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Icarus - Blog Posts
ayy found some old art I still like
(the words on Louis’ side are from the song Icarus)
James potter was always the sun, but the truth is he never was. His dream? To fly towards it, and never look back. So when he had the chance, he ignored the warnings, he ignored everyone’s advice, and soared. And the sun the was beautiful, but as he flew closer, its beauty blinded him. He didn’t notice his back felt lighter, or his body was falling away. Only until I was too late did he realise that the sun was right Infront of him. All he had to do, was make them smile.
Milkkire art style
Milkkire: Same name on Twitter and Instagram
Kiwifie ArtStyle
Kiwifie: Same name on Twitter and Devientart
Akira Toriyama Art Style
Akira Toriyama: Buy the manga
Erica DC Art-Style
Sorry About The “Hand”, It Was Taking A While And I Wanted To Be Done.
Erica DC: ASmolMushroom on Twitter and Swirlmup on Tumblr
Lavender Towne Artstyle
Lavender Towne: Haley (LavenderTowne) on Twitter and LavanderTowne on Instagram
1 Character In 6 Different Art Styles:
So I got caught up in this instead of Kaijune.
Pretty sure I failed with the more realistic styles but I’m pretty happy I did it.
Lavender Towne: Haley (LavenderTowne) on Twitter and LavanderTowne on Instagram
Erica DC: ASmolMushroom on Twitter and Swirlmup on Tumblr
Akira Toriyama: Buy the manga
Kiwifie: Same name on Twitter and Devientart
Milkkire: Same name on Twitter and Instagram
Me: Storm Is My Username on Tumblr and Instagram
Cauterized
We hear the story of Icarus and paint it as a tragedy. We see his ambition as his ultimate downfall. He loved too much, tried too hard, flew too high. He burned up in his own pursuit of the sun. Never reaching her surface. He failed, he fell, he died. Icarus caught fire in the most glorious of spectacles as he fell back to earth. Surpassing his own goals to touch the sun in the simple quest to feel something more. Something outside the confines of our logical reality. He caught fire and burned out, bathing the earth in bright blinding light. Becoming the object of his desires. And still, we whisper in piteous tone a show of ignorance in its self. Because we don't understand the man who became a star.
Jashtober day 26!!! Icarus is real, guys!
yoooo guys these wings my dad made look INSANE i can’t wait to try them tomorrow
There it finally is! @evajongepier and my final film!!!
Our film is a music video on the song I carrion (Icarian) by Hozier under rubyworks , with this animation we wanted to convey the story of Icarus in a positive and loving light, much like how Hozier often times sings about him!
In the end we worked on this project for roughly 8/9 painstaking weeks and I'm so happy with the final product, also big thanks to @/ jonathebona (insta) and @calipygos for editing and coloring respectively! It was a huge project and I'm happy I can finally sit back and enjoy the rest of my vacation before I leave for Japan!
Thank you all as well for your patience and excitement towards this project, it was a great motivator, and I hope you all enjoy our final film!
Concept art for my second year final film. I'm still in the pre progress stages so it's all still very sketchy as I'm testing out styles and colors!
Icarus faked his death. Crawled onto the shore, skin Sparkling gold and reddened And Apollo said, "your dad won't find us here."
- a post I saw on pinterest
he lays there
in that dark embrace
with salt coated lungs
and a rotting tongue
he still sees
the sunlight holding
his body and laying
him down so gently
and when the
cold rushes in and
he can do nothing,
that golden boy
will cradle his
body, crumbling at the
touch, and he’ll laugh
one last time
- because he could never outshine a star
feathered flames.
@writersnet event 1 · april 2021 | mythology
One boy plummets, bleeding wax, raining feathers. Bleeding feathers, raining wax. Another boy crashes, bursting with stolen divinity, caught in reins he no longer controls.
They burn, each on his own, across skies, across worlds, across space and time. You know how these stories end. Hubris inscribes their fates—punishments, for curiosity, for aspirations—onto their skin in flaming ink, preserved by whispers and ink.
Perhaps the boys are less daring in some worlds, and heed their fathers’ advice. They are not lost to oceans—they drown in history’s forgotten abysses instead. Perhaps they laugh in some skies and scream in others. Maybe some gods are cruel, and have them languish for eternity and beyond.
But maybe some are kinder, and Icarus and Phaethon find their way to each other as they fall.
Have you kissed the Sun, too? I have been the Sun. That is why we fall from grace. We fall to glory, brother, and nothing less. Do not regret it. A charred smile. The world was not meant for such as us.
(Perhaps some other world will be.)
—aish. 03/05/2021.
tag list: ask to be added/removed!
@aeternve @jepser @durgaa @ortolon @scarlett-dragna @patruchilles @ariadnaes @vaelinor @prelapsariian @laythe @isohelle
London Gym - a Thunderbirds Are Go story
Author: mae-the-4th
Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (2015-2020)
Timing: Season 3, about Episode 18 Avalanche and Episode 20 Icarus
Warnings: none
Words: 1235
Author’s Note: It’s about time I did another Thunderbirds fic! I hate the ending at all and am not entirely happy with what I finished with, but we’ll see how it goes… Enjoy this in all its unedited glory! I know nothing about Wing Chun and Kung Fu, so if I get something wrong, I am so sorry and will try to fix it! The character of Jack Wallace is completely fictional. I don't own any characters except for Jack Wallace, an OC.
xXxXxXx
Jack Wallace was a fit guy. His black-and-red Wing Chun martial arts belt and his habit of going to the gym every morning proved said fact. He had gone to this particular gym in London every day for almost two and a half years – yet he had never seen this young woman before, although she seemed somehow familiar. Tall, lithe, with olive skin, black hair, and enchantingly green eyes, she was there before even he was, running on the treadmill. She stayed there for 3 hours, running at 10 kilometres an hour, no joke! She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t stop listening to her music. It seemed she barely broke a sweat. She just kept on running, ponytail swinging, until she left. Jack made a mental note to ask her whether she was a marathon runner if he saw her again.
She was there the next day, again beating him to the gym. Instead of the treadmill, she focused on weights, lifting loads that usually would be impossible for a girl of her age and stature. After weights, she moved to the floor mats, completing push-ups, balances, squats, and many more that Jack didn’t manage to notice. Jack hit the showers quickly so he could ask her what her training regime was but just missed her. As he ran out the door after her, he just managed to spot her climbing into a pink car (pink! Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day!). She greeted the grey-haired driver and they sped off.
On the third day, the mystery girl was late – a whole hour late. It seemed very much unlike her (not that Jack really knew anything about her). The reason why was revealed when the large pink car pulled up to the doors. Out stepped the olive-skinned girl, pulling a shorter blonde out with her. The grey-haired driver followed at a respectful distance, warily eyeing Jack for a moment before flicking his eyes subtly around the gym. Jack didn’t even think about trying to talk to the mystery girl that day.
The day after, Jack found Mystery Girl on the mats, alone. She had a punching bag hanging in front of her – and it looked like she really hated it. Jabs and kicks repeatedly hit the bag, with sometimes less than a second in between the different moves. With a start, Jack recognised the style of fighting – Wing Chun, a style he was quite familiar with himself. After watching a few minutes, Jack realised that this was his opportunity to go talk to her.
“Wing Chun, right? Kung Fu?”
She stopped, turning to face him. “Yes. You know it?”
“Yeah. Don’t know much, but enough to get by in a fight. I think.”
Mystery Girl smirked. “Okay. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know about you, but this punching bag doesn’t exactly hit back.” Jack furrowed his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes. “I’m asking if you’ll spar with me.”
“Oh! Right, yeah. Sorry.” Spreading his legs into an opening stance, Jack desperately tried to remember what he had been taught – and nearly got a jab to the face. “Hey!”
“C’mon! One of the first rules is ‘always be ready and expect the unexpected’!”
Jack grimaced. “Sorry. I’m ready now.”
Mystery Girl grinned. “Shall we start then?”
Somewhere amidst all the jabs and kicks Mystery Girl launched at him, Jack realised that he was seriously outmatched. She was an expert, as in the highest ranking you could ever be. His respect and awe for her increased massively every time she added another bruise to his collection. Her style was flawless, each move precise and aimed perfectly. Jack never had any chance of beating her and he could tell that she was toying with him, leading him around the mats. Finally, Jack found himself on the flat on the ground, pinned by her knee. Grinning, she stood back up and offered her hand. Grabbing it, Jack stood back upright.
“Thanks for the practice,” the girl said.
“Practice? That was a full-on work out!”
She shrugged. “Eh, I take what I can get. Most of my brothers can’t really keep up with me in terms of self-defense, although they’re much better than they used to be.”
Jack sipped from his water bottle, still panting. “Let me guess, you’ve been teaching them?” She nodded, drinking from her own bottle. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Five,” she replied, and Jack blinked in surprise.
A ring tone echoed in the quiet gym and Mystery Girl picked up her phone. Sleek and black with silver highlights, it was obviously heavy duty – and expensive. A holographic display lit the air above the phone, showing the caller ID. Calling – Lady Penelope. The picture was the young blonde from the other day, laughing with her head thrown back with a tanned blond man, Hawaiian shirt open at the neck. Mystery Girl picked up her phone and ‘Penelope’ appeared.
“We are right outside when you’re ready. Gordon is here too, surprisingly.”
“Really?” Mystery Girl said, wry disbelief on her face.
“Yes! Somehow, I got Gordon out of bed, but he is fairly grumpy, and I will need your help wrangling him.”
She smiled fondly. Jack found he really liked it, but a stab of jealousy ran through him. Who is this Gordon? Her boyfriend?
“I’ll be right there, Lady P. See you in a few seconds.” Hanging up on Penelope, Mystery Girl grabbed her rucksack and turned towards the door. “Bye,” she said to Jack with a flutter of her fingers. Minutes later, the same pink car from before roared past.
It was only later that Jack realised he still didn’t ask for her name. He certainly regretted it when he never saw her in his gym again-
-until she was on television two weeks later.
Jack was on the treadmills, straining for those last few kilometres, while watching the local news. There had been a recent world record broken – the world airspeed record, to be precise. Something had gone wrong though, according to the news, and International Rescue had stepped in to help. Jack only caught the end of the report, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks (while the treadmill was still running unfortunately, although he’d never admit it). The news channel showed four of the five Thunderbirds lined up, the members of International Rescue standing in front. Four young men for four Thunderbirds, baldrics silver, green, red, and yellow. Next to them stood two young women. One was blonde, clad in a gold dress and black jacket, her hand entwined in the yellow Thunderbird’s hand. Jack’s eyes widened as he recognised her as Lady Penelope. And next to her-
Next to Lady Penelope was Mystery Girl. Clad in dark blue-green and black, she stood with an easy confidence. The names of the members of International Rescue flashed on the holo-image. Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy, Kayo Kyrano.
Kayo.
Now everything made sense! Mystery Girl’s fitness ability, her friend with the chauffeur, her mention of her five brothers – blimey, her brothers were the famous Tracy’s. She was part of International Rescue, for goodness sake!! She was the elusive pilot of the rumoured Thunderbird Shadow! And Jack had met with her, talked to her, sparred with her, and didn’t even realise.
Jack left the gym in bewilderment, the treadmill still running.
xXxXxXx
FIN
Farewell Astrodome
Farewell Astrodome. You will be remembered for hosting a kickass social-satirizing, "Bullitt"-parodying, Shelley Duvall-introducing, existential modern-Icarus-mythologizing Robert Altman film. At least that's what I'll remember it for. They held sports events there, right?
Icarus has abandoned me:
The cosmos cries comets, the moon bleeds lullabies, and here i am, icarus; i, who can bear the quarrels of fate and time no more. you sought the sun, but did the sun seek you back? does it mourn you, or am i the only one doing that?
Who's stars am i aligning, are they mine? certainly that is what i was told (did you not tell me that, icarus) . those promises that I kept safe so dearly in my pockets, how did they find me? who am i to chase after the remarkable (i thought i could, in the name of you, icarus).
i, who sought icarus, can hear him no more. i am searching. where are you?
it is your time to find me, icarus; search for me. heal me. answer me.
'I can't. It's too risky,' I tell myself, as I back away from the wings that lay in front of me, the ones that I yearn for, hope for. Live for. Those wings.
'I'm so close,' I argue, 'I've always wanted this.' Those wings.
I can imagine Icarus smiling at the stars burning in my eyes.
'Come,' he would say, 'Fly.'
I smile, closing my eyes, keeping those stars going supernova to myself. And I walk away. Those wings.
'I am no Icarus.'
i thought he was a short king i will not lie
I am pleased to be showing this collage at the Tension Fine Art group show Extempore 24 from 22 February – 2 March 2024
Maps to the Stars
Framed, 30cm x 40cm
Collage and pencil
£135
This collage incorporates a landscape by the wonderful painter Agnes Pelton and a Marshall Island stick chart, used to navigate the sea. The pencil grid is a nod to Agnes Martin (another great painter and source of inspiration), whilst doubling as a template for a cubomania.
Tension Fine Art
135 Maple Rd,
London
SE20 8LP
Gallery is open Thurs – Sat 11am – 5pm.
In the Valley of the Shadow of Death
I can't be the only one thinking icarus' back (atleast) would be covered in burns
huge angst opportunity to make that bitch cry all the time