I Want This In Real Life!!!!

I want this in real life!!!!

This is so pure 😭

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karchuckles

5 years ago

God, I love Romantic stories

I would love to see your take on Atalanta for Gods and Monsters

(note: this was done as a commission)

King Iasus has no desire for a daughter. He considers them weak,and therefore useless.

So when his wife dies to give him one, he leaves his baby atop amountain to be killed by the elements.

Instead, a mother bear stumbles across the child, and decides tocare for her.

She does not grow up weak.

Artemis hears rumors of a girl who lives in the forest. They sayshe is a wild, untamed thing, that she speaks the language of beasts ratherthan humans. They say she moves as if she’s born of the wind, faster than anyfour or two legged creature.

They say she’s faster than the great huntress of the moon herself.

Her huntresses say she is real, that they have seen glimpses ofher, have seen evidence of her existence, but that she always slips from their grasp.

So Artemis goes looking herself.

She finds her bathing in a stream, more woman than girl, dark skinand a tangled mass of black hair. She’s built for strength, built to fight,with scars and bruises littering her muscled body. “Goddess,” she greets, notturning to face her, and Artemis can’t help but admire her audacity.

“So you do speak the tongue of mortal men,” she answers. “I hadheard rumors otherwise. You know my name. I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

She turns to look at her, something considering and judgmentalabout the press of her mouth and tilt of her head. “I’m Atalanta. Rumors areoften wrong.”

“So I see,” she agrees, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling,since she hardly thinks Atalanta will appreciate it.

Atalanta steps from the stream, uncaring of her nakedness andevery line of her tensed and prepared for a fight. “If you’re here to kill me,I won’t make it easy for you.”

She has no interest in killing her. That’s just a waste. “Raceme.”

Atalanta falters. “Excuse me?”

“Race me,” she repeats. “No godly powers. No cheating. Just you,me, and the forest.”

“So you’ll kill me if I win?” she asks, but she sounds moreconfused than angry.

Artemis shrugs. “One way to find out.”

They race. It’s close. Even though she thinks her life is on theline, Atalanta doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate.

Atalanta wins.

She glares up at Artemis, defiance and fear filling her eyes, andthe goddess just smiles.

“Have you considered joining my hunt?”

Atalanta is her best huntress. She gets along with the othergirls, smiles and laughs and never, ever stops giving all she does every ounceof her effort.

She’s been with them over a year when she corners Artemis, thesame anger in her eyes as when they first met. “You touch the others. Why doyou not touch me?”

“Do you want me to touch you?” she asks, neutral. Her huntressesare also typically her lovers, but she’s not going to require it. She wantsAtalanta in whatever capacity she’s comfortable with.

“Yes,” she answers, reckless and brave, an adult but still soyoung to Artemis’s ancient eyes.

So Artemis tugs her close, slots their mouths together, and workson undoing her heavy leathers.

When Atalanta agreed to help rid King Oineus of his mad boar, shehadn’t known it would end this way.

She hadn’t known this would be the story of her exploits whichwould finally reach her father’s ears.

“You didn’t tell me you were a princess.”

Atalanta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before turning toface her goddess. “You didn’t ask.”

Artemis reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You mustknow it doesn’t matter to me. You mortals are all the same to a goddess’seyes.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, instead leaning hercheek into Artemis’s hand. “He wants me to come home. He said – he’ll give thekingdom to me. He’ll name me his heir.”

“Do you want a kingdom?” Artemis asks.

“No.” She looks away. “I have no use for one, nor do I know how torun one. But I want him to give it to me. I want him to know he made a mistake,that my life wasn’t worthless, that my mother’s sacrifice wasn’t worthless, Iwant – I want him to be sorry.”

Her goddess sighs. “You know, making you a queen and being sorryare not one in the same.”

“I know,” she whispers, “I know. But I think I want it anyway. Ifonly so I can burn it to the ground. It’s my birthright. If I destroy it, fine,it’s mine to destroy.” That’s not very fair to all the people living there, allthe people she’ll be in charge of who did nothing to her, who were probablytold she was stillborn.

But she is bear-raised, she’s a huntress. She’s been hurt, and shewants blood.

Artemis doesn’t chastise her for her rage, her unseemly desire forbloody vengeance. “There will always be a place for you in my hunt,” she says,and kisses Atalanta for the last time.

Her position within her father’s palace is exhausting.

Her father treats her like a man, takes her fighting and fishingand hunting. He hires her tutors to teach her all she doesn’t know, saying thatshe’ll pick it all up quickly, she’s bright enough. But the rest of the palacestaff hover around uncertainly, unsure whether to treat her as a lady or a lordor a guest. The tailor comes and makes her a dozen beautiful gowns that shecan’t fight in, and then the blacksmith makes her armor that’s too tight acrossher chest.

She misses her leathers. The huntresses don’t wear metal armor, it’stoo heavy and loud, more of hinderance than a help. She doesn’t like the weightof the metal on top of her. She doesn’t like the weight of a lot of the thingsthat she’s being forced to carry.

Her father wants her to marry, to choose a suitable king to rulethe realm, to choose a man whose children she’ll bear.

She has no problem with marrying a man, and she would like to oneday be a mother. But she abhors the thought of giving up a single ounce ofcontrol over what is to be herkingdom.

There’s not much need for deceptive cleverness in the forests, butshe’s still capable of it, if needed. “Father,” she says, wearing one of thedresses that strain against her too wide hips and shoulders, not sitting righton her thick waist. Wearing a dress, like a princess, like a lady, like someonewho can’t kill a lion with her bare hands. “Surely you can’t expect me to marrya man just because he is noble? Just because he is wealthy? His sons will oneday rule our land. He must be strong so that he may sire strong children.”

Her father’s eyebrows dip together. All his advisors are glaringat her, but she pretends not to notice. “You’re right. After all, you got yourstrength from me.” It takes all her effort not to curl her lip. What strengthshe did not earn in blood and sweat was gifted to her by her mother. Not him.

“Let there be a contest,” she says, thinking of her first meetingwith Artemis. “A race. If any man can beat me in a footrace, he shall be myking and husband. If he should lose, he should be killed for his arrogance, tothink he could claim your land so easily, Father.”

He gives a great booming laugh and claps Atlanta on the back. “Ilike it! Very well, daughter, a race for your heart. And those who fail will beexecuted at the next dawn.”

The executioner grows to hate her.

He’s hasn’t been able to sleep in for many weeks.

There’s a formal dinner tonight, and Atlanta doesn’t know what towear. Does she wear the armor so herfather can show her off as a warrior? Or a dress so she can be presented as alady?

In the forests, there was always something to focus her rage on.An animal to hunt, a woman to fight, Artemis there burning as bright as herbrother’s sun. But here in this stilted, silent palace, she grabs onto herbedclothes and tears them to ribbons, needing to do something.

“If you hated them so much, I could have just replaced them, mylady.”

She pauses, her face heating up. She glances up and there’s one ofthe servants with a basket of laundry balanced on his hip. He smiles at her, lightand easy, and she smiles back without thinking. “I – sorry.”

He shrugs, stepping forward to finish stripping her bed. “It’syour things, my lady. You may destroy them if you wish.”

Her face and throat feel tight, and she can’t cry, not now, nothere, not with an audience. “I don’t want to destroy them.”

He drops the sheets, mouth parting. “I – I’m sorry, PrincessAtalanta. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shakes her head and rubs at her eyes. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’tmean – I just don’t know what to wear, and nothing fits–” He grabs her wrists,and the callouses on his hands are different, not quite the same as the ones onher hands. His aren’t from fighting.

“You are the lady of this house and the future queen of thisland.” His voice is soft, his hands on her are soft, his eyes are soft. “Youdon’t apologize for anything. Especially not to me. You could have me killedjust for touching you.”

It’s been a long time since someone has been soft with her. Sheusually doesn’t allow it, even from those she cares about, wouldn’t have takenthis kind of vulnerability from the huntresses or Artemis, wouldn’t have knownwhat to do with it.

She doesn’t know what to do with it now.

“I wouldn’t,” she promises.

When he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ll want towear a dress to tonight’s event. It’s a summer party for foreign dignitaries,and on the surface the function is to socialize. If you show up in armor,they’ll take it as a threat.” He slips away and walks over to her closet,throwing it open. “My mother was a seamstress, and I may not be as good as shewas, but I know a trick or two, and we have a few hours. Let’s see what we’reworking with.”

“Okay,” she says, because what does she have to lose.

He pulls out a bright red gown and turns away as she gets changed.He walks around her with a critical eye. “The poor tailor doesn’t know what todo with you. He’s too used to trying to make women look small and modest.”

He carefully cuts away at the dress. He makes slits to mid-thighon either side so she can finally move again, and cuts the back wide open soit’s no longer too tight around her shoulders. He grabs some thin golden ropefrom one of the curtains and threads it criss crossing over her now naked backto keep the dress upright, and he cuts the sleeves off entirely. His hands movealmost too fast for her eyes to follow as he hurries to resew the edges intime.

She looks at herself in the mirror, and she doesn’t look like astranger anymore. Her muscles and scars are on full display, her meaty calvesand strong biceps, the claw marks from the wolf that tore open her shoulder andthe time she fell down a cliffside and bashed her knee wide open.

She’s a woman. She’s their princess.

But she’s a warrior too. She was a warrior first, and she thinksshe’ll always be a warrior first.

“Thank you,” she says, taking his hands like he’d taken hers. Nowhe’s flushing, and she wants – well, she wants. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think toask. What’s your name?”

“Hippomenes, my lady,” he says, looking at her like she’ssomething different than he thought, like she’s something interesting andspecial.

Looking at her like she first looked at Artemis after that fatefulrace.

“Atalanta,” she corrects, squeezing his hands, “You may call meAtalanta.”

Hippomenes keeps coming to her rooms, and she keeps letting him.She’s wary of ordering or asking for him, since she’s his princess. She wantshim to come to her only if he wants to.

He does want to.

He shows up to alter her dresses at first, but then when that’sdone and he’s run out of excuses, he keeps showing up anyway. He’s worked inthe palace his whole life, so he knows all the people and all the correct waysto do things, patiently explains to her how to play games in politics and howto win fights that are so rarely physical.

He’s teaching her how to be queen, and each day she falls more andmore in love with him.

Each day, the body count from her failed suitors climbs ever higher.

Hippomenes could never beat her in a footrace, and if she takes ahusband who doesn’t best her, after ordering all those men to die, her peoplewill kill her for her deception.

She’s in an impossible position of her own making, so she turns tosomeone who has the power to help her.

Artemis goes to Hephaestus, because he’s always the easiest tofind. She steps around the cyclopes and waits until he pauses in hammering awayat a sheet of metal. “What?” he snaps, impatient.

“I need to talk to your wife and sister. One of mine needs theirhelp.” Atalanta may not be her huntress of her lover anymore, but she’s still hers.

He frowns. “What does that have to do with me?”

“If I call them, they won’t come right away. But they will if youcall. If you do, I’ll bring the huntresses to Ares’s next war,” she promises,because his brother is one of Hephaestus’s few soft spots.

He scowls but calls out, “Darling, Artemis wants to speak to you.Hebe, you too.”

“I’m busy,” whines the goddess of chaos as she materializes nextto Hephaestus. The very air around them seems to get heavy with her presence,and Artemis shivers. It’s like being around Hera when she’s angry, but worse,somehow.

“Yes?” Aphrodite says, appearing with an arm draped acrossHephaestus’s shoulders. “Eris, you don’t visit often enough.” Only her brothersand mother still call her Hebe.

“I’m busy,” Eris repeats, then focuses those disconcerting honeyeyes on her. All of Hera’s children have her eyes. “What do you want?”

“To unite two people in love and shake the very foundations of akingdom,” she says. “It seems like something the goddesses of love and chaoswould be able to help me with.”

Aphrodite appears to the young man who has claimed Atalanta’sheart, carrying thee heavy golden apples made by Eris’s hands, and tells himthat if he challenges Atalanta to a race and drops each of these apples as heruns, she won’t be able to keep from stopping to pick them up, and he’ll winboth her hand and her kingdom.

A servant made king. Eris had been giddy as she’d shaped thegolden apples and pressed her magic into them.

Hippomenes reaches for them, but hesitates, his hands hoveringbetween them before he pulls them back. “She doesn’t want to marry. I love her,I do, you must know that, Lady Goddess. But she doesn’t want to marry, and shedoesn’t want to share her kingdom.”

Aphrodite smiles, because Hippomenes looks almost as if he’s aboutto start crying, but he doesn’t take it back.

He loves her enough to lose her, if that’s what she wants.

“I am here at the request of Artemis, who came to me on Atalanta’sbehalf,” she says gently. “She didn’t want to marry or share her kingdom. Thenshe met you.”

Tears falls from his eyes as he takes the three golden apples fromher hands, grinning so widely that it threatens to split his face in half.

When Hippomenes challenges Atalanta to a race, everyone laughs athim.

No one is laughing when he wins.

Atalanta and Hippomenes keep the three golden apples on the mantleover their fireplace for the rest of their lives.

They rule long, and they rule well.

gods and monsters series, part xxviiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

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karchuckles

5 years ago

Hoomans, let mes tell yous bout me best friend