late_born_myth: (damsel in distress)
"O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retired
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired."

John Keats, Ode to Psyche


If you want to talk to Psyche-mun, just post here. Comments are screened.

Read more... )
late_born_myth: (art gallery 2)
My mun has just seen a review of a new television show and is now flailing a bit in distress.

I keep telling her I've seen much, much worse, but she will not be consoled.

Personally, I think it's more funny than anything else; the bits of dialogue mentioned aren't bad. I'm a little scandalized (and giggly) at the idea of the Oracle seeing the future in a hot tub, and I do wonder how on earth the producers got the idea that Herakles was Aphrodite's son, but, well, they seem to have chosen plot points by throwing a dart at some kind of mythological flowchart. And the names, aside from "Grace," rather confuse me. "Ray"? "Danny"? Really?

Danny is enamored of his magic gun, a modern-day love arrow, and uses it for his own erotic purposes.

O RLY. *looks shiftily interested*


Aug. 15th, 2008 08:38 pm
late_born_myth: (what the shit is this?)

Your result for The What Greek God Are You Test...


Gods! You scored ###!

You are most like the Goddess Aphrodite!
Aphrodite is the goddess of love, beauty, fertility and desire. Although she was married she had many affairs with both other gods and men - most famously with Ares. Her husband Hephaestus caught them in a net he had made and paraded them in front of the other gods. Aphrodite is mean, vain and jealous, and most often depicted with a mirror.

Take The What Greek God Are You Test at HelloQuizzy


All right, let's analyze this then.

A mighty hero comes to you before a great battle. What do you do with your godly powers?

Arm him with godly armour and weapons

Fill him with blood lust and undefeatable rage

Make him fall in love with his enemy's sister

Get him warmed up with a drunken orgy of sex

Er, none of the above? Try to get him to reconsider the importance of risking his life and the lives of others? Oh, all right, (c), in case it has the aforementioned affect. And because really, all the others are right out.

In a tight spot, which mighty creature would you summon to defend you?




Eros, shoot those arrows of love!

...all right, I think I see where the problem is here.

Look, we both live in the House of Love. I'm technically part of her...her clan, I suppose you might say. That doesn't make us the same person!

Ngk. No.
late_born_myth: (art gallery 2)

There are really times when I feel my lack of a "WTF?" icon. This is one.

I must say I do like Artemis's hairstyle and hot pink tunic. And Hera's picture very nearly made me fall off my chair laughing.
late_born_myth: (asleep with book)
A Look At Psyche

I'm not sure whether I should be mildly chagrined that my name was assigned to a vast meteorite crater on the surface of 433 Eros. On the one hand, there are overtones of massive trauma and scarring which make me somewhat uncomfortable. On the other...I should really stop overthinking things like this and just try to regard them as romantic.

Psyche on Eros

Sad excuse for a sunrise
It’s so cold out here
Ice and silence and dark skies
As we go round another year
Let them think what they like, we’re fine
I will always be right here next to you

I’m your moon
You’re my moon
We go round and round
From out here, it’s the rest of the world that looks so small
Promise me
You will always remember who you are

- "I'm Your Moon," Jonathan Coulton

(I do like the idea that Eros is never retrograde. The list of geological features is also good for an academic chuckle or two. And I must say I'm relieved - in a highly amused way - that my husband wasn't ruled a parking facility.)
late_born_myth: (contemplation)
line drawing by Richmond

Cupid and Psyche, illustration by W.B. Richmond, from 1887 edition of The Most Pleasant and Delectable Tale of the Marriage of Cupid and Psyche, by William Adlington (1887)

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced,
After her wandering labours long,
Till free consent the gods among
Make her his eternal bride;

from Comus, by John Milton

She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.

You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know about her is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

"New Age," from Neil Gaiman's stories for Strange Little Girls
late_born_myth: (laughter)
Oh dear.

Your fate with the Doctor
Your name?
You describe yourself as a...?
Favourite colour?
How did you meet the Doctor? You snuck on board the TARDIS, and he decided to let you stay.
How much does the Doctor care for you? - 92%
Does he love you? (8) - You may rely on it. - (8)
Do you love him? (8) - Without a doubt. - (8)
How many years will you travel with him? 2300
How will you die? You'll be in a random accident on a random planet when the Doctor isn't watching you.
This cool quiz by Lady_Boromir - Taken 92 Times.
Make Money Taking Surveys!


Your Score: Sarah Jane

You scored 15% strength, 52% intelligence, 69% friendliness, and 68% escapology!

You are Sarah Jane. You are clever without being arrogant, adventurous without being impatient, and resourceful while still being naive enough to want to stick around with the old geezer. If The Doctor had favorites, you'd be it. Actually, he does have favorites - and you're it.

You and The Doctor have formed a fast companionship. You've far outlasted most of his other companions, though The Doctor would probably never admit it. Still, though, you could do without some of The Doctor's stand-offish-ness and the roughness of constantly fighting monsters. Maybe one of these days, you can put that journalism degree to use, and start having adventures of your own...

Link: The Doctor Who Companion Test written by lobotomy42 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
late_born_myth: (out of the underworld)
It would have been easier to reach the Land of the Dead by dying.

She'd worn out six pairs of makeshift boots on the journey to Avernus, but the rocks in the crater had sharp edges that sliced through the leather, and her feet were bloody before she was halfway down. The fine dust clotted in the cuts, for which she was grateful; there weren't many other reasons to be grateful for the dust, which was slippery underfoot and combined with the sulphur in the air to make her choke. At several points she wondered whether it wouldn't just be simpler to lie down and roll to Erebus, but of course that wasn't really an option in her condition.

Bad enough she was slipping as often as she was; she had to keep waving her arms around foolishly, trying to keep her balance, break her falls. The farther she descended, the longer she had to sit after each time she went down, wrapping her arms around her belly, trying to wipe her watering eyes clear, catching her breath before she lit her lamp again and continued. Her back ached, and not only from the fading bruises of the beating she'd been given by the goddess's handmaidens. And the goddess herself. A sort of an honor, she supposed, having your hair pulled personally by a fundamental force of nature.

There were things that made her want to laugh. There always are, at the worst times. Now and then the drugged honeycakes she was carrying for the dog would start to smell terribly appealing, and the child inside her would shift and kick and really, she didn't blame it.

"It's ridiculous," she said. Not aloud, for the first fit of coughing taught her better than that, but over and over to herself. Aeneas and the other heroes who had come this way had been half gods themselves. And they hadn't damn well had to do it pregnant.

Her child's kicking was something of a comfort, though, proof that it still lived and so did she. A reason to keep walking, and a distraction from the other pain.

The dust wore away but the vapors increased as she went on, and finally the lamp went out. The flint wouldn't render a single spark, no matter how desperately she struck it, and finally she screamed into the darkness. And noticed, amid the choking fit resulting, that the sound of the echoes had changed.

It grew a little lighter at the edge of Erebus. It wasn't, needless to say, a very cheerful kind of light, blue and flickering in a way that baffled her until she saw the river. And though she couldn't have done with out it, she did wonder whether it would have been better or worse not to be able to see the dead as she bumped shoulders with them in the mists.

There were so many dead. It was staggering. And she didn't want to be there, every living part of her was shrieking with dread and the knowledge that this wasn't somewhere she was supposed to be. That this was not a sight to be seen with living eyes. Not that there had been a shortage of such sights for her recently, but this was...well, it wasn't pretty.

She had to bear it.

And if some of the faces she passed looked familiar, if the faint, glazed puzzlement in their eyes looked almost like recognition, she did not stop. And they did not call to ask her why she was still alive, wasn't she supposed to have died for them. She almost wanted to laugh again, hysterical with the horror of it when she came to the edge, where the river lapped at the shore. And then she heard her name.


Her sisters stood together, holding hands, and she wished passionately then for darkness. The shadows cast on their faces did little to obscure what she was seeing.


They looked at each other, that old trick of they had always had ofturning their heads at exactly the same time to roll their eyes at her nonsense or to think of a really convincing lie. And then they looked back at her. "We fell," said the elder.


"From the rock," said the younger.

"Both of us. Though we didn't see each other. "

"Her and then me. We jumped and the wind didn't catch us."

She stared at them till she could no longer bear to keep staring, and instead said, "But...why...?"

"We were trying to get to your palace, stupid."

"But...but you knew I wasn't..."

"Psyche," said the elder, and there was desperation in her voice. "No one knew, no one came to bury us."

"I...I'm so sorry."

"Psyche," said the younger. "We can't cross."

She couldn't speak. She was the only mortal breathing in this place, and she couldn't breathe.

"The boatman won't take us without his fee."

He was there at the edge of the river, a dark figure in the light of the flames. The boat was smaller than she would have guessed.

"Psyche. Please."

She had two coins with her, one to go and one to come back. Two coins.

The child moved inside her.

They clung to her with their dead hands as she stepped in the boat, and the boatman did not help her. Her sisters had taught her to spin with those hands, touched her brow when she was sick, braided her hair and tugged on the braids. They could not follow her into the boat.

"I'll come back," she promised them. "I will, alone again if I have to. I'll find you."

She had not thought, before she was standing there at the prow, turning towards the plains coming into sight beyond the river, all sulphur-bright with the tall flowers of asphodel - she had not thought that there was so much of her heart left to break.

((More info about Avernus than I ever dreamed of needing.))


Dec. 5th, 2007 12:16 am
late_born_myth: (hardships)
"A hell of a lot of good it does, crying now. You should've cried when all those embassies were laying flowers at my feet, and the people called me goddess. 'Creation has rendered us a new Aphrodite, one with all the grace and virtue of maidenhood' - didn't I say it wasn't right, I wasn't any such thing, I was only flesh and blood, your own flesh and blood, and hadn't you read any stories, ever, no good could come of this?

"Stop it, stop, I can't stand it if you cry."

(Not her most generous moment. It would have been kinder to let them weep and mourn her as she stood there, still alive but for how long? - but she was young, angry past kindness or lies. They would've felt better if she'd broken down and cried herself, wept and torn her bright hair and pled for her life, but she was seventeen and about to die and prouder than she'd ever guessed, prouder than she even saw in that moment.)

"And I notice for all your tears you haven't tried to argue I shouldn't be sacrificed. That you can't spare me. Well, what else is a princess for? I would always have been married for the good of my kingdom, my people.

"Stop crying, mother, father: find me mourning weeds for bridal clothes. Take me up to the rock. I want to meet my husband. I swear, I swear, I want to meet my fate. God."

(And as the torches that had followed her up to the sacrificial rock flickered down the mountain path, she wanted - oh terribly - to call out. The smoke of their passing stung her eyes. Dying, dying a maiden, and alone with a monster who might devour her in one sense or - the gods only knew with what savagery - another; so young, and to die by no mortal means. Take pity on me, my people, please, how have I offended you? I who loved you, loved you all, and only wanted to be worthy of the great things you called me?)

"I am a king's daughter," she whispered to herself, and did not cry. "A king's daughter, no matter what king fathered me. I am the chosen bride." (Of what?)

"And I am not afraid."
late_born_myth: (laughter)

Meanwhile, my poor mun is unable to buy this t-shirt due to the site not cooperating with her computer. I think I may have to show up at the park one day wearing it.

And I'm a...? That's an interesting phrase...thank you, then.

Your Score: Mystic Theurge

33% Combativeness, 33% Sneakiness, 64% Intellect, 86% Spirituality

Brilliant and spiritual! You are a Mystic Theurge!

Score! You have a prestige class. A prestige class can only be taken after you�ve fulfilled certain requirements. This may mean that you�re an exceptionally talented person, but it probably doesn't.

The Mystic Theurge is a combination of a cleric and a mage. They can cast both arcane and divine spells, and are good at both, making them pretty terrifying on the battlefield. They have more raw spellpower than just about any other class.

You're both intelligent and faithful, but not violent or deceitful. I guess that makes you a pretty good person.

Link: The RPG Class Test written by MFlowers on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test
late_born_myth: (Default)
Though I feel a little bad for the boy; I don't know that I necessarily deserved to be so much happier in the end than he.

Your Score: Orpheus

33% Extroversion, 66% Intuition, 72% Emotiveness, 100% Perceptiveness

You are an artist, an aesthete, a sensitive, and someone who has never really let go of that childlike innocence. To you, all of life has a sense of wonder in it, and the story of Orpheus was written about someone just like you.

When the Argo passed the island of the Sirens, Orpheus played a song more beautiful than the Sirens to prevent the crew from becoming enticed. When his wife died, he ventured into the underworld to charm Hades but, in his naivete, he looked back becoming trapped there.

You can capture your unique world view and relate it to others with the skill of a master storyteller. Your sensitivity and creativity make you a treasure to the human race, but your thin-skinned nature and innocence can cause you a lot of disenchantment and pain. What's doubly unfortunate is that, if you try to lose those traits, you never will, and everyone will be able to tell that you're putting up an artificial shell to prevent yourself from being hurt.

Famous people like you: Hemingway, Shakespeare, Mr. Rogers, Melville, Nick Tosches

Stay clear of: Icarus, Hermes, Atlas

Link: The Greek Mythology Personality Test written by Aleph_Nine on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Also, I happen to be quite fond of Hermes. (Mr. Rogers? I wonder if I shoudl start wearing cardigans...)
late_born_myth: (damsel in distress)
When people have been making images of you for around 2,500 years, you get a little jaded. That still doesn't mean I was prepared for the Victorian era. Oh, to start with, though - This is quite a good resource for pictures of me and Eros.

Yes, Victorian Artist #523. Putting a classical label on it is definitely fooling everyone into thinking you weren't just looking for any reason to paint a naked girl. )
late_born_myth: (out of the underworld)
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)Extreme
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)High
Level 2 (Lustful)High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)Very Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Very Low

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Oh, dear. I was rather looking forward to being with the Virtuous Non-Believers or perhaps the Lustful. I could have brought Paolo and Francesca some Dramamine. But I suppose one's experience in that field doesn't "count" against one if it's done only with one's lawful husband. Or does it? I can't say I've ever really understood that aspect of Christian doctrine.

I suppose that's what I get for answering "yes" to "With God, all things are possible," without specifying which god.
late_born_myth: (Default)
Psyche is fascinated by mirrors. She always has been.

It's not something those who've been privileged to hear one of her rants on the subject of her own appearance might expect; these have grown increasingly less frequent over the centuries, as after all it's rather dubious form to resent something which ultimately brought you happy immortality and undying love. Others with a similar problem have had it harder; that poor Irish girl Deirdre even has it in her story's title.

There's still a certain edge to her voice every time she says the word "beauty," and she still has trouble sometimes keeping herself entirely gracious about every dumbstruck look. It's a humbling thing, knowing that the most important fact about you is something you had no choice in being. Her soft, shining feet, more indestructible than diamond, can remember the long bruising procession up the mountain to the sacrificial rock.

But mirrors don't remind her of any of that, unless she happens to be thinking about it when she catches her own eyes. She'd liked the warm glow of a bronze mirror, its surface polished to a sheen that reflected the world in an eternal late afternoon; she'd liked better to sit by the fountain at her father's palace and watch the water tremble and cast up shadows. Psyche didn't bother to look at her own reflection when she was in company, but when she was alone she liked the quiet of it, the reversed light of her own face held in such a thin space. The silvered-glass kinds are lovely, too. She thought when she saw the first that it was like holding a small, twisted-handled moon.

Perhaps it's partly that she knows it's not quite what she looks like to everyone else. The girl in the bronze handmirror or the water's surface hadn't been her; it was someone separated from her by that thin, impenetrable space. What if you could meet that other self, could exchange words, touch, thought where there was only sight and playful mimicry?

Not that it ever felt entirely safe. One of her most stomach-churning memories was of flower petals falling across the water's surface, and seeing a peasant girl's vaguely familiar face behind hers; she'd turned, and the girl had gone to her knees. (Psyche was thirteen years old, and it was the first time she'd been addressed as a goddess.) When she'd lit the lamp with shaking hands in the darkness, one fearful thought which passed through her amid visions of winged serpents and great savage birds was of seeing herself, reflected and asleep there on the couch, and knowing not at all what might be inside that shell.

It's with a similar spirit she reads every poem addressed to her, every book that tells her story another way. They all are her, she knows: that's part of what being a goddess means, and especially the goddess she is; each new repetition is a reflection of the storyteller's self, their own soul. And that is what she is, too. So Psyche hovers over the pages, and feels perhaps a little like Narcissus, now and then. But only if she happens to be thinking of it. Mostly it's curiosity, whimsy, and a little wonder. She hadn't known what her journey would mean to anyone else. She'd never expected to be a symbol.

She likes the ones that show her most in love.
late_born_myth: (thought)
"The Mythological Goddess Test"

Fair enough. I would have been fine with nearly any of these answers - nearly - but really that's quite flattering. )

"The Sublime Philosophical Crap Test"

You know, I think I'm actually more of a skeptic after having become a deity? )

"Which Major Arcana card are you?"

I'm sure you're all shocked. )
late_born_myth: (oh my...)
Io Saturnalia! Just got back from doing the family Christmas thing and found that not one, but two of my fellow RPers had gifted me with paid accounts...or rather, one paid account and one extension on the paid account and extra userpics!

Squee! I completely was not expecting that, but I'm thrilled. Major thank yous to both [ profile] kirasenpai and the anonymouse.

So of course the first thing I had to do was waste two hours making more icons. Sooo many new icons, and I've barely made a dent in my possible icon space! So much fun. Also: I need to do a post of "Good Cupid/Psyche Art, Bad Cupid/Psyche art." Because seriously. I have no words for some of the stuff Google image search turns up.

Anyway. Must contemplate doing some kind of general thank you and Merry Christmas post backstage. So happy!


Dec. 5th, 2006 08:15 pm
late_born_myth: (columbine)
What was that?

I suppose that teaches me to try to hold my will against the will of this place. But...really.

I wonder if he recognized me. I wonder if I was even recognizable.
late_born_myth: (thought)
I managed to put my foot in it pretty thoroughly with my letter to Sallah; his friend Dr. Jones has disappeared and that was the reason for the delay.

I feel awful. He says he'll let me know shortly about his plans for excavation, though.
late_born_myth: (oh really?)
I don't think I've ever had someone react to me by pulling out a gun.

I am glad I managed to get him calmed down eventually. And I'm sorry he's gone through so much.
late_born_myth: (statue)
Katou could have been a bit more specific about what kind of poker it was we were playing. Of course, he's a teenage boy, so really, what were we all expecting?

Oh, well, considering all the paintings and statues of me completely nude, I suppose it shouldn't bother me.
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