thing to be walking across the Point-Neuf and fall in step with a stranger. She hardly even paid attention. ]
get to know me meme → favorite movies [1/5] → Inception (2010)
“They say we only use a fraction of our brain’s true potential. Now that’s when we’re awake. When we’re asleep, we can do almost anything.”
He stood with her, looking to cut her off before she got too far. He was the last person in the city who had any room to judge her for trying to rebuild herself.
"Wait," he said. His hand lighted on her shoulder briefly before flinching away apologetically. "You’re right. You shouldn’t have to." He paused, realizing that it became necessary for him to catch his breath and compose himself.
"I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave. But I am pissed at you."
She turned on him, just as angry, and while maybe she had to stare up at him to pull it off, Ariadne had long ago mastered the art of being short and pissed off.
"Don’t. Don’t give me shit about my life, don’t tell me how pissed you are when I’m doing my fucking best to make a life I can live on the right side of things. I don’t give a crap about your opinion, John. I’m doing what I have to do in order to make things right. If you want to judge me for it, knock yourself out. I have a city to rebuild.”
She wanted to get away from him, far away from him. He had hurt her, the way skinning your knee hurt because even if there wasn’t blood, you’d removed skin all the same.
He could be pissed at her all he wanted to. She had been honest, and he’d thrown it in her face.
tip toes into the josie posey house and leaves actual posies bc flowers are pretty and smell nice and make people smile and you should smile bc youre loved by so many people. and even if you forget it sometimes you'll have us to remind you that we love you. you're precious k .