#Icarus Burning

[mureh]

Sketch compilation of Jay and Samiel from @ladyinbooks ‘s original book ‘Icarus, Burning’ that I absolutely adore and I recommend everyone to read! These two will always have a very special place in my heart  🥹 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

#my art #icarus burning #samiel tremark #jason lane #AAAAAAAAAAAA #and a little Deneira because why not

[ladyinbooks]

Ok, so a little while I reblogged the work of the phenomenally talented @dashka12, who had created the most stunning binding of Icarus, Burning. It is seriously gorgeous, and if you haven't seen @dashka12's original post, go and shout some well deserved praise on it now, because oh my word is the binding fantastic.

Afterwards, Dashka got in touch and very kindly offered to send me a copy as well. The binding arrived yesterday evening (and no, I am not going to be normal about this now, so you're warned).

OH. MY. GOSH.

So, firstly I had a meltdown and a little cry when I opened the parcel (it really is stunning - I'm not exaggerating, it's stunning).

The richness of the cover, the gold leaf and the wonderful, dreamlike galactic interior. I said it to @dashka12 - it feels so very Samiel to me somehow. Dashka's combined that sci-fi feel with something that is far more mythological, and created utter beauty. (And I forgot to take a picture of the mask on the back cover, but IT'S PERFECT.)

But then:

I realised that not only was there a copy of IB, there was also another wrapped parcel that had been sent as well. I initially assumed perhaps IB had been split into two volumes, but... no. I'll give you a clue what the other parcel was:

YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING, RIGHT?!

Look at it. Look. It's sheer and total and wondrous perfection.

There is something so very, very Hess about this binding, and @dashka12 has captured it beautifully. That heavenly, stunning angelic exterior; the demonic interior leaf pages. The beautiful gilded pages and the biblical feel of the whole binding - I just. I can't. I don't have words to describe it, or do it proper justice, because I'm actually speechless with how much I love it. All I can say is it's been twenty-four hours, and I still can't stop looking at it (or IB, either).

Look, I'm going to be completely honest: when I saw what @dashka12 had created I really did cry. For someone to create such beautiful work - such art - from something I wrote, means so much to me. To be able to hold books - actual books - that sprang from my fics honestly just blew me away. For the first time, something I'd written felt oddly real, in a way I can't really explain (possibly my olde schoole brain still equates physical books with being a Genuine Author somehow).

So thank you, @dashka12. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your creativity and your talent are phenomenal; your kindness even more so. You've given me something priceless with these, and I can never thank you enough.

(And yes, both books are now sitting in pride of place on my bookshelf - right next to my 18th C. copy of the Iliad. Take that, Homer - you only wish you looked this good.)

#lady's phenomenal readers #Icarus Burning #Path to Paradise

[euesworld]

"Icarus was an idiot, he thought he could fly into the sun using wings.. I just move in for a kiss from your smile and it's the same thing. I fall, but not to my death.."

Your smile is exactly 7 times brighter than the sun and a billion times hotter - eUë

#icarus was an idiot #fly into the sun #icarus #icarus and the sun #icarus burning #angel wings #kissing your smile #your smile #that smile #smile #her smile #kissing you #little kiss #falling for you #falling in love #fall in love #fell in love #in love #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #love quotes #love #love quote life quotes #love quote for her #quoteoftheday #romance #romantic

[slate-skylar]

TASK 010 // THE INTERVIEW

All day he’d been working on what he would say. He had no plans to follow Calix’s lead. Instead, he’d started scribbling down some thoughts on a loose leaf paper, and it had turned into something of a speech, or perhaps a eulogy. He’d carried it around as he got ready, tucked it into the pocket of his outfit when his stylist wasn’t looking. It had been in his pocket when Cress had come to him, spoken those words: Your values are that of a Career. … It’s about preserving your own pride. … So die. But make it quick.

She was right on every point of it, and he knew it. He’d even been proud of it at one time in his life, the preservation of pride and honor and values being paramount. But the evocation of family, the statement that he’d be abandoning them by not trying to win – that got him, gave him pause.

When he’d first learned she was pregnant, he was a dead man. He’d thought he would never see her again, much less get any opportunity to meet the baby. Then he was Reaped and it shifted. He was still a dead man, caught somewhere between certainty the Capitol would kill him and certainty he’d do it himself. He didn’t know how she knew about the training presentation, but of course she did. She was right, the training center was her place. He was a fool to think she wouldn’t find out.

And there was the concern of the lie; of passing off the child as Miller’s. Even among all of that, even if his thoughts had led toward survival, they took him to a place he didn’t want to be. A place where his child was alive and well and so was he, but he couldn’t claim them. What would life look like then? He hadn’t allowed himself to consider it.

You’d rather die with your pride than fight for the chance to meet them.

His name was being called by Calix and he was walking onto the stage – not being pushed, not hit with a baton, but simply walking. The paper was in his pocket, crumpled and folded as if he’d been working on it for decades rather than hours. Calix was speaking but all Slate could hear was Cress’s voice. The accusation of abandonment. The image of his mother walking away. Into the woods. Choosing drugs and death over him.

He sat down numbly. The audience did not exist and Calix might not have either. He was looking at Slate expectantly and Slate had been asked a question, but it seemed like all Calix could possibly have said was “You’d rather die with your pride than fight for the chance to meet them.” That was the only thing there was to say.

So he opened his mouth, let it hang there for a moment while the silence of the theater filled him and everyone. Then he said, “I have something I want to share if that’s okay.”

In the Hob, the smell of wood smoke, meat, and herbs permeated the air as the ancient TV played the coverage of the interviews. Marble sat with a card in her lap, her hands folded over it. Normally when the Games were on TV, it was on in the background while the bustle of the Hob and the endurance of the people played over whatever was being said.

That wasn’t the case now.

Slate Flint had spent over half his life in the Hob, Marble was sure. From the time he was knee-high to a grasshopper to when he was a sulking teenager stuffing his pockets to when he’d returned just months ago with a beautiful girl in tow.

The air was still. Everyone watched the screen, everyone listened as the interview began.

Calix looked confused, and he glanced over into the wings, then toward the camera, as if searching for some guidance. But Slate didn’t wait, having no interest in getting permission. He still didn’t know what the question he’d been asked was, but he was certain that this was not going to answer it. None of Calix’s questions were important. The one he was going to answer was.

“I wanted to talk about District Twelve,” he said, removing the paper from his pocket. “I know you ask about home a lot, Calix, so I think you’d like to hear this too. It isn’t a manifesto, don’t worry. It’s a story.” His voice grew in strength as he talked, as he shed nerves in favor of resolve. He adjusted so he wasn’t facing his interviewer but the main camera in front of him, the one whose light was blinking red.

“Okay,” Calix said slowly, uncertainly, touching his earpiece, surely receiving instructions.

Slate began to read; all of the words were there in front of him, the first he’d written in months. “Every six months, twenty-four people from the Districts come to the Capitol. You all get to know them for a bit. You’ve gotten to know me for a little longer – I think we can all agree that you probably know me better than you want to.” His eyes lifted to sweep across the room. There was some laughter from the audience, but people weren’t sure how to take it. He could see a Peacekeeper out of the corner of his eye shift his hand toward his baton.

“I know we’re supposed to spend this time introducing you to ourselves, but you already know me, Panem. Who you don’t know, what you don’t know, is where I come from. People are watching this from Seven, Nine, Two, from the bar down the street from the Tower. You’re feeding your kids, or you’re watching while you’re at work, or you’re in the bath, or you’re with friends, or you’re all alone on your bed.” His eyes found the camera, the dark lens wide, wider than he’d have thought. “I’m talking to you. I want to tell you about home.”

The factory was behind on production. They had opted to play the Games coverage on each row, rolling in TVs to do so, just so the women could continue to work. Lacey looked up when she heard a tribute speaking for longer than they normally did. The Games were white noise for her, the same as the humming of the machines, but now she paused, her fabric frozen as her foot continued to press the pedal, so that the stitches piled up on themselves and jammed the machine. Her breasts ached, and the front of her shirt was growing wet.

“My mom was named Beryl Flint. I’ve heard stories about her. When she was young, she was beautiful. She had bright eyes, good bone structure.” He gestured to his own cheeks, gave the camera a cocky little look, couldn’t resist being his goddamn self if this was his last day to live. “She was quick. Funny. Sarcastic. She was alive, she was good. She claims she had the love of a Peacekeeper once, but I don’t know. I didn’t know her like that.

“She was injured. Never told me how. Maybe it wasn’t a pain that originated on the outside, maybe she didn’t fall or get hit, maybe it was something that grew from within her. I don’t know. A Capitol doctor came to town, gave her some medicine.” The image was clear in his mind. He wanted to linger here, but knew that he had to keep going, had to finish the whole thing before he got kicked off the stage. “She got hooked on it. Had to have it. She changed.”

Wesley was sitting on his bed, white boots on the floor beneath the little TV. The interviews were playing in every room, his entire unit tuned into it. They were off duty for the night, and lucky for it. Wes’s shoulder was aching, his hand hurt from being clenched around the baton, but the pain was dissipating quickly now, had faded into nothing as Slate spoke on the TV. Wes watched, his eyes not leaving Slate’s face. He didn’t even blink.

“I’m told when she was pregnant with me, she tried to quit it. I don’t know. When I was born, it was over. Imagine the pain of that.” The pain of childbirth, the pain of having a child. “We lived in the Seam.” That would mean something to the people from Twelve, but nothing to the others. A nod to home. He could evoke it, but he couldn’t say too much. He stood upon the stage of propaganda. He had to follow its rules. “I got passed around the neighborhood, you know, lot of different women took care of me when my mom couldn’t.”

To the Capitolites this would be a sad story. It might even be a good story or an interesting one. That wasn’t what it was about. To the Districts, it would be familiar.

“Mom disappeared when I was five. She had to leave, I don’t know where she went.” For years he had stoked the flame she was still alive. He looked into the camera now, with a half-hope in his eye. The closest thing he’d get to looking at his mother again.

With the burning fields, there was a great push for more fish. Everything was shipped off to the Capitol these days, and whatever came back was a paltry amount. Hudson listened to the Games coverage on her portable radio while out on the ocean, pulling in nets, removing the fish, casting them back out. Again and again. The interviews played in the background but she couldn’t hear it over the arguing of the children. Always fighting, always rolling over one another, always coming to her with need. When Koi had died, she’d had to take over everything: the children, the boat, the quotas. There were always hungry mouths in her dreams.

“So a neighbor took me in. Her name was Misty Skylar. She was older. I have no idea how old she was, she told me she was thirty. I’d guess sixty, maybe sixty-five. Her children were dead or grown and her hair was gray. She lived on a small garden plot and the kindness of others. She invited me into her home, and that was the first time I lived in the same place for longer than a few weeks. It was tiny – you might say it was cozy – and it was very disorganized. She didn’t have many things, but what she did have was scattered all over the floor and the countertops and the bed and the table. She had books and old magazines from the Capitol – I remember she had a copy of the Voice, no idea how she ended up with that. She didn’t have much food, but she fed me anyway. She didn’t have much heat, but she kept me warm anyway. She didn’t have to raise me. But she did anyway.”

He could no longer look at the camera or the audience. He was reading the words now, only just able to get them out.

“She tried. But it was only a few years before she died. Heart attack. She was buried in the neighborhood plot.” He hoped there were people from that neighborhood watching; people who had known Misty, who would see her now clearly in their memories because of his words.

Hestia’s house was rarely still. There was always something happening; children tumbling around the floor or arguing with each other or shrieking with laughter. Demanding food or attention or both. Receiving it, more often than not. Hestia was in the Capitol, and the Games coverage was on the TV. Normally Ansel avoided it, but now he sat on the couch with River and Winter on his left and Granite and Ivy on his right. Reina was in the other room with Luna, calming her.

They watched their brother on TV. Every now and then, someone asked a question, and Ansel shushed it. He wanted to hear. He was listening.

“And then when I was fifteen, I ended up at Hestia’s house. You know her. She takes in kids who need homes, she’s a better person than I will ever be and probably better than you too.” Here, he allowed himself a glance at Calix. The interviewer was sitting with interest, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes glued to Slate.

“She took me in, even though I was a dick.” He paused. “Can I say that? Well, it’s true. I was a dick. I was… I was obstinate. Impossible. I was stubborn. I was… I was the same as I am now.” This for Cress. Added in a few moments ago, scribbled with pen backstage. This whole part, these next words, added for her, in light of what she’d said. “But Hestia was patient with me. She really cared. She knew I could be better, and I guess I hope she was right.”

This was a careful calculation. Words that in the Districts would be taken for what they truly meant – that Hestia had helped make him a better person. But in the Capitol, in Snow’s private viewing box, it might be taken to mean that he could be made better still. With patience – if given the chance to live – he could be better.

The words had been sour on his lips. He had said them anyway. He moved forward.

“And I’ve got some siblings back home. Calix, you ask a lot what tributes want to say to the people back home. To my siblings… I want to say be good.” Eyes on the camera again. Looking into the lens and meaning it with every fiber of his being. Don’t do this to her again. Don’t make her go through this again.

“I know I’m running out of time.” He let that hang for a moment. “But I also know that people like for a story to have a good ending. To be tied up nicely. So I guess I want to say to Panem…” He couldn’t deliver any true message, his real words, but he could say something to his child now. He’d stopped here, hadn’t added anything, hadn’t been able to come up with the right thing to say. But the audience was silent, rapt. They were waiting for something. Something guarded, something to have a double meaning. Words for the Capitol, the Districts, but in truth, words that only Cress and the child would know were theirs.

“I love you. And I hope to meet you soon.”

Kyanite sat before the TV. Her mother was in the other room and Kya was well aware of her movements. She wasn’t supposed to be watching this, but she’d found it easily enough, and she’d turned it on. It was an old video, but one she’d never seen; she wasn’t allowed to watch anything from the 134th Games until she was older, her mother said. So now, the volume was low, but she could hear her father’s voice clearly enough.

#134 #icarus burning #writings

[dd122004dd]

Icarus

Icarus, How did it end up like this? You kissed the incandescent, gracious face, Of the god Apollo, what a disgrace! Your love for the one above, Came crashing down like a dead dove. A whisper here,a murmur there, An unvoiced, desperate prayer. They whispered at your watery altar, Though the whispers never seemed to falter.

Consumed by the seas down from above, All because of your forbidden love. Centuries later the nereids shall find, Your body broken, your eyes blind. Blinded by the love once felt, They dragged you through the gates of hell. For a sinner, truly that you were, For kissing a man, a deity, a sinner. Your soul, put on trial then, Banished from the gates of hell. For who could truly bear to see? A mortal and a god, lovingly.

A doomed love, a broken heart, And broken wings ripped straight apart. And when the dawn finally broke, The great Apollo let out a croak. For the little mortal who caught his eyes, Landed straight to his demise. The young man who once kissed his face, Would never see the light of days.

#original poem #love poem #prose #Poem #icarus burning #icarus and the sun #mythology #greek mythology #greek myth #myth #icarus poem #greek poem #poems on tumblr #my poem #poets of tumblr #poem of the day #short poem #original content #homosexual #homosexuality #Sin #Mentions of homosexuality #LGBTQ #LGBTQpoem #LGBTQ Poem #LGBTQ Poetry

[thermitetermite]

Just saying, I want one story where Icarus is a moth and his sun is a bug zapper.

#funny #shitpost #short prompt #story ideas #writing prompt #moths #tw moths #moth #flight of icarus #icarus and apollo #story of icarus #icarus burning #i mean the resemblance is uncanny #ancient greek #classical mythology #greek myth memes #greek mythology #mythology inspired #the story of icarus #apollo

[soulinkpoetry]

When your wings get burned, get up and grow a new set. You don’t need anybody’s help, even though it would be nice to have someone, you can still do it all by yourself.

.

.

Music by Jayson Lyric Self love

Ft. Nevaeh

#get up and try again #icarus burning #self love #self reliance #you got this #soulinkpoetry #poetry #she writes #tumblr poets #thoughts #feelings #that’s life

[aleesantos62]

Maybe Icarus was too tired of his father's trap

Maybe he knew he couldn't fly too close to the sun

But also, maybe he had been stuck for so long that

The only freedom he could feel was this one

Have you ever thought about what he could be feeling?

Why would he be laughing while diving into the Poseidon's realm

After being burnt by Apollo's wrath?

He may had been into agony for ages

He may never had felt even a dip of what freedom was

And yet, even after having wings, he would not know

Because he would be doomed to fly

What if Icarus only wanted to be in silent for a moment

Without his father yelling or any creature trying devour his foolish flesh

Or without any of those stupid gods with those damn gigantic egos trying to define the course of one's life

This is why he was laughing so hard during his fall

Because for the first time in his entire existence

He was about to meet his freedom.

#poetry #art #books & libraries #greek myth memes #greek blog #ancient greek #greek tumblr #icarus burning #icarus and the sun #daily poems

[greytearss]

“Let us see how high we can fly before the sun melts the wax in our wings.”

#digital art #art #icarus burning #illustration #painting

[maeo-png]

i get that it’s fucking hilarious that he’s horrifically sunburned after 300-400 years of vampirism. but do you understand that he’s so utterly connected to and defined by science and humanity and now he’s managed to put both vampirism and science together in a way that allows him to experience humanity again. even just for a bit. do you understand how not normal i am over this. he’s the most human of the vampires and it’s finally paying off for him.

#he was so fucking happy #but i cannot help but feel that this will be an icarus moment #where he flies too close to the sun #and gets badly burned #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #wwdits spoilers #what we do in the shadows spoilers #laszlo cravensworth

[uninspired-choatic-angel]

Anytime Regulus and James were together, Barty and Evan would call Regulus Icarus. James would pester Reg why, but he never gave him an answer. He goes and asks Sirius, who figures it out immediately and runs off to find Reg because when he first introduced James to Reg, he said, "You're best friends with the literal embodiment of the sun."

#Icarus flies too close to the sun gets burned then drowns #regulus black #siruis black #the marauders #james potter #dead gay wizards #jegulus #black brothers

[streaminn]

Wednesday, new student and hearing about the murders in jericho: I do enjoy a good murder mystery

Enid, grimacing in the inside yet desperately just trying to get along with her new weirdo of a roommate so she doesn't bring nevermore to ruin: I've been a suspect for a few cases

#Wenclair #Based on the recent au thought where Enid finds the painting abt Wednesday and a burning nevermore #And tries to sway her from that path with the power of friendship #Unfortunately Enid doesn't have much friends so #Willful icarus au

[ladyinbooks]

@moardragonspls has written the definitive IB and The Mummy crossover. You can find the first chapter of The Lenian Sun Rises HERE. (The fic is archive locked, so make sure you log in and leave @moardragonspls some love and kudos if you can! ❤️)

I know I've screamed about this fic before, but it deserves screaming about again! Political prisoner!Jay. Priest!Samiel. Deneira and her machinations. I just love this so much! 😭 Jay in that golden sarong is just...mm. Perfection. And then seductive, cunning Samiel (hello you beautiful morally grey wonder!). The whole setup for this fic is such a stunning, intriguing premise, and I'm itching to know more. The backstory here is only hinted at so far, but you can tell it's a rich, beautiful one, and nothing hits my gleeful political shenanigans love in quite the same way as differences in status, and this has it in spades.

Oh, I'm in love all over again. Thank you @moardragonspls for creating this masterpiece - it lives in my head pretty much all the time. (And I was strangely thinking about this on the train on Monday!) ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#lady's phenomenal readers #Icarus Burning

[euesworld]

"Your breath, your smile, your heartbeat beats miles into the center of me.. caress my broken heart until it beats its last sweet beat. Smile into this visage of me eternally, eternally bringing me closer than Icarus had ever flown.. bring me to the brink of the sun with your love and heat my heartbeats with laughter and love."

Hold me close should I fly away, grip me tight so that I may never go insane alone.. let me find home in you - eUë

#your smile #smile #icarus #icarus burning #flying into the sun #center of me #center of my world #broken heart #sweet caress #closer to the heart #closer to home #close to you #close to me #laughter #home #poetry #poem #poet #poetic #poems and quotes #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #love quotes #love #love quote life quotes #love quote for her #quoteoftheday #romance #romantic

[slate-skylar]

slate + tarot in the hob

Her hair was whiter and she was missing more teeth than he recalled, but here she was, in the same spot she’d always been in, with the same set-up in front of her as ever before: a small earthenware mug with some coins in it, and a deck of colorful cards, all hand-drawn by her, spread before her. “This is Cress. Cress, this is Marble. She’s the best fortune teller you’ll ever see. She’s the real deal.”

featuring art from made flesh and the marigold tarot deck, amrit brar, 2017 & tarot reading by gwen & graphics designed by lena

the world This is your past. This could be chance, perfection, honor. Success, happiness. Relationships.

the tower This is a warning. You’d do well to heed it. Something is coming, something unexpected. It could be good, it could be bad.

the two of pentacles The desire to work on projects of your own in the hopes of helping others. You want to change things, make them better than they were.

the three of swords, reversed This represents you. That work you’re doing… You’re making errors, acting foolishly. You know this. It’s exhausting, maybe even scary, and you’re overworking yourself in the process.

the chariot This represents those that are influencing you. There are many. They’re fighting by your side, full of spirit and life. And they are victorious on their pursuits, which leads them to encourage you down the same path. Into the same things. Be wary, though. Their success does not ensure yours. It could lead to bad news.

the two of wands, reversed You may be wondering what to do now. You’ll need to have hope, you’ll need to think outside the box. You may need a miracle. That could be what saves you.

the hierophant This is your final outcome. The bearer of knowledge. You may be going through, or you may be about to go through, a period of enlightenment. The impact will be hard to overstate. You are being called on to honor traditions and rituals that you have neglected. You should remember who you are, where you come from. Who you truly are.

#133 #134 #icarus burning #inspo

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

Icarus is never going to get to reconcile with Enderian. Icarus is never going to get closure with Enderian. Icarus is never going to get to know and understand she wasn't all bad. Icarus will never get to know the women Isla and Rae knew - never get to know that person who cared and loved and had a family. Fable burned that bridge for them.

#theyre never going to be able too. #fable burned that bridge for them; didnt he #enderian #icarus morningstar #sherbertquake56 #fable smp #fsmp #a tag to help find my own posts