#Achilles too was called a chosen one and look how it ended

[arcanespillo]

Your knowing changes nothing.

[da3dm]

Achilles and his heel (fake fic title)!!!

I really didn't know what to do with this at first, but have a very old oc and two of my friend's ocs!

Also will someone pleeeeease notice the first fake fic title thing I did, It's like it's nonexistent and idk how bc it would have also messaged brick QnQ

Word Count: 507

—

The god leaned against his balcony, staring out at the kingdom he had built for his mortal wife and wondering where they would go from here. He could live forever, even further than other gods with his truly immortal body, but…sometimes he wanted to know his weaknesses. He’d built a castle in the blink of an eye, subdued demons that came after his wife for her own powers, brought down kingdoms as his own one-man army, and had obtained a daughter to call his own…that looked somewhat strange in her shifted form, clearly not pure blooded. But what did he expect? He was a dark dragon and had chosen a dimension shifter as a partner.

Before he could truly drown in his thoughts, thin hands touched his shoulders and brought him back from his thoughts, the sweet voice he’d grown to enjoy softly coaxing him away from the railings, “Are you just going to stand out here like a menace? Your bat is trying to start things with Hallow again and Lunara is getting mixed up in it. Care to intervene?”

He gave a sigh and turned, running his clawed hands over her much smaller ones with a soft smile. “I’ll talk to Vlad. I know he doesn't like the demon, but he shouldn't be messing with him with our daughter there.” He touched his forehead to hers, studying her wonderful eyes while recalling the times he’d hated her, been scared of her, hunted her, and almost killed her…and then when she accepted to be his. Their past was a tangle of regret and violence, but now they stood side by side at last.

She rolled her eyes after a moment of allowing the touch before flicking his nose with a smirk and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I still think you’re way too tall…can’t properly reach you at all.” She tilted her head as she studied her husband for his thoughts, knowing something was on his mind but not prying into it.

He could only smirk teasingly at her, having hardly felt the flick. “Is that right? I’d love to hear more, but I should really get going. We don’t need Lunara learning to be like Hallow.”

“Oh, and like Vlad is an improvement.” She did let her arms fall away, her sarcasm tangible enough on its own. Although when he started to leave, she reached a hand out to touch his arm, a sort of desperate look in her kind eyes. “Zazian? You know I love you, right?” He stared at her in surprise for a long moment before he smiled a rare smile and gave her a nod before vanishing into the shadows.

Perhaps he did have a weakness…it just wasn’t his own body. Just like Achilles and his heel, that girl was his true and only weakness. For a god of Death, he really did love Galaxy, not regretting any of the choices…because each and every last one brought them to where they are now, and he wouldn't trade anything for that.

—

End

Okay this was an entirely different oc that I probably won't touch on very much. Galaxy and Hallow are actually my friend's characters, but he was created for an rp, not a story. He's going to mainly stay in that long since abandoned rp bc he's not really very usable. Outside of the rp he would still have a metal collar around his neck that blocks all his powers but leaves him as an immortal...nothing could take that from him so it just sorta happened. I can answer questions about him, but don't expect content for him.

And yeah, after that one praise from brick I introduce a bat named Vlad lol. I just really like that name and couldn't think of a different one for the familiar.

[hnychn]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 [𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍]

summary : it was painful to watch eren become the very person he swore to protect you from

warnings : gender neutral reader, angst (when is it not), season 4 anime spoilers, a bit of jean x reader but nothing is specified,

word count : 2k+

a/n : i kinda don't like this cause idk if the feeling came out as i wanted it to, but i also don't know how to fix it and make it better. i kinda played around with eren's titan abilities and the memories he inherited, but anyways lmk what you thought.

attack on titan masterlist || navigation

Philtatos.

That’s what Achilles was said to have called his love, Patroclus.

Most Beloved.

A word often spoken between the two as the salty ocean breeze filtered through the open windows and Achilles held Patroclus as if he were the moon holding his tide and Patroclus held Achilles as if he were brightening his world like a thousand golden urns. A word spoken between gasps and puffy lips as the moon peeked through the curtains and guided the two lovers. A word so precious and valuable it was the only word Achilles could cry as he held his lover’s body in the aftermath of the Trojan War.

But words too often spoken, are meanings too often lost.

“If it ever came down to you or the world, I’d choose you over and over and over.”

Much like Patroclus, you cherished the words so rarely dripped from his lips like a drop of water spilling over the edge of a cup. You held Eren tighter, pressed more kisses to the curve of his lips, held his face closer to your own when he let those rare words slip from his lips. When he spoke those words, it was as if a million stars had suddenly been dropped into your dark abyss of a universe and guided your way through life; each sparkle capturing a piece of your breath and stealing your heart and soul with no intentions of giving it back.

Eren embodied the golden urns that spilled from the sun that guided Patroclus’ path to Achilles in the afterlife; he was bright, warm, home.

When Eren lit up your word as he did, when he lit up your path and guided you to him, it was easy to call him home. He was your person. Your person who waited for you with open arms and a cup overflowing with love waiting for you to take and cherish and keep. It was easy for you to mold yourself into his arms on harsher days when he pat your head and whispered, “It’s you over the world. Always” into your ears when you wanted to scream and cry and set fire to the world.

He promised you protection; a secure future filled with love and hope and freedom and forever. It was easy to believe him when he put his life on the line for you when he was on trial. Screaming and thrashing and struggling to get to you as members of the military brigade twisted your arms behind your back and threatened to end your life on suspicions of knowing Eren’s secret. It was easy to believe him when he held you close later, with the moon’s light filtering into the room and the cold breeze cradling both of your bodies. It was easy to believe him when he held you close, his hands fisting the back of your shirt as if someone would burst in and steal you from him at any moment, while his words tickled your ear and warmed your heart, “I will protect you. You are my world.”

But words too often spoken, are meanings too often lost.

You could remember the day his words started lacking their once bright luster. Not long after retaking Wall Maria, you felt the salty ocean breeze against the curves of your face and the cool ocean water against the heels of your ankle. You smiled as you watched Connie and Sasha play in the water and looked over to Eren to do the same; but the sparkle in his eyes, or rather the lack thereof, is when the warmth of his words started to burn out like a flame too long exposed to the harsh winter.

"The world is against us. . .and I won’t let them win.”

Your back was turned to him, pressing against his firm chest that once grounded you in reality and assured you of safety; but now it only frightened you and summoned a churn in your stomach you didn’t know was possible in Eren’s presence.

It was as if your mind recognized it sooner than your heart did. As if your brain could recognize the small changes in your lover, the way his eyes slowly dimmed and were no longer the same jade green that reminded you of the soft grass that tickled the pads of your feet outside of your childhood cottage but had turned into a stormy grey that reminded you of the storms that sunk ships and shattered the hearts and trust of many.

But your heart refused to acknowledge it. Eren had placed a veil of red in front of your heart that blurred all sense of rationale you had. You could see the way he seemed to withdraw into himself more, his words became more scarce, his affection became rarer and rarer as the days passed. Your eyes could register the lack of sparkle in his when he looked at you, but your heart was under his control and refused to acknowledge it.

It was painful watching the person you love most slowly fall out of love with you.

Your heart ached when you looked him in the eyes and were faced with the heartbreaking reality that the stars that once lit up your whole universe were now slowly dimming and simmering away.

And then he disappeared.

As if he were whispers of dandelions floating in the wind, he disappeared, leaving nothing but a stem of the flower he once was in his wake.

You cried and screamed and thrashed about when you first found out, and despite his arms wrapped around you in an effort of comfort, Jean wasn't Eren. You pounded against his chest and screamed at him to let you go, to let you leave and find eren. Because it had to be a mistake, Eren wouldn't just leave you behind . . . right?

The blinding veil had been ripped from your heart and left it shattered. You spent several days locked in your room with only a few shirts Eren left behind to comfort you, his natural scent fading away as time passed, just as his love did for you.

Though, just as Patroclus did, you soon found your peace (though it wasn’t as heartwarming as reuniting with your long-lost lover like Patroclus, peace was peace and you would accept it as it came). It took a while, but with the help of your friends and Jean, you were able to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and tape them back together.

But the process of healing is not a simple task.

There were days where you wanted to scream at the stars at the top of your lungs, there were days where you wanted to lock yourself in your room again and cry until there were no more tears for you to give, and there were days where you wanted to shatter Eren’s nose as he did your heart. But you took those days with unwavering confidence and picked up your pieces when they fell again.

You picked them up until there was no more need to pick them up because time had healed you. And while it did hurt to accept it, it was a part of healing.

And so, you accepted that Eren had chosen a life without you.

Eren didn't know whether to be happy or not to see you.

Happy you were alive. Happy he was able to see your face one more time. Happy you had made it out alive from the problems he caused.

His soul ached for him to reach out to you, to hold you close and pepper kisses to your face, and never let you go from the protection of his arms. He ached to take your hand in his and feel the way they fit so perfectly together as if they were made of the same mold. Eren ached to feel the soft pads of your fingers against his cheeks and hear your reassurances that, yes, he was good.

But he stayed put.

And he allowed you to look at him with those beautiful eyes he once loved looking into during the darkest nights that were filled with a love words could not tie-down, but we're now filled with confusion and laced with anger and an array of emotions Eren couldn’t blame you for. Eren allowed you to walk out the door of the airship and into the back where he could hear screams of joy. He let you walk away from him; the echoing sounds of your footsteps getting quieter and quieter as you walked farther away from him.

That was the only time Eren questioned whether what he was doing was right. The more steps you took away from him, the more he had to restrain his body from grabbing you and chaining you to the front of the ship. His body screamed at him to yell, speak, kick, grab you, tackle you, do anything to stop you from leaving.

But he didn't, and he allowed you to walk away.

Eren stared blankly at the metal flooring of the airship as he heard the cheering abruptly stop, and his heart sank. He prayed and prayed to the gods he didn't believe in for someone else to have been hit, that it was someone else bleeding onto the cold floor; because Eren knew he wouldn't be able to go to you. Not with Levi in front of him.

His prayers went unanswered as Jean walked in with two kids, his eyes were red with unshed tears and his hands gripped their clothing as if it were the only thing grounding him to this reality. A reality where you had been shot. A reality that Eren had seen and could have prevented.

Everything seemed to go blank then. It was as if his body shut down, his lands going limp in his lap. The sounds of Mikasa and Armin running out of the room were only white noise, but the sound of your name falling in screams once they saw you were as clear as day.

It was then that Eren realized he was but a pawn in the grand scheme of the memories he held. There was no alternative for him, no way for him to save the people he loved; leaving him to experience loss not once, but twice.

Eren tried to soften the blow of your loss by convincing himself he didn't love you, that your love was nothing but puppy love he clung onto for a small sliver of a normal life, but seeing you again for the first time in years reminded him how much he loved you.

The way you stood with confidence and fought on foreign land made his heart beat with the remembrance of the nights he held you close in his arms and whispered promises of protection and love. Promises of a world of freedom and independence.

"It's you, you, you. Always you,” words once whispered with a love Eren could only dream and long for in the present where you would no longer be there to hear them.

There was no doubt in his mind, in another universe, one where titans didn't roam the earth and the world wasn't against them, Eren would have chosen you in a heartbeat, over and over and over. In a world where his only worries would be what to eat for dinner that night, Eren would hold you close and cherish you just like he wished could in this universe.

But as the memories he inherited played out just as he knew them to and the feeling of losing you weighed heavier on him than it had when he first saw the memory years ago, Eren knew there was nothing else keeping him from becoming the very thing he promised to protect you from.

A monster.

And when Connie walked into the room, his hands stained with your blood and his eyes dripping with the horror of losing someone close, Eren knew what he had done.

Eren chose the world over you.

taglist: @hells-glory-hole @ashveil @stickystrawberrysyrup @420-uwu @kaiwai @the-trash-mammal @dprhvn @noodle-m-c-doodle

[smallraindrops-blog]

To Have And To Hold

Hypnos x female!reader

Word count: 2k

Part One

Warning:War, dead people and children, Ares ( let be real, that guy is a warning all on his own) kissing and sexual themes, no beta

The shade that came in the library was polite but clearly overwhelmed from their work. They handed over the letter quickly and gave a bow before hurrying out.

You pushed aside your own paperwork, "Lady Athena?" You asked out loud to no one but yourself. You typically only get letters from your sisters or parents.

You carefully opened it, a sense of dread unfolded in your chest.

'Dear Y/N.

I wish I was writing to you in better times. Unfortunately, I must keep this letter short. I'm in need of your help, desperately.

I can explain more when I see you. When you reach the surface, call for me.

Athena'

You ran out the library, uncaring about leaving scrolls on the tables.

You made it to the East wing and you glanced to Achilles, only to see empty space. You paused for a second then you heard it, crying and countless voices together begging and yelling.

What in the world...

"Silent!" Hades boomed and a harsh bark followed. The house quieted down, only soft sobs remained.

You walked in slowly and couldn't stop the gasp. You had never seen so many shades all in one place and you even saw some standing in the Styx.

You saw Achilles in front of Hades' desk, facing the crowd. His normally kind face was cold and his grip on the spear was tight.

Hades stood up, "Silent." He repeated. Queen Persephone and Zagreus stood next to Hades, both their faces unable to hide the worries they felt.

"Thanatos, please continue."

"Lord Ares has gone mad with war lust. Hermes nor I can keep up with the amount of dead. And as I speak, Ares and Eris are tearing through another city." Thanatos' tone was hard and flat.

You swallowed, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"What has Zeus done to step in?" Hades asked warily.

"He has yet to do so, lord Hades." Thanatos replied.

Hades opened his mouth but a shade broke past the group. "Please, you have to help us! They will follow us even in death, it won't ever stop!"

"Didn't I tell you to be silent!? And Ares can't come here, no matter how hard he tries."

The shade shook their head, "No, not him-" the other shades joined, all begging and more crying started.

"Be quiet, all of you!"

Zagreus spoke up, "Wait, we should hear them out, Father."

"No. We have bigger problems." Hades rubbed his forehead."Thanatos, give this letter to Hermes. The sooner we can put Ares and his friend down the better."

There was a moment of silence after Thanatos vanished.

You took a shaky breath, and looked around to find Hypnos. You heard him speak in his cheerful voice before you saw him, "Well, alrighty. That sure was something, huh? Line up! Come on everyone, and mind the little ones."

He wasn't in his usual spot but a little past Hades' desk along with Dusa and several workers shades. You walked over, "Hypnos."

He looked up at your voice, his eyes widened in alarm. He dropped the quill and paper he was holding. "How much of that did you see?" He whispered.

"Enough." You whispered back. "I got a letter from Athena, they need my help."

"What?" He asked in a strangled whisper. You showed him the letter. He read the letter once, his face blank.

You waited for a response, frowning at his unreadable face.

Then he folded up the letter calmly as he met your gaze, "No. Absolutely not. I will not allow you to go." He said softly.

"Hypnos!" You replied, no longer staying quiet. "You have no right to tell me what to do." You reached for the letter but he held it out of reach.

"Blood and Darkness." Hades cursed. "We do not need your marital disputes in the great hall especially now. Leave."

You flushed, realizing you could feel eyes on you. Hypnos grabbed your arm gently, "Oh of course, Lord Hades. Don't worry, I will be back shortly after I handle this." Hypnos said pleasantly, " What was the saying? Happy wife, happy life? But hey why am I telling you? You know all about that."

Hades glared down at the both of you and you desperately wished for a hole to swallow you whole.

Before you could apologize for Hypnos' lack of tact, he vanished you along with him.

You looked around, trying to push away the nausea. Thankfully he had chosen to reappear just outside of your bedchambers.

You turned on him, "For blood's sake what was that about Hypnos?"

"Can we talk in your chambers? Or the library, whichever one you want." He asked, sounding guilty.

Good, you thought viciously.

"Oh so I do get a say in something then? Or will you be 'handling' that too?" You snapped at him. You pushed out your door, not bothering to invite Hypnos in. You stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed.

Hypnos closed the door behind him quietly. "I'm sorry but Lady Athena will have to do without your help if it means you have to go to the surface. I cannot let you go up there."

"That is my decision, not yours." You shook your head. "I have to go."

"Didn't you hear how Ares has gone mad? That guy is crazy on a good day, let alone whatever is happening now." Even with the guilty look on his face, Hypnos shook his head. "You have never even seen a war, have you? It's not a pretty sight."

"We don't even know what she needs help with, I doubt I will be anywhere near a battlefield. She knows I'm not a warrior."

"The fact you have to even be on the surface is too much." Hypnos floated over to you but didn't touch you, his hands spread out. "War isn't predictable. One person's decision can cost other people's their lives, well beyond the battlefields. And it never ever ends up the way leaders plan for it to."

You stayed quiet, looking down at the ground. You couldn't get your mind off the letter even with Hypnos’ reasoning. Athena wouldn't ask for anything unless she truly needed it.

"Y/N, please look at me." Hypnos lifted your chin up, your eyes flicked toward his before you made yourself look away.

"I would give you anything if it made you happy, you know that." Hypnos spoke carefully. "You can help Lady Athena, I'm not saying you can't but you need to do it from here. There is no point in risking your safety."

Hypnos waited for you to respond only to sigh when you shook your head, too upset to speak.

"Send a letter to Athena, and I will help out too, love. Okay?" Hypnos' eyes studied your face.

"Can't you just come with me?" You asked, hating how your voice cracked at the end. "If you're so worried."

"No, I am needed here and I'm doubtful I would be a welcomed face." Hypnos gave a slight grin, "Besides, I already won the last war when I got you as my wife."

he looked at you so softly, it made you blush. You pulled away, you will not let Hypnos sweet talk you. “Oh, yes. Just remind me of another time I was mad at you. That will work out for you.”

“I-i just-“ Hypnos chuckled but he was clearly unamused. “Obviously I have a case of foot in mouth. Y/N, I just want you to be safe. Am I wrong to want my wife to be safe?”

You glared at him, “Well obviously not, Hypnos. Don’t play that game with me.”

Hypnos glared back, both of you silently glaring at each other. Hypnos broke first and rubbed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. You resisted the urge to walk over and smooth away the weight you could see on him.

When Hypnos looked back at you, you didn’t expect the serious look in his face, “Just promise me something.”

“What?” You watched him warily, not used to this reaction from him.

“You won’t try to leave without me. If- and that is a very big if by the way, we have to go up to help whoever, you won’t go where I can’t keep an eye on you.” Hypnos said, his golden eyes stayed on your face.

“I’m not a child, Hypnos.” You muttered.

“I know that. But you have never been in a war and I have and I know how ugly it gets. I hope I am overreacting, really I am.” Hypnos came closer again, “Just promise me. Please.”

“I-i but.. Fine. Okay, I promise.” You said. You glanced at Hypnos and upon seeing the relief on his face, you turned away, guilt

“Just… give me some alone time, okay?” You said, unable to hide how upset you were.

He was quiet for a few minutes. “Alright. I will have tonight’s dinner sent for you. I will check in on you later, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, staring at the wall. "Thank you."

Hypnos looked at you a moment, a hand reached up for a second before falling back down, before he left.

You pushed down the guilt you felt, Hypnos was the one in the wrong for not helping you.

You paced around the room, biting your lip nervously as you tried to think.

You couldn't take the path Zagreus does, and you weren't sure if he would or could help you. You didn't have a boat and from the looks of it Charon wouldn't have space anyway.

And Cerberus was…

You groaned and covered your face.

You were efficiently trapped, the realization caused the fading anger at Hypnos to come roaring back.

You sat down on the bed when a knock came. "Y/N? C-can I come in?" Dusa's voice was normally a welcomed thing but right now you don't think you can stomach being around others.

But it wasn't Dusa' fault you told yourself.

You opened the door and she floated in. "Are you okay? I kinda saw what happened in the hall."

You shook your head and explained everything. You reached for the letter only to remember that Hypnos still had it. "Blood and darkness Hypnos." you muttered. You couldn't believe he was treating you like a child.

Dusa was quiet for a few moments. "Well actually, I might know a way. It is the same way Queen Persephone took to return here. She doesn't have to travel the same way everyone else does."

Hope lifted in your chest. "Do you know if Cerberus would be there?"

"Far as I know, he wouldn't be near there since Queen Persephone is here." Dusa frowned with worry, "But you know how dangerous it is, right? Meg told me stories about the last war and the kind of people she had to punish for their acts during it."

"I have to go. My family could be at risk. Can you cover for me? Just a little bit."

Dusa stared at you. "Just promise me you will be careful okay? And if anyone asks, even Hypnos, I won't lie okay?"

You hugged her. "Thank you!"

"Just please be careful." Dusa muttered.

~~

The snow was still there, unmarked and soft. You took a breath, the sharp, freezing air hurt your lungs but it felt amazing.

You weren’t sure if the hallway Queen Persephone took would work for you but thankfully it had just been an unusually long and winding hallway.

When you got back, you were planning on telling Zegreus about it. Let's see Hades do anything about that.

You watched the snowfall, gentle and pure, with a sigh. You tugged your travel cloak tighter, the last time you wore this was during your wedding.

It wasn't the same place you and Hypnos had gotten married. But seeing the snow brought memories. Of the fear, of how you almost stumbled over your vows, how Hypnos' hand holding yours was the only warm thing you could feel. Of the nervous yet serious look on his face when you both said the final vow…

You shook your head, finding your resolve. You glanced back at the opening, guilt rising in you.

And hurt.

You thought Hypnos would understand, it was your family. He was normally so big on family, bending over backward for his own family. You thought he would support you. You swallow and with one last look back, you step out into the snow.

It took you a moment but with the deepest breath you could take, you called for Athena.

Almost immediately, a warm golden light filled the field.

Athena was just tall and golden as you remembered. She didn't smile but she took your hands in her own, "Thank you. I must admit I was worried you wouldn't come."

You decided not to mention your disagreement with Hypnos as you tried to give a comforting smile.

"Of course, I am more than happy to help. But I am a bit lost on what I could offer for you." You watched her sighed and moved away.

"What I am about to ask of you is no small favor. If you wish to have no part of this, I will understand." Athena said gravely.

You nodded. "Let me decide."

After she studied your face for a moment, Athena spoke.

[ashesandhalefire]

i know, you know

alex, michael, and a lonely hearts club gone slightly awry.

-

inspired by @malex-cupid day one and three themes: wooing my way into your heart and valentine’s day.

-

“Okay, here’s a nightmare scenario,” Michael says as he eases back down onto the couch with another slice of pizza in his hand. He crosses his ankles on the coffee table and bites the tip off. Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly, drawing a sip from his beer, and Michael nods. After a rough swallow, he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I once hooked up with a girl on February thirteenth. Totally lost track of the date.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “That’s not a nightmare scenario for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael takes another bite of his pizza and tries to talk around a mouthful of cheese, face twisted with playful indignation. “Someone like me?”

Alex leans his head against the back of the couch and says, “Charming people never end up in nightmare scenarios because they can, by default, charm their way out of anything.”

Brow furrowing, Michael wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming in my life. A few other choice words, sure, but not charming.”

“Well, I guess my perspective is a little different from the sheriff’s department. In my experience, you have a tendency to be very good at saying the right thing.” Alex wiggles his left foot where it sits, tucked beneath the center cushion on the couch, and rubs distractedly at his right knee. The knot in his sweatpants jostles close to Michael’s hip.

Entirely by accident, he’s significantly more dressed-down than Michael is in his slim jeans and crisply colored flannel. Neither piece of Michael’s outfit has the well-worn softness of his usual wardrobe, none of the torn seams or threadbare elbows, but the top two buttons of his shirt are undone like always and the collar hangs wide against his clavicle. Alex tries not to let his eyes linger.

As he chews through another bite, Michael stares back at him, and the gaze feels heavy enough that Alex turns away. “And, please, you’re sitting on my couch, watching my television, drinking my beer, and eating my pizza. If that’s not the direct result of charm, what is it?” 

“Dumb luck,” Michael says. Amusement glints in his eyes as he licks his lips. “Besides, this whole lonely hearts club thing was your idea.” 

“Yeah, but it was originally a party of one.”

Alex had quickly opted out, making his answer a polite but firm no, when Kyle mentioned the flier on the Crashdown’s front door that advertised the latest Wild Pony cash-grab attempt, but that hadn’t prevented him from running face-first into Isobel’s advertising efforts all over town for the next week and a half. General buzz at the post office and hospital implied that her reputation for event planning had drummed up some genuine interest from the locals, and that in and of itself cemented his plan for the weekend as pizza, beer, and whatever cable had to offer. His plan had, at no point, included running into Michael in the candy aisle at RiteAid at three o’clock in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day.

With an armful of personal care items marked with discount stickers, Michael had taken one look at the prescription envelope in Alex’s right hand and the box of chocolates in his left and said, “Got a hot date?”

“No,” Alex had said, wishing he’d chosen to put on something neater than his faded sweatpants. Michael rarely looked presentable by general standards, but he always looked good. “Just chronic pain and a sweet tooth.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Michael had suggested. “Better sales after the holiday.”

“True, but then I won’t have anything to eat tonight.”

Michael had visibly perked, even though his face stayed neutral. “You’re not going to the singles night thing at the Pony? I thought Valenti would have roped you in for sure.”

“No.” Fleetingly, Alex had considered the idea of wandering through the crowded bar, equally decorated in distasteful neon and garish party store hearts, and trying to pick which of the Pony’s regular stock might like to have his drink bought by an openly gay veteran with one leg while his friends watch from the sidelines of their depressingly stable relationships. “There’s not enough booze in the world.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Michael had laughed. He hadn’t quite met Alex’s eye as they both carefully side-stepped the rest of the conversation. Alex had stopped paying attention, so he wasn’t sure if Michael had retaken to running up a tab yet. “Is is completely pissed at me, but I told her there was no way in hell.”

Alex had swallowed. “Got a hot date?”

“Totally,” Michael had said. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I think you’ve met him.” 

In retrospect, Alex blames the rest of the conversation on the fact that he’s been unshakably in love with Michael since he was seventeen. For the better part of a month, he’s been trying to work up the courage to throw out a line. But they exist in a strange no-man’s-land of casual acquaintanceship that borders on friendship and romance simultaneously, and Alex hasn’t quite found the right way out yet. 

“If you don’t have plans tonight, you could swing by.” Michael, already at the end of the aisle when Alex called after him, had looked mildly startled when he turned around. “We can get pizza. Or something. Whatever goes with beer.”

“Everything goes with beer in my world.”

“It’ll be a lonely hearts club type of thing,” Alex had said, primarily for the deniability. 

Michael had cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower and lower until they paused and climbed back up Alex’s body at a crawl. “Are you lonely?”

“I had a nose ring, remember?” Alex had clutched the prescription bag in his fist with a crunch and forced himself to laugh, even as bashful panic squeezed at his throat. “You don’t end up with a nose ring and Danger posters on your walls at seventeen unless you’re deeply lonely.”

A slow smile had stretched across Michael’s face, and he ducked his head like it was too private to share with the open aisle. When he looked up again, he wrinkled his nose to help steady his armful of bottles with a nudge of his telekinesis. “I’ll see you at six, then. Pizza and beer.”

Now, Michael breaks a wayward string of cheese away from his last bite and asks, “You want me to go home? Leave you to your pity party?” 

“No. I’m enjoying the company. I think it’s because you’re so charming.”

Michael laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But hooking up with a girl who was looking for a hookup on the day before Valentine’s Day is not a nightmare scenario.”

“Alright,” Michael says, nudging Alex’s bent knee, “so give me a better example.”

“Uh, pizza and beer with a guy that never learned how to chew with his mouth closed?”

Michael tears into the crust of his slice and says, muffled by food, “I’ll leave anytime. Just say the word.”

Alex pulls his foot out from under the couch cushion and rolls his heel into the side of Michael’s thigh. “Don’t be disgusting!”

Mashing his teeth, Michael chews with his mouth open for another two bites and then relents. He drops a hot palm into the exposed skin of Alex’s ankle, holding it in place, and Alex manages not to react until Michael strokes his thumb into the hollow beside his Achilles tendon. 

“I need a refill. Do you want another beer?” he asks, pulling his leg away and turning to plant his foot on the floor. He bends down to grope beneath the couch for his crutch. 

“Yeah, I’ll take another one.” Michael stands, taking his empty bottle in hand, and says, “I’ll get it. I know my way around the fridge.”

As he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table, he drops a hand onto Alex’s left shoulder and squeezes. The touch is gone almost as soon as it starts, but Alex still lets out an audible squeak on his next exhale. 

Being touch-starved is hardly new, but it makes him feel like an especially pathetic rescue cat when his body shivers at the barest graze. Twice it happened when Kyle leaned over to look at his laptop and put a hand on his back while they worked on the salvaged hard drives together, and Alex had barely been able to hide the heated flush in his cheeks. It’s more humiliating with Michael, somehow, because Michael has always been exactly the same. He’s always turned into Alex’s touch with eagerness, always looked for the most contact he could find. Something about touch between them turning casual and unaffecting on his end while Alex is gasping like an Austen heroine is especially unsettling.

He takes three deep breaths, holding the air in his chest and releasing through pursed lips, and then Michael squeezes between the end table and the chair with two beers. He twists the tops off with a twitch of his nose, and Alex watches the bent metal land on the coffee table with a ding. 

“Show off,” he says as Michael hands him a bottle. Their fingers brush against the glass. “You’ve never fought with a jar of pasta sauce in your life.”

Michael eases back down onto the couch, snagging the last garlic knot from the crimped tinfoil on the coffee table on the way, and says, “Rubber band trick works wonders. Not that I’ve ever needed it.” 

“Smug bastard.”

Alex watches the bob of Michael's throat as he takes a long draw from his beer. 

“Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Michael pops the rest of the garlic knot into his mouth and lifts his hips off the couch to give himself room to root around his pocket. After a moment of tugging, he tosses something across the couch. It lands on Alex’s thigh. “For your sweet tooth.”

Alex stares down at the packet of SweeTARTS heart candies, emblazoned with the same sentimental phrases as classic conversation hearts. “These are sour.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t those the ones you like?”

Fingers toying with the crimped edges of the paper wrapping, Alex nods. 

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day.” Michael sucks a spot of oil and garlic from his thumb. “I had to go to, like, four different CVS stores to find them.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. “You didn’t— I didn’t get you anything.”

Michael shrugs. “You paid for dinner. Least I could do was pick up some candy.” 

-

-

Darkness creeps up on them while they trade sarcastic commentary about the fake detective comedy marathon they found on a higher cable channel. The lone bulb still on over the sink casts a warm yellow glow across the kitchen and dining room, and the living room flickers between dark and light as the scenes change on the television. 

Alex glances down at Michael, who has made himself comfortable with one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and the other curled up against the arm. His head rests on a pillow that he laid atop Alex’s right leg, and he has Alex’s left leg stretched out in front of his chest to keep it from blocking his view.

The shift was gradual: he slumped sideways and curled his legs up; he leaned on his elbow and tried to stretch out; he whined about his neck and grabbed the pillow off the floor, checking that it wouldn’t bother Alex’s knee if he put pressure on it; and he grabbed Alex’s left leg by the ankle to straighten it out while complaining that he couldn’t see. And now Alex’s shin is pinned beneath Michael’s palm, feeling the rise and fall of Michael’s chest whenever he chuckles at one of the jokes. 

They’ve spent hours together, rolling around in Michael’s cot and the back of his truck and motel beds, but Alex isn’t sure they’ve ever been more intimate. Quiet stillness has always been difficult for them to come by, and he can barely remember the last time they spent an afternoon together without some sense of doom hanging over their heads. They’ve certainly never laid on a couch together for four hours. 

Michael shifts, rolling onto his side, and his hand drifts down towards the top of Alex’s foot. The calluses on his palm catch against the weave of his sock, and Alex listens to the faint scratch of material without breathing. After a moment, Michael’s fingers slip beneath the elastic at the bottom of his sweatpants, and he strokes absently at the ball of Alex’s ankle. 

The fears and the doubts are as present as they’ve been for the last few weeks. All of their baggage is exactly the same. 

Alex winds one of Michael’s curls around his finger, and he feels the stutter in his breathing. 

With empirical evidence like that, he has to be brave. 

He mutes the television and says, “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Michael glances up. “Is this…new information? Should we be celebrating?”

“No, I mean—” Alex swallows. “I don’t have to go out tomorrow, so if you stay over afterwards, we can talk.”

Michael stares at him. “After what?”

Alex shrugs, but his eyes linger pointedly on Michael’s mouth. 

“Oh,” Michael says. He turns onto his stomach slowly, like he thinks moving too quickly will turn Alex skittish, and then he eases up onto his knees between Alex's legs. Carefully, he pushes the pillow on Alex’s lap out of the way and onto the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I could stay over. Afterwards.”

Light from the silent television flickers against the side of his face, and Alex reaches for the loose collars of his shirt. Michael bends pliantly, anchoring his hands beside Alex’s shoulders on the arm of the couch, and lowers himself until their noses brush. Then, he hesitates. He nuzzles against Alex’s cheek, rolls their foreheads together, and sighs out a laugh. 

Alex giggles back, a nervous sound he has no control over, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I just— I don’t wanna screw up. This has been a no-fly zone for weeks.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“It really has. I have the bruised ego to prove it.”

A missing piece slots into place in Alex’s chest, loosening every ounce of tension left in his body, and he sags down against the couch cushions. He takes a moment to look up at Michael, at the vulnerable pinch of anxiety that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crest of Michael’s cheeks. The wrinkles worsen, so he tows Michael in by his hips and shakes his head. “No. No, you’re— you’re cleared to land.”

“That’s not— ” Michael blinks, and then says, affectionately, “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughs, deep in his chest, and finally presses his mouth to Alex’s. Alex surges into the kiss, letting it linger until the smile splitting across his lips forces Michael to pull back. He tries again, but Alex can’t relax his grin, so, for a moment, they just breathe, silhouetted in the dark. 

Then, Michael says, “No regretting it tomorrow?” 

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“No nightmare scenario? No backslide with my ex?”

“No.”

“No… I scratched my itch, now get out of my house?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Good. Because I’m playing for keeps this time.” He settles his weight between Alex’s thighs, and Alex is struck suddenly with the realization of how easy it is to be happy, how earned it feels after all this time.

They kiss, lazy and unhurried, until the cable box starts to idle in the background and leaves them in a nearly pitch black room. The last three buttons of Michael’s shirt come undone under Alex’s fingertips, and Michael’s unshaved jaw scrapes his mouth almost raw.

“Next year,” he mumbles against Alex’s cheek in a moment of reprieve, “I’m gonna fill this house with roses.”

Distractedly, Alex hooks his heel around the back of Michael’s calf and says, “If you somehow have a quarter of a million dollars to waste on that many flowers next year, we will not still be living in this house.”

Michael’s whole body jolts.

“We?” he teases gleefully, and he digs his fingertips into the soft back of Alex’s knee. “Did you just forget we don’t have a joint bank account? Oh, fuck, you really do like me.”

A hot flush rises in Alex’s cheeks as he squirms. “I like your fake money.”

“I think you mean our fake money.”

Alex laughs. “I fucking hate you.” He turns away, and Michael bends down to kiss the exposed line of his neck. 

“You don’t,” he says between nips. “You really don’t.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I really don’t.”

[ashketchup119]

Four Years To Get There

If you or a loved one remember when I used to write regularly for hypzag/zagnos, you may be entitled to a senior citizen discount-

I didn’t want to post all of my hades stuff, but I think this one is really cute. My fanfiction writing and my original story writing are two different styles, because fanfic is my domain to go crazy go wild.

“So, four years stuck with my brother? I don’t envy you.” Thanatos commented airily as he made coffee.

Zagreus, who had woken up ten minutes prior and was staring morosely at the countertop, looked up when Than started speaking, and frowned. “Hypnos isn’t that bad, Than. He’s actually nice to be around. And he hasn’t made ‘morning person’ into a personality trait, unlike other people.” He smiled after saying this, in a teasing manner aimed in the direction of Than’s back.

Than hmph-ed and said nothing more. 

The rest of the morning passed by as usual- Than went to work, Zag went to the gym and to walk Cerberus, Than came back for an early lunch, and the two of them exchanged pleasantries at the junction between their personal schedules- Than half out the door, Zag on his way in. The two of them had been roommates for two years, and had become comfortable with this routine.

Earlier that week, though, Zag had gotten an email saying he’d been chosen to work as a bodyguard for a diplomat headed on a mission to a planet where rumors of attack had been swirling, with instructions on how to get to the port and what to bring. In total, it was meant to last about nine years- four years to get there, a year on the planet, and four years to get back. It was quite the commitment, but he didn’t mind overmuch. It’s not like there was much waiting for him on the planet he lived on currently- just his friends, who assured him they’d text and video call, and his dog, who had already been approved to come with him.

The evening before, Zag had found out the name of the diplomat he was supposed to work for. It was Hypnos! His roommate's twin brother! The two of them weren’t very close, but he was kinda relieved to know there’d be another friendly face on the ship.

After greeting Than on the way in, he began packing, using the sheet he’d been sent. He put music on in the background, and hardly noticed the passing of time, only breaking out of his reverie when Than came to remind him to eat.

A couple days later, he was ready to leave, Cerberus waiting patiently at the door. He gave a quick goodbye to his friends and his father, the former of whom gave promises to contact and the latter of whom just hmm-ed under his breath.

After the ship had taken off, he sat on his bed for a while, taking it all in. He was going somewhere new- how exciting!- but he knew he was going to miss his friends and family.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts.

“Coming!” He said as he went to get the door.

On the other side of the door stood Hypnos, in full regalia. His departure had been much larger and more public, and Zag hoped that his brothers and mother had shown up. Charon he was almost certain of, and made a mental note to check his social media for pictures Hermes had most likely posted about his “almost-little-brother-in-law leaving us behind!! 😭😭.” Nyx and Than, though, were a little colder, and Than had made no move to leave when Zag had gotten on the ship.

“Hi!” Hypnos chirped, trying not to show the exhaustion he felt. It had been nothing but endless briefings for months prior to this, and the next four years were sure to be a nice, long break before doing it again for a whole year.

“Hi!” Zag replied, feeling slightly awkward in his far less formal tank top and shorts.

Cerberus came up between them and nosed at Hypnos’ cloak.

“Hi to you too!” Hypnos bent down and pet Cerberus to the best of his ability, mentally thanking the powers that be that he was a rather tall Doberman and not a small dog. 

Zag knew that Hypnos was his friend and his roommate’s brother, but he still was at a loss of how to act. Hypnos was, for all intents and purposes, his boss now, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be expected to act accordingly.

Hypnos ended all pretenses of formality by stepping into Zag’s room and quickly shedding all jewelry and reminders of his station, leaving him in a long, elegant dress that crumpled beneath him when he flopped on Zag’s bed.

Hypnos yawned widely, and shifted to where he had a view of Zag still awkwardly standing in the doorway to his own room. Cerberus climbed on the bed next to him, and laid his head on Hypnos’ stomach.

It was a scene which made Zag vaguely want to join in and rest, but he was too wired to do so. Instead, he pulled the chair out from the desk facing the bed, and sat down with the back of the chair pressed to his chest.

“You excited?” Zag asked Hypnos, lightly drumming his fingers against the cool plastic.

Hypnos made a noncommittal noise and seemed to settle into the bed more. “You don’t mind if I nap here, do you?”

Zag shook his head, and Hypnos nodded slightly before falling asleep so quickly it startled Zag. He waited a few minutes before beginning to unpack, trying his hardest to remain quiet so as not to disrupt Hypnos. After dropping an exercise weight rather loudly and realizing that Hypnos hadn’t even stirred, he abandoned all attempts at noiselessness and just began placing things, noise be damned. 

He was so wrapped up in it he failed to notice when Hypnos woke up, studied him from behind for a few seconds (it was a nice view! sue him!), then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Zag was in the middle of organizing the desk when his communicator pinged, alerting him that dinner was being served in the cafeteria. 

“What time is it?” Hypnos mumbled from the bed.

Zag tilted the communicator to turn the screen on and told him.

Hypnos sighed and sat up, yawning as he stretched. He sat and blinked for a couple of seconds, then said, “We have to go to a special dinner with the other politicians and stuff. After today we’ll be able to go to the cafeteria, though.”

“When does it start?” Zag asked, trying to remember where he’d put his formal clothes.

Hypnos smiled guiltily and responded, “Five minutes ago?”

Zag’s eyes widened and he sprung into action, grabbing his clothes from the drawer and stumbling slightly as he went into the bathroom to change. Hypnos began to reluctantly put his own uniform on. By the time Zag came out, striking quite the figure in the fitted vestments, Hypnos had managed to pull everything on, and was fiddling with the clasp of the cloak.

“Here, let me get that for you.” Zag offered, and went to stand in front of Hypnos, where he reached up slightly and fastened the cloak.

The two stood in front of each other for a couple of seconds, Hypnos mentally preparing himself for human interaction and Zag trying to recall his training. Then, Hypnos sighed and moved around Zag to get to the door, and Zag fell into position beside him.

A week passed with Zag at Hypnos’ side almost constantly (even in sleep, to an extent, as their rooms were next to each other) before Hypnos once again came to his room for a nap. Then, over time, this became a regular occurrence. Hypnos would nap on Zag’s bed almost every day, and when he wasn’t napping, the two of them talked. Zag told Hypnos about growing up with a father who simultaneously ignored and expected everything from his son; his mother, who he had only met again recently, who used to worked as a diplomat but had retired to a small, idyllic, relatively unknown planet; the important people in his life, like his mentor Achilles and his friends. In return, Hypnos told Zag about growing up in a family that seemed to excel at everything; days spent sleeping because he couldn’t disappoint people in his dreams; going to school to learn how to talk to people and accidentally gaining importance. They talked about loneliness and happiness, highs and lows. 

It brought them closer together, and as weeks turned to months, Hypnos found himself looking forward to talks with Zagreus. He would wake up, giddy for their next interaction, and anticipate what he might say today. Maybe he’d make a comment about Zag’s haircut or a joke about how Cerberus like him better than Zag. Thinking about Zag made him smile involuntarily, and when the two of them talked, Hypnos sometimes felt his cheeks warm at Zag’s laugh and demeanor.

About four months into their voyage, he realized what this meant.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s not like he hadn’t talked to Zag before- he did live with his brother- but the close quarters made everything… different. It felt like it was just the two of them, an island floating in a ship of 200 people. Maybe that was it- he just wanted to feel close to only other person on board he interacted with regularly. It couldn’t possibly be like, an actual crush, right? Yeah, no. It wasn’t.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

Zag, on the other hand, was oblivious to Hypnos’ internal struggle. He liked hanging out with Hypnos. They’d gone from acquaintances to best friends quickly, and Zag came to treasure their (many) moments together. He liked the teasing and jokes, and came to find his little yawn-stretches after a good nap rather cute. 

He had a crush on Hypnos.

He didn’t try to deny it or push it out of his mind, but he also didn’t really acknowledge it either. Hypnos was funny and adorable and really, really disliked tomatoes but always got an extra helping of pasta or whatever food with tomatoes was being served so he could give it to Zag, who he knew loved tomatoes. Zag couldn’t imagine not having a bit of a crush on Hypnos. He figured most people who met him did, because how could they not? With his unruly curls and dimples he was classic crush material.

So the first year passed. 

The second year began with a party, a celebration of “making it one year without any major incidents” (the ship captain’s words). Hypnos and Zag attended, once again in their stuffy formal wear, but ditched halfway through in favor of grabbing any food they could stuff in their pockets and talking in Zag’s room until long after the partygoers had trickled back into their rooms.

With the second year came new responsibilities. Hypnos’ monthly meetings turned into two, and he began to attend refresher courses on the language he’d be expected to use once the ship landed. Zag found himself standing outside rooms more often than not, and poor Cerberus’ walks went from three times a day to two. Their hang out time was cut in half virtually overnight.

So… why did Hypnos’ crush on Zagreus only worsen? 

They were both interacting with other people, and he had work to do. Why couldn’t he seem to pry Zag from his mind? He had to focus! But all he could focus on was Zag’s smile, playing on repeat in some sadistic part of his brain, and he wondered idly if someone had invented some sort of “cure” for a crush. Zag was his brother’s roommate! Than probably had a crush on him or something, because there’s no other way he’d let anyone live with him. He’d barely tolerated Hypnos when they’d shared a room as children!

(Than did have a small crush on Zagreus, but was finding out quickly that distance did not, in fact, make the heart fonder.)

Hypnos didn’t sleep a lot at night. Normally, sleep wasn’t a problem for him; he’d always been one to fall asleep easily and deeply. Now, though, his thoughts played on an endless loop, and he only really slept when he was in Zag’s room, surrounded by the noises of Zagreus and Cerberus.

Zag found that his crush on Hypnos was quickly blossoming into something much deeper, and didn’t really mind it. He wondered, idly, if there was a chance of Hypnos feeling the same, but didn’t want to jeopardize the mission (they still had eight more years together!) or their friendship. Besides, there was something beautiful in just the feeling of spending time with someone you l- cared for. Cared for, and he figured it was better to enjoy it.

For a short while, anyway.

It was difficult to deny the dreams he had of holding hands with Hypnos and going on dates (among other, less wholesome things), and he began to wonder more and more often if those dreams had a chance of becoming a reality.

Probably not. Hypnos was busy and important; he probably didn’t think about Zag half as much as Zag thought about him.

Three years came and went, with the budding feelings between the two only deepening. It caused some slight frustration, but neither of them was willing to talk about it, and behind their backs, the rest of the ship began to take bets on when they were going to get together. 

It didn’t happen in Year Three, when they were shoved into a closet “on accident” and spent the time talking about the things they had to finish that day.

It didn’t happen in Year Four, when Cerberus got sick and the two of them squished themselves into the same chair with Hypnos’ formal cloak draped on top of them like a blanket. It had been a cute scene, and was trending with #zagnos on social media for an hour before another diplomat had requested it get taken down. 

Finally, the day came for them to land. The whole ship was abuzz with people hurrying to and fro in anxious attempts to make sure they and their belongings were ready to depart. They’d been told to leave the bulk of their belongings on the ship, as it was the same one they’d be returning to and they would still have access to it, but this left people unsure as to whether they should over or underpack. 

Zag had decided that one backpack would probably be enough, seeing as they’d been told that decorations in the rooms they were to be provided were forbidden. He also had a tote bag with Cerberus’ things packed, and was more or less just waiting for the ship to be cleared to unload.

Hypnos, on the other hand, had three pre-packed, unopened suitcases filled with various clothes of the local fashion (enough to make sure they wouldn’t repeat; the higher-ups wanted to make an impression of their wealth); a bag of cosmetics and hair products (no longer would the unruly mess of curls reign); five briefcases with information he’d studied front to back multiple times during the trip; another duffle bag with sleep clothes; and a bag with all of his electronics. 

Zag picked up as much as he could, and the rest was carried by an envoy sent from the local government, leaving Hypnos free to smile and shake hands and generally do the job he’d been sent there to do. 

It was a stark difference from the Hypnos Zag had gotten to know, and it shocked him somewhat to see how quickly he’d changed from Hypnos, Zag’s best friend and the guy he’s in love with, to a charming diplomat with a winning smile that anyone would be hard-pressed to dislike.

Zag must’ve been hard-pressed, then, because he found himself disliking this version of Hypnos. There was something… insincere about it. It was all fake, a show put on to help Hypnos do his job better.

Well, he was only here to help Hypnos do his job, right? It wasn’t for him to like or dislike things. 

There was to be a party for those who had finally touched down on solid ground, and as Zag changed into a less formal outfit for the event, he heard a knock at the door. He opened it, then frowned, realizing that there was no one there. He turned to go back to getting ready, but not even five seconds later, the knock sounded again. Again, he opened the door, only to find no one there. He went outside and walked around a little, but didn’t see anyone. He went back to his room, where the knocking sounded again, and realized that the knocking was coming from somewhere not the front door. 

Five minutes later, he found a shallow dip in the wall, and when he touched it, a smooth voice asked, “Name?”

“Uh, Zagreus?” He answered.

A beep sounded, and the voice once again asked, “Name?”

“Zagreus… Plutonic?” He replied again, questioningly.

A ding sounded, and a portion of the wall swung outward to reveal Hypnos, still in the same outfit he’d been wearing earlier. Hypnos smiled widely at him- that same smile that he wore during their hang out sessions, not the one he wore as a diplomatic mask- but quickly flushed purple.

Zag raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“You’re uh, you-“ Hypnos stammered. “You’re not wearing a shirt, silly!”

Zag looked down and realized Hypnos was right. He smiled as he teased, “And? Do you like what you see?”

Hypnos just giggled, a high-pitched, somewhat frantic noise. 

Zagreus put on a shirt as Hypnos moved into the room, sitting daintily on the edge of the bed because his ornate clothing stopped him from doing anything else. Cerberus came up to him and wagged his tail expectantly, and Hypnos reached out and pet his head, making sure to scratch the area behind his ears that he knew he liked.

Zag watched them fondly. He’d always taken it as a good sign that Hypnos and Cerberus got along so well, and had told his mom such. She’d agreed with him, with that bright look in her eyes that hinted she knew more than she let on. 

When Zag was ready, the two of them left together, Cerberus asleep on the bed. 

At the party itself, the two of them basically stuck to the edges, chatting with other people occasionally. Eventually, an alcoholic drink was thrust into their hands. Zag looked questioningly at Hypnos, who nodded slightly as he put his own drink down. Zag grinned and drank it all down in one gulp, to the cheers of the other partygoers. He began to mingle with the crowd, leaving Hypnos standing awkwardly in the corner. Some other diplomats joined him, and they spent time murmuring about upcoming responsibilities and travel memories.

About an hour later, Hypnos felt a tug on his arm, and looked up to see Zagreus, cheeks flushed, smiling widely as he pulled him to the dancefloor. Hypnos made half-hearted excuses to the other diplomats before turning and anxiously following Zag to the dancefloor, leaving several knowing faces in his wake.

The two of them danced for a while, laughing wildly and holding each other’s hands in turn, high on the music and each other’s company. Eventually, the two of them ended up in a different corner than they’d started off in, smiling widely, faces flushed with exertion. 

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Hypnos was smiling widely and giggling breathlessly, staring down at Zag. Zag was looking up at him brightly, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. Zag pushed up, slightly, onto the tips of his toes. Hypnos leaned down, unconsciously. 

Their lips met.

After a second, Hypnos jerked back. Zag was drunk, and Hypnos felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. 

He cleared his throat and turned around, mood suddenly soured. “Let’s go back to the rooms, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

Zag wrinkled his nose and slurred, “Nuh I haven’t.”

Hypnos grabbed his arm and led him out anyway, exchanging goodbyes with those who came to talk to them. When they got to Zag’s room, he watched him go inside, then went to his own room.

He slept, exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.

When he woke up, he was still tired, but he got out of bed and forced himself to get ready for the day, even though he felt like sleeping for the next decade at least. 

Zag woke up with a slight headache and a feeling of embarrassment. He really just… HAD to go and kiss Hypnos, huh? And Hypnos had clearly not felt the same and what HAPPENED to “I technically work for him so this is a bad idea”?

He really should’ve just… stayed sober.

“I fucked up, Cerberus.” He told his dog morosely, who just stared back at him.

He sighed, took some medicine, fed his dog, and put on his uniform, feeling slight dread as he exited his room. Hypnos was standing outside, and didn’t look at him as he began to walk to his first appointment of the day. 

It was hard for Hypnos to muster up his usual charm, but nothing went sideways, so he took that as a win. Meals were awkward, what with Zagreus sitting in front of him but neither of them talking. 

It continued like this for a week before one of them decided to break the silence.

Zag knocked on the door separating their rooms late one night, and opened it after hearing a returning knock. He walked into Hypnos’ room, noting the fact that it was messier than he’d ever seen it.

“I,” He began, then paused slightly. “I just wanted to apologize. It was wrong of me, and I can only-”

“Apologize for what?” Hypnos butted in, confused.

“Well… the kiss?” Zagreus responded, just as confused.

“Wait.” Hypnos said, eyes narrowing slightly as he continued, “I’m the one who should apologize to you, I took advantage of the fact tha-”

“Why are you apologizing to me? I’m the one with the-” Zag made a vague hand motion, “feelings.”

Hypnos stared at him. “I thought… I was the one with feelings?”

The two of them stared at each other for a while before breaking into laughter.

“We’re so stupid!” Hypnos exclaimed between fits of laughter, and Zag just laughed as he sat on the bed so as to not fall down. 

After a while, their laughter ceased. 

Hypnos leaned into Zag’s shoulder, and Zag put an arm loosely around Hypnos waist. Then he pulled away slightly, and asked, “Should we try this again?”

Hypnos nodded, purple flush rising in his cheeks, and the two of them kissed.

[iamshwee]

Hellenism and the Journey of the Afterlife

In the original mythology of Hellenism, the Greek Underworld was considered another world or realm where our souls, known as our Shade, is taken after death. In the original Greek afterlife, at the moment of our death the shade is separated from the corpse when Death (Thanatos) reaches out to cut a lock of hair from the corpses head (often referred to as a ‘lifeline’) where it then takes the now unphysical shape of that former person. The Messenger God (Hermes) then transports the shade across the River Styx (the river of hatred) to the entrance of the Underworld. The Underworld is sometimes simply known by the name of its patron god, Hades, and is treated as a resting place for the soul before it drinks from the River Lethe (waters of forgetfulness) and is reincarnated into a new life. Many within Hellenism believe in form of reincarnation and this was a subject broached by many philosophers of the ancient world. However, the journey of the afterlife is the more commonly resonating belief. The Underworld itself is described as either ‘the outer bounds of the deepest ocean’ or ‘darkness hidden beneath the depths of the end of the earth,’ and thus is considered the darkest counterpart to the brightness of Mount Olympus. This realm itself is invisible to the living and made solely for the dead to be used as almost a type of bypass station.

Once Hermes delivers the shades to the entrance of the Underworld, good people and bad people would then be separated. Infront and directly across from the entrance of the Underworld lives the personifications of Grief (Penthos), Anxiety (Curae), Diseases (Nosoi), Old Age (Geras), Fear (Phobos), Hunger (Limos), Need (Aporia), Death (Thanatos), Agony (Algae), Sleep (Hypnos), and Guilty Joys (Gaudia). On the opposite side of the entrance holds War (Polemos), Discord (Eris), and the Furies (Erinyes). Many beasts lay waiting before the entrance of the Underworld, including Centaurs, Gorgons, a Hydra, the giant Geryon, the Chimera, and screaming Harpies. In the center of all this lies an Elm tree, where False and Broken Dreams (Oneiroi) hang from the branches like dead leaves.

Shades that enter the Underworld carry a coin under their tongues to pay the ferryman, known as a Charon, to take them across the River Acheron (river of pain) safely. Within Hellenism, the dead are properly buried with a coin under their tongue as an offering, or like the Trojan hero, Aeneas, who delivered a rare tree branch called a Golden Bough to the Charon. The Charon is permitted to turn shades away, often the shades of the unburied, which cannot be taken from bank to bank without payment, often due to a lack of proper burial. The physical description of the Charon has changed over the years but is often portrayed to be a barren, filthy, hollow-looking human-shaped creature with fire red eyes, a long unkempt beard, and a dirty dark ash cloak.

Once the Charon carries a shade across the river, there lies the mighty three-headed hound of Hades, Cerberus, guarding the gates as well as the Three Judges of the Underworld. These minor demigods are known as King Aeacus; the guardian of the keys to the gate of the Underworld, King Rhadamanthus; the lord of Elysium, and King Minos; the judge with the final vote. It is up to these judges to outline the deeds of the deceased, and they create the laws that govern the Underworld. Most of the laws of the Underworld assured that there was no true justice waiting for the shades of the dead and that they wouldn’t necessarily receive ‘awards’ for how they lived their physical mortal lives.

However, the overall voted outcome for any shade can be changed by Hade's command, if and when he pleased. When the Earth was divided between Chronos and Rheas' three sons; Zeus received Mount Olympus, Poseidon the vast seas, and Hades the Underworld. Hades is rarely seen outside his own realm, regardless of his co-ownership of the Earth, and most punishments shades received were often demanded by other gods seeking eternal vengeance. He was not a tormenter of the dead and sometimes had even been considered the ‘Zeus of the dead’ due to his being so hospitable to them. He did not run his realm on his own, however.

Persephone (Kore), daughter of the harvest Goddess Demeter and Zeus, is often considered a fitting other half to Hades, though their origin story changes depending on point of view. Once, when Persephone was alone gathering wildflowers, she came across a beautiful narcissus flower that was planted specifically for her by Gaia as a favor to Hades, who had fallen in love with Persephone and desired her as his wife. It is said that Hades believed Persephone to be ‘more beautiful than the Goddess Aphrodite’ and would settle for nothing less than her love. The moment Persephone picked the narcissus flower, Hades appeared from a fresh crack in the Earth, riding a golden chariot and carrying the torches of Hekate, on his mission to seduce Persephone into the Underworld. Demeter searched for her daughter relentlessly, begging that the other deities help her do the same. Learning of this abduction infuriated Demeter, leading her to neglect the Earth and forbidding harvest, freezing the grounds until her daughter was returned to her. Zeus, annoyed by the cries of starving mortals, and badgered by fellow deities who heard of Demeter's anguish, forced Hades to return Persephone to Mount Olympus.

Hades complies with the request, but not before offering Persephone six pomegranate seeds for her journey home. It was explained to Demeter that she would be released so long as she had not tasted the ‘food of the dead.’ Unaware of Hade's trickery, Hermes was sent to retrieve Persephone but was informed she had tasted the food of the Underworld and was now bound to its realm. Instead, Hades offered a deal to Demeter; that Persephone may stay in the Underworld for half the year (the winter/fall months) and come back to Earth the other half (the spring/summer months) to be with her mother. Thus, every half-year, when Demeter and her daughter were reunited, the Earth flourished with vegetation and color. But for the latter months each year when Persephone returned to the Underworld, the Earth would once again become cold and barren. This is essentially Hellenism’s explanation for the seasons and in this way, Hades was able to gift Persephone, Goddess of spring and fertility, with being the Queen of the Underworld and his wife, thus ruling over their realm side by side. Persephone helped to give death a more merciful face, regardless of Hades' bouts of kindness toward shades. While Hades was known for being immovable, Persephone even assists several heroes and grieving lovers who stumble down lost into the Underworld. But beyond their realm, and Hades beloved Cerberus, holds the final resting places for all shades; the Isles of the Blessed called Elysium, the Asphodel Meadows, the Mourning Fields, and the Dungeon of Torment called Tartarus.

Elysium, also known as the Elysian Fields, is one concept of the afterlife, described as the place for exceptional beings, often ‘Heroes,’ to eternally reside. As this concept modernized, Elysium was later expanded to include those righteously chosen mortals who are pure of heart. This makes Elysium essentially the Hellenic Paradise, where they may live a blessed, happy afterlife, with grand feasts, and the ability to indulge in whatever their deepest desires may entail. It is said that the philosopher Socrates, and the Hero Achilles, were two of the few who were permitted into this glorious afterlife.

We do not know much about the Asphodel Meadows, other than that it is a section of the Ancient Greek Underworld where the shades of ordinary people are sent to after death. Those who have never committed a significant crime or had not achieved any level of greatness or recognition, reside here. Those who were not permitted into Elysium, and had nowhere else they belonged, spent their afterlife among the Asphodel Meadows realms. Essentially, this is where every day people’s shades settle within the afterlife. Similarly, the Mourning Fields were a concept from the Latin Epic Poem ‘Aeneid’ written by Virgil between 29 BC and 19 BC. This was a section of the Underworld that was reserved for shades who wasted their lives on unrequited love or died of a broken heart.

Tartarus is said to be as far beneath the Underworld as the Earth is beneath the sky. This essentially means that Tartarus was so dark that ‘the night is poured around it in three rows like a collar around the neck, while above it grows the roots of the Earth and the unharvested sea.’ This is where Zeus originally cast the Titans, along with his father, Cronus. It is said that Homer believed Cronus to be the King of Tartarus and that Odysseus mentions some of the people within the Underworld who are experiencing ‘punishment’ were found here. This is the deepest abyss of the Underworld and is used as a dungeon to torment and influence suffering for those who lived a particularly wicked life.

The Greeks believed that there was a great journey into the afterlife, but that the afterlife held no purpose. The souls of the dead still existed, but that they were insubstantial and often too weak and therefore unable to make influences on the living. The shades in the Underworld were now essentially neutral, and that no one was able to use their previous lives to their advantage after death. They believed that death was not a complete end to life, or human existence, but accepted that not unlike life, the afterlife was relatively meaningless. It is said that you are in the afterlife who you are in the moment of your death; meaning someone who died in battle would be covered in blood in entering the Underworld, and those who died in their sleep remained peaceful. The Greeks considered their dead to be irritable and unpleasant on occasion, but they are not necessarily dangerous or malevolent. The souls can grow angry and hostile, and often the Greek's response to this would be a drink offering, or even blood sacrifices to initiate communication.

Unlike its Catholic counterpart, the afterlife in Hellenism does not necessarily revolve around divine punishment. Those who are punished in Tartarus deserved the same level of punishment while living, thus assuring the ordinary and mundane shades an afterlife of equality and simplicity. While some believed in reincarnation and thus the recycling of our shades, it is widely acknowledged that all of our shade's journeys will eventually end. The likely hood of an everyday person passing on and ending up in a sort of ‘hell’ type afterlife is relatively slim in the eyes of Hellenism, and it gives the Greeks a sense of relief in death instead of an intensely instilled fear.

[redeemedrevolver]

BOCW Characters and their MBTIs

Summary:

The characters of BOCW take the MBTI Personality Test and find out their personality types. They were a bit shocked. Some can't believe it while others believe it fully.

A/N:

The link to the MBTI test is above if you still don't know your personality type and want to find out. It's a long test, but worth answering. More information about the personality will be in the parenthesis beside the character.

It was a bit hard taking the test because I had to picture myself as them answering it in their character.

These aren't exactly their MBTIs, but this is a depiction based on their overall character from the events in the games (Black Ops Series)

I hope I did my best!

Russell Adler (INTJ-A — "Architect")

Information about the personality type:

These thoughtful tacticians love perfecting the details of life, applying creativity and rationality to everything they do. Their inner world is often a private, complex one.

comprises 2.1% of the total world population (rare personality type)

highly analytical, creative, and logical

introverted and prefer to work alone

greater emphasis on logic and objective information rather than subjective emotions

like their world to feel controlled and ordered

Strengths:

self-confident and hard-working - believe in Bell most of the time

takes criticism well

most independent

rational

good at listening - evident with the number of dialogue options you have

Weaknesses:

lack of empathy - apparent when reading the paper regarding Bell's brainwashing and his persistence

romantic relationships are their Achilles heel - it doesn't mean they don't feel, but they don't want to express it to anyone

sometimes callous or insensitive

highly analytical towards everything

perfectionistic

—————

Alex Mason (ISTJ-T — "Logistician")

Information about the personality type:

These people tend to be reserved yet willful, with a rational outlook on life. They compose their actions carefully and carry them out with methodical purpose.

male ISTJs comprises 16% of the total world population (common personality type)

enjoy taking responsibility for their actions

take pride in the work they do

reserved, practical, and quiet

value loyalty in themselves and others

Strengths:

detail-oriented

observant - can be applied to his "excellent sniper" trait

orderly and organized

calm and practical

jacks-of-all-trades

Weaknesses:

stubborn - shown in the interrogation scene in BO1 for a few moments

tends to blame others

judgemental

insensitive

works always by the book - reluctant to bend or change the rules

—————

Frank Woods (ESTP-A — "Entrepreneur")

Information about the personality type:

They tend to be energetic and action-oriented, deftly navigating whatever is in front of them. They love uncovering life’s opportunities, whether socializing with others or in more personal pursuits.

comprises 4-10% of the total world population (fairly common personality type)

live in the moment and dive into the action

unique skill in noticing small changes - shift in facial expression, new clothing style, or broken habit

full of passion and energy complemented with a rational mind

prefer the practical over the abstract

Strengths:

gregarious, funny, and energetic - shown in CW

adaptable and resourceful

rational and practical - apparent in BO1 for his overall character

makes decisions based on logic and reason

sociable

Weaknesses:

risk-prone - most likely the person one will be paired to operations where things can go wrong quickly

defiant

easily bored

impulsive - true to his personality

too competitive

—————

Jason Hudson (ENTJ-A — "Commander")

Information about the personality type:

They are decisive people who love momentum and accomplishment. They gather information to construct their creative visions but rarely hesitate for long before acting on them.

comprises 1.8% of the total world population (2nd rarest personality type)

gifted with charisma and confidence

quick to see inefficiency and conceptualize new solutions to them

love a big or small challenge and overcoming them

dominant at the negotiating table

Strengths:

strong leadership skills - the overseer in BOCW

well-organized

good decision maker

assertive and outspoken

strategic thinkers

Weaknesses:

stubborn and dominant - shown in the scene where he talks to Bell about Lubyanka

impatient

intolerant

cold and ruthless - true to his nickname "Ice Cube"

poor handling of emotions

—————

Helen Park (INFJ-T — "Advocate")

Information about the personality type:

They tend to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination. Their inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide them in all things.

female INFJs comprises 1.6% of the total world population (rarest personality type)

thinks about deep topics and contemplates the meaning of life

has a deep sense of idealism and integrity, but aren’t idle dreamers

speak with great passion and conviction

soft-spoken and understated

Strengths:

sensitive to the needs of others

insightful

altruistic - use their strengths for the greater good

passionate - eagerness to capture Volkov in E. Berlin

creative

Weaknesses:

sensitive to criticism - may be shown after joking about her scar

reluctant to open up - shown with the scar scene with Lazar

prone to burnouts

dislikes confrontation

stubborn

—————

Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay (ENFP-A — "Campaigner")

Information about the personality type:

These people tend to embrace big ideas and actions that reflect their sense of hope and goodwill toward others. Their vibrant energy can flow in many directions.

comprises 8.1% of the total world population (common personality type)

reads between the lines with curiosity and energy

see life as a big, complex puzzle where everything is connected through emotion

do best in situations where they have the freedom to be creative and innovative

spend a lot of time exploring social relationships

Strengths:

empathetic and caring - apparent and true in the Duga ending and after being saved in Cuba

fun and spontaneous - evident when talking to him and Sims

warm and enthusiastic

curious

observant - can be applied after the Cuba briefing about the LMG he and Sims are talking about

Weaknesses:

can be overly emotional

tends to get stressed out easily - can be apparent when being loud in E. Berlin and talking about Lubyanka

struggles to follow rules

disorganized

poor practical skills

—————

Lawrence Sims (ESFJ-A — "Consul")

Information about the personality type:

They are attentive and people-focused, and they enjoy taking part in their social community. Their achievements are guided by decisive values, and they willingly offer guidance to others.

comprises 12.3% of the total world population (common personality type)

continue to enjoy supporting their friends and loved ones

gain energy from interacting with other people

encourages other people to be their best

have a hard time believing anything bad about the people to whom they are close

Strengths:

practical and dependable - true to his character being in charge of logistics; you can trust him with anything related to gear requests

organized - can be seen writing in a ledger and making phone calls to everyone about the lists of equipment needed for an operation

sensitive and warm

conscientious

very loyal

Weaknesses:

sensitive to criticism - can be triggered in certain dialogues about Vietnam

too selfless and doesn't look after themselves

dislike change

approval-seeking

controlling

—————

Perseus (ENFJ-A — "Protagonist")

Information about the personality type:

These warm, forthright types love helping others, and they tend to have strong ideas and values. They back their perspective with the creative energy to achieve their goals.

comprises 2.5% of the total world population (3rd rarest personality type)

strong extraverts and enjoy spending time with other people

interested in devoting their time to others

radiate authenticity, concern, and altruism

unlikely to be afraid to take the slings and arrows while standing up for the people and ideas they believe in

Strengths:

encouraging

persuasive - apparent in the meeting scene during Bell's remembrance of him

wide social circle - can be his list of agents, whom he may have close ties with personally

charismatic

natural-born leaders

Weaknesses:

self-sacrificing - may be related to sacrificing half of Europe for his plans to expand the Soviet Union

overprotective

manipulative

indecisive

overly idealistic - can be apparent in the meeting scene in Bell's remembrance

—————

Dimitri Belikov (INFJ-A — "Advocate")

Information about the personality type:

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world.

male INFJs comprises 0.5-1% of the total world population (rarest personality type)

emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few

have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of others, for good and for evil

usually reserved but highly sensitive to how others feel

capable of taking their values and using them to bring about positive and lasting change

Strengths:

focused on the future

values close, deep relationships - evident with Charkov being his best friend, despite the needed betrayal for the CIA

not materialistic

enjoy looking good and taking care of their appearance

very sensitive and emotional

Weaknesses:

difficult to get to know

incredibly stubborn

has a rebel attitude - true to him being the mole of the KGB and working for the CIA for a decade

dislikes confrontation - may be true to be called to the central committee and talking to Kravchenko

avoiding the ordinary

—————

Greta Keller (ISTJ-A — "Logistician")

Information about the personality type:

They like strengthening their current relationships rather than seeking out new ones. These people tend to “play the hits” in their lives. They find joy and comfort in the things they know they like and rely on what worked or didn’t work in the past when making big decisions.

female ISFJs comprises 8% of the total world population (common personality type)

have a keen sense of right and wrong

enjoy order and organization in all areas of their lives

carefully plan things out well in advance

place a great deal of emphasis on traditions and laws

Strengths:

self-sufficient - evident when letting Bell take lead and leaving herself behind

realistic

persistent

trustworthy

thorough - apparent in her dialogues in the bar

Weaknesses:

judgmental

gets involved in win-lose situations - evident when captured by Volkov and almost snapped by the neck to death

have tendencies to believe that they're always right

subjective

uncomfortable expressing emotion or affection towards others

[night-eagle-flight]

Hidden Gem Chapter 3

Thank you so much for reading and the likes everyone!!!! Here is the next chapter and if you’d like feel free to leave a comment! I’d like to hear what you think. The likes are also very much appreciated! :) 

When you woke up a dress was laid at the foot of your bed. A short gasp escaped you when you saw your window had been barred to stop you from any thought of escape. You stood up and decided to head for the bathroom but when you tried to open your door, it was locked.

You backed away and then felt your body drop. You didn’t even look up when Haytham opened the door.

“Wallowing in self pity hm?”

You didn’t answer.

Haytham got on one knee and hugged you, “You will continue to be under observation until the day you leave with Shay. If you pull another stunt like the one from last night, you will be severely punished. Understand?” He felt you nod which made him frown slightly, “You know I prefer a verbal response.”

You stiffened a bit but yielded, “I understand.”

“Good. Now get dressed.” Haytham stood up and headed out locking the door behind him, “Shay will be joining you soon.”

By the time you were dressed Shay came into your room ready to enjoy the tea the newly hired maid brought in.

Since that day, everyday was a routine. You remained locked in your room with your attire of the day chosen in the morning. Haytham and Shay would join you at specific times of the day to keep you company or to escort you to the bathroom. You were expected to smile and keep up conversation with them and if you ever showed sadness, Haytham would reprimand you.

This went on for 2 weeks until the day you were to join Shay on the Morrigan. Your new home was kept a secret from you but you knew it would be a long voyage due to everything that was being packed.

“Ready to go?” Haytham asked as he entered your room.

“Yes.” You said as you stood up from the vanity and looked at him with the best smile you could muster.

Haytham walked up to you and lifted your hand to kiss it, “That’s a good girl.”

Shay appeared and raised his elbow so you could be escorted. You wrapped your fingers around his appendage and were whisked away to the carriage where all your remaining bags were.

The ride was too short for your liking and a small frown appeared on your face when you saw the Morrigan. The carriage stopped a small distance away and the crew began to off load your bags.

“Looks like this is goodbye.” Haytham smiled at both you and Shay, “I wish you safe passage and a promising future.”

“Thank you Master Kenway.” Shay smiled as he shook his hand.

“Thank you.” Was all you could say as you bowed your head while clasping your hands.

“Is that all?” Haytham asked coyly.

You looked up at him as you approached and gave him a light hug. Haytham patted your back, “Be good to Shay.”

“I will.” You backed up a bit, “What other choice do I have?”

“None.” Haytham stated with a smile.

You wanted to run at this point but how could you get away from them? Your courage and confidence were stripped away that night.

“Shall we be of-” Shay was interrupted by loud shouting from a crowd that was forming along the Morrigan. Haytham and Shay gave each other knowing looks.

“What’s going on?” You asked as you were slowly pushed back by them to the carriage since the dock to get on the ship was blocked.

“Get inside the carriage and close the curtains.” Shay said, “You will be safe there for now.”

You didn’t hesitate and went inside. Soon after you heard swords clashing and people yelling hysterics.

“You bloody red coats!!!!”

“We do not fight for the crown!” Haytham yelled, “But if you refuse the truth and continue your attack the only thing you’ll be dealt is your end.”

You yelped when you were suddenly knocked over your seat as the carriage began to move rapidly.

“(Y/N)!!!” You heard Shay call out.

He did his best to get away from the crowd but the numbers kept adding on even with the help of his crew. It took some time, but they managed to beat down the riot. Many people began running away once they saw the people they were fighting against had gained the upper hand.

Haytham was furious, “Clearly assassins don’t know the amount of time put into a plan like this.” He clenched his fists, “Come along Shay. It seems your stay has been extended.” He began to walk toward the Captains quarters.

“That’s not possible.” Shay ran next to Haytham, “I took down the Colonial Brotherhood. There shouldn’t be anymore assassins alive.”

“Leave one alive Shay and you give them the chance to grow once more.” Haytham stated.

“Achilles.” Shay muttered.

“Let’s start planning how we will get (Y/N) back.” Haytham opened the door, “Even with both our skill sets we must tread cautiously.”

Shay nodded and went in with Haytham, “Does she know about Templars?”

“No.” Haytham said, “She wasn’t meant to find out about the order until it was too late to turn back from her assigned role.”

“I don’t understand Grandmaster. How does that help?” Shay asked as he closed the door.

“Because if I know her well enough,” Haytham sat down, “She would have tried much harder to escape had she known prior to this day. A shame... by the looks of her expressions the last couple weeks she had accepted defeat.” His eyebrows furrowed, “They are most likely headed for the homestead. I assume you recall its layout?”

Shay nodded, “Ai Sir.” 

Both began to look at a map Shay had pulled out and began talking about what to do to get you back.

With You

You had been in the carriage for about an hour. You thought that at least once the robbers would have peeked inside already to see what was inside. But nothing.

“Just grab everything and bring it on board! We don’t have the time to rummage through it now!” Someone yelled in the distance.

The door opened and a shocked expression crossed their faces. The shock however turned to a glare when they saw the necklace you wore.

“Templar.” One of the men said.

“What?” You asked

“Don’t play dumb!” The other yelled.

You got angry, “I don’t know what you are talking about!!! I’ve never heard of that title!”

“Let’s bring her in. Maybe she knows something about the cargo.”

They grabbed you and pulled you out of the carriage. You began to struggle but stopped when a knife was placed on your neck.

“No point in resisting.”

You let out a sigh of defeat and boarded the ship. You were lead down some stairs to go below deck and were taken to one of the small rooms. You were sat down on a chair and your arms tied behind your back.

“FULL SAIL!!! FULL SAIL!!!!!” You heard from far away.

“Looks like we’re taking off.”

Nothing else was said for about an hour. You were starting to wriggle around to try to stretch out for a bit when one of the men spoke,

“You stay here while I get the captain. He’ll want to talk to her. She was with the Grandmaster and his lapdog.”

The wait was shorter this time and you felt your nerves get the better of you when you saw the Captain. When he walked in his presence could be felt around the room. He stood tall by the door frame and as he walked towards you each step seemed to have purpose.

“Leave us for now.” He said.

Both men walked out quickly and shut the door.

The captain grabbed a chair from the side of the room and dragged it in front of you. He sat down with the back side of the chair in front so when he sat down it was similar to riding a horse. The tail of his navy blue coat dragged to the floor and his tricorn remained prominent on his head.

“What were the Templars planning on sending off on that ship?” His tone was serious and the look in his eyes showed he wasn’t there to play.

“I-I don’t know what the Templars are!” You half yelled.

His eyes narrowed, “Lies will get you no where.” He pointed at your necklace, “You wear their very symbol!” He yelled, “Do you really expect me to believe that you don’t know who they are?”

“YES!!” You yelled, “I don’t know what it is you seek but I swear all I know was that I was being sent away! That’s all I know! They told me nothing else!!!”

“You were staying with the Templar Grandmaster of the colonial right and you didn’t know?” He scoffed, “You continue to lie-”

You had begun to weep, “I give you my word. I did not know Haytham was a Templar.” You looked up, “I only wear this necklace because the man I was betrothed to sent it as a sign that I was his.” You sniffled but went on. “Haytham saved me when I was a child and he kept me by his side since then. But as years went by he only got stricter and stricter. Obedience was all I knew... It’s all I know...”

The captain looked at your eyes searching for any sign of deceit but all he saw was your sorrow. Both of you maintained eye contact until you could no longer handle his strong gaze and looked down.

You quietly sobbed, “Please don’t look at me like him.”

The captain was confused, “Him?”

You looked up but quickly tore the gaze once more, “Like Haytham.”

He remained quiet as he digested all this information. After a couple minutes he spoke up,

“What is your name?” He asked.

“(Y/N).”

“Do you have any family?”

“No. My only family was my parents but they were both killed when I was a child.”  

“If I offered you a place to work and stay would you be willing to accept it?”

You looked up shocked, “Yes! Anything to avoid going back! Thank you uh...”

“Connor.” He stated simply.

You managed to smile a bit, “Thank you Connor.”

Connor stood up and went behind you to cut the ropes that held you down, “Please stay in this room for now. It will be safer for you here.”

You nodded in agreement and sat down on the bed that was on the side. Connor took his leave and shut the door behind him. He saw one of his fellow assassins and approached them,

“Keep an eye on our guest. If she does anything suspicious let me know immediately.”

“Of course.”

That’s it for now! Hope you enjoyed!

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART 1) Last week I was swept away, helpless, by the avalanche that is the Sanremo Song Festival and I am still recovering. For your safety, I’ve tried to keep the insanity contained on my Italian side blog. But I want to try to offer you a rough summary of what I’ve learned. Sanremo inspired the Eurovision Song Contest. Over five nights, 24 acts, each with a brand new song, compete at the Ariston theatre in Sanremo for a tacky little golden lion, and the glory of being the year’s Song for Italy. 2020 marked the 70th Sanremo, so depending on who you ask, it’s a venerable national treasure or it’s stale and embarrassing (Many Italians are sick of it. Or say they are, but see below.) It is also an EPIC STRUGGLE between THE FORCES OF GOOD AND EVIL FOR THE SOUL OF HUMANITY Let’s meet some of the protagonists: 

AKA: host Amadeus, entertainer and comedian Rosario Fiorello, il Bel Paese, and competitor Achille Lauro.

Amadeus got things off to a bad start before the show even began by praising his various female co-hosts - all seasoned TV professionals - for their beauty and their ability to stay “a step behind a man.” Outrage ensues, Amadeus claims he did not mean it like that, but keep this in mind for later. Also competing are Morgan (below, left) and Bugo (below, right.), who are performing a duet.

Going in, the one thing I know about Morgan is that on more than one occasion, he trashtalked my beloved and blameless Fabrizio Moro. So I hate him and want him to suffer. And apparently he has quite the reputation for throwing tantrums, picking on fellow-artists and sabotaging events he’s part of. But hey. He’s supposedly talented and Bugo clearly thinks he deserves another chance.  And we’re off!

Irene Grandi kicks things off with  “Finalmente Io” (“Finally Me”). But I’m starting with her not so much because she’s the first to sing as because I don’t think the song’s  got enough attention -- either for the fact that it bangs or for what it represents in the drama that’s about to unfold.

Finalmente Io is what, in the business, we call foreshadowing.

There’s a magical thing that happens to women with when they turn 40. The  develop Not-Giving-A-Fuck superpowers. The song is basically about that. It’s about freedom, and self-acceptance, and being 100% done with male bullshit. (It's also a bit of an ADHD anthem but let’s leave that aside for now.)  “I’ve lost all my patience, and all my fragility,” she sings. 

And, “If you want sex, let’s do it now. Heeeeeeere.”

Irene is the portent everyone misses, a harbinger of what is to come. 

Think of her as John the Baptist.  Onwards. So the first thing one discovers about the Sanremo Festival is that just because we have to get through 24 “big” acts AND 6 (?) new/junior artists, and they all have to perform multiple times, that doesn’t mean there’s any RUSH. Guest singers wander on and perform a song or ten. There’s comedy. We can stop everything to talk about football.  A lady comes on and talks for a million years about how her granny taught her that True Beauty is Found Within. There are also speeches about important subjects like violence against women. In fact, we are going to talk about that a lot, but also a bunch of competent and experienced female TV personalities are stuck taking turns at playing Amadeus’s Glamorous Assistant of the evening and he can’t shut up about how beautiful they all are while they cringe and lean subtly away from him. So it’s ... slow, and awkward, but within its own cheesy terms, things are normal. Too normal. Enter Achille Lauro. 

Softly, almost whispering, he begins to sing a song called  “Me ne frego”  (”I don’t care” - but with an edge of “fuck you”). This is both an everyday Italian expression and a fascist motto. Well, it was till now. 

A nation is convulsed. Right-wing Italian boomers are screaming because YOU! CAN’T! DO! THAT! AT! SANREMO! THERE! ARE! CHILDREN! WATCHING! Italian Tumblr, which like the rest of Tumblr is feral, thirsty and gay, is screaming for different reasons entirely. 

Achille, you scandalous creature, what have you done? What have you got to say for yourself?

Something strange and magical  has released and it cannot be contained. On with the songs. Good songs, bad songs, blah songs. I like “Tikibombom” by Levante - a love letter to weirdos and rebels, “Rosso di Rabbia” (Rage Red) by Anastasio about being, well, angry but scared you can’t do anything useful with it, and “Eden” by  Rancore, about... the nature of sin?? touching on everything from September 11 to the mafia to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.   However, this contest is being judged (mostly - it’s complicated) by an industry jury of FOOLS, COWARDS, and TRAITORS who KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO, so virtually all of the above artists are so far languishing towards the bottom of the provisional rankings. Achille ends up in 17th place and  Rancore at 22.

Truly, the light hath shone in the darkness and the darkness knoweth it not.

LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO RANCORE. 

Rapper down, repeat RAPPER DOWN. SEND HELP.

However, for people who went in implacably biased against Morgan, it’s not all bad news. "Sincero” (Sincere) by Morgan and Bugo is in last place. Whether this is anything to do with the song or because Morgan is a nightmare of a person who has systematically alienated everyone in the Italian music industry except the trusting Bugo ... we can but ponder.  Sanremo grinds on. Days blur into each other and I’m not even going to try to cover events in exact order. Sanremo knows no order. Sanremo is like the universe, linear time is a construct that doesn’t really exist, and chaos happens very, very slowly.  But meanwhile, somewhere on the astral plane:

At least that is what I deduce must have happened.

The competitors and guests look deep within themselves. Do they have what it takes? Are they ready to answer the call? 

Let’s see! It’s Covers Night! Which is also Duets Night!

That’s Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) and Myss Keta.

 Are they in tune? No. Does it matter? ALSO NO.

Meanwhile ... something strange is brewing between Amadeus and Fiorello...

 But wait, PLOT TWIST.

Enter Roberto Benigni.

The beloved actor and director is the latest avatar of the Dionysian frenzy that has chosen Sanremo 2020 for the place of its birth. He is the One who will unite the electric queer mayhem and the impossible grinding tedium  of Sanremo. In him, the two strains will fuse and become unstoppable. He is going to talk about sex for twenty-six minutes

He reads from the Song of Songs, which ... I knew it was sexy, and all, but is it really like that? Do you ever think about NAKED BODIES? Roberto does. Do you believe in PHYSICAL LOVE? Roberto wishes you would. Anyway, just think of all the sex we could all be having, literally right now, right heeeeere, whether we are  “a woman, and her man. Or a man and his man. Or a woman, and her woman!” He is awful. He is magnificent. He is excruciating. He is spellbinding. We are hanging on his every word and we are considering chewing our own arms off to escape. He proposes an orgy in the orchestra pit. 

Hand on heart, all of that happened. Italian Tumblr, bear witness.

And what of Achille Lauro? He unleashed this madness upon us all,  is he just going to sit back and let everyone else do all the work? Of course not. Achille Lauro came to bring not peace, but a sword, to the world of toxic masculinity and gender in general and his work is not yet done.

”I too was once a little girl,” Achille sings.

Dressed as Bowie-as-Ziggy, Achille duets with Annalisa on “Gli Uomini Non Cambiano” - “Men Don’t Change”. It’s a heartbreaking song by Mia Martini from 1992 about male abuse of women, and not a single word, or a single pronoun has been changed.

However, although he’s the one in the competition, and the one dressed to dazzle, he leaves Annalisa the spotlight. It’s like she’s the tortured protagonist of the song and he’s a voice in her head, a sympathetic spirit who can’t swoop in to rescue her but can quietly affirm that she deserves better than the the hellish treatment she’s singing about. in fact, he pointedly stays a step behind her at all times. And she’s majestic. 

Of course, he’s not fucking DONE

He’s still got to sing “Me Ne Frego” again. Can he top the cape-drop? You be the judge.

So Italian Tumblr,  is now writhing on the carpet,  making a sound only bats can hear, and shitposting itself into delirium, but has it all been ENOUGH?

NO.

Poor Rancore has died again. Toxic masculinity still exists. Amadeus is still pretty gross. Everyone is going to have to GAY HARDER. CAN THEY DO IT? This post is, like Sanremo itself, getting insanely long, so ... STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO, in which Fiorello’s true nature as a chaos being is revealed, Amadeus faces his Calvary, and the gun on the stage goes off.  ----- UPDATE: Part 2 is here

[thejudgingtrash]

🌳

Thank you for sending me a prompt :D This one shot it definitely not proofread, so I'm sorry about that.

I tried to do something different aside from Percabeth for once - Ruegard! Also tw: character death

Thorns and Roses

Silena looked at her. “Clarisse…” she mumbled.

“No. Please don’t,” Clarisse cried. Tears clouded her vision and her last moments with her.

“I’m so sorry.”

It took a mere split second for Clarisse to fall deep for her. It was a lazy glance to the side of the arena, when she saw her smile and wink. The encouraging wave of her hand that rose as Clarisse slammed Percy with her magical spear.

But that was all that it took, many summers ago. It was all that Clarisse little hardened heart needed. Clarisse La Rue, formally bully exterior, now nothing but a shell of destruction and failure.

She was truly her father’s creation. Her looks, her wit, her sharpened senses, her rage. All came from him unfortunately. But with the looks came the bad. The legitimate children of Zeus and Hera were cursed, no one wanted to admit it. They lacked in tact, they lacked in grace. Their status was only high lightened by their status and birth rights.

The captivating beauty of one Silena Beauregard was all that made Clarisse nearly forget those facts. Those pesky thoughts that had haunted her ever since she was a child. A child of Ares who had the greatest honor and the greatest displeasure of actually meeting her father.

The minute the son of Poseidon stepped into the camp; everyone knew. He looked like a younger and smaller version of his father; most people just played the indifferent card aside from that annoying Athena girl. Had Annabeth owned the medical tool kit from the Apollo cabin, she would have dissected Percy as if he were an insect. But no. Percy was successful with retrieving the lightning bolt and found out that one of the most beloved and prominent campers was a traitor. It was a wonder that Luke never bothered to try to recruit from the Ares cabin. With Clarisse on his side, it would have been a stroll through the parks, waging war against Olympus. Not only that, Percy had the nerve to humiliate her father for all to see. The Ares cabin had been the laughing stock for a whole year.

Then the sea rat stole her mission and final chance to shine and marked Clarisse’s downfall. Disgust. That was what her father breathed the few times she had seen him and pleaded for his advice. Strategizing wasn’t the strength of the legitimate war children. It was blood lust, destruction, interruption. And just like that he had wiped the Iris message with his hand, closing their call.

Clarisse La Rue, the biggest failure on Mount Olympus. But she was different. Silena, who greeted her every day. Silena who asked how she was feeling. It was Silena who was nurturing and caring. She who clearly sought her out and bonded with Clarisse. The campers saw it and yet they didn’t. Clarisse turned from the loud and brash leader of the cabin into a more solemn version of herself.

Love and war. Thorns and roses. They were opposites, but who was about to say they would attract each other? Love was pure and soft. It made you swoon and see the world through different lenses. War was the other side of the spectrum. It tore apart, it hurt, it caused pain. It would leave scars for eternity as love stood by its side to caress it. Ares and Aphrodite. Two forces not to be reckoned with. The beauty of a rose was always accompanied by the pain of its thorns.

“I want to see Charlie. See… Charlie…” coughed Silena. Blood sticked to her torn lips.

“I’m in love,” Silena had giggled back then. She tried to bite the smile down that came through anyways. Just like always.

Clarisse could hear her own heart beat louder with every new tact. It was beating to the rhythm of anticipation. She licked her lips and tried not to nervously touch her dull hair. I love you too.

“It’s Charlie, Charles Beckendorf.” Silena admitted, her blue eyes shining as bright as a thousand stars. Then she smiled again and broke Clarisse’s heart into tiny pieces.

It was the greatest irony of them all that a child of Hephaestus stole the heart of the daughter of Aphrodite all while the mighty speechless fruit of Ares could do nothing but sit there and watch. The gods must have a feast with that gossip on Mount Olympus.

O gods, why did you shoot Clarisse with the arrow of love? Eros, how could you? Didn’t she suffer enough shame and humiliation? It wasn’t that Clarisse was angry or disappointed. She was truly as happy for Silena as Silena was in love. She wanted to see her flower bloom and see her smile every day. If it meant that it was Charles who captured that precious place so be it.

But it was… Jealousy? No, Clarisse didn’t want to steal Silena away from Beckendorf. They deserved each other. Despite the children of Hephaestus being mental twins to the children of Ares, both with their and non-conforming looks, their strength and the cautious glances the other campers threw into their direction, Clarisse didn’t wish her cousin any harm. Beckendorf was shy around Silena and even if watching them share small kisses here and there caused Clarisse’s stomach to drop. She wanted Silena to blossom.

It was envy. If Clarisse could switch parts with Beckendorf she would do so in a heartbeat. He was polite and quite popular even if he wasn’t aware of it. While most of Hephaestus’ creations had a harsh tone to them, Beckendorf was truly one of his best to rise. The heart of a fighter and the smarts that could beat any quantum computer. And he beat Clarisse too, when it came to Silena Beauregard’s heart.

Clarisse tried to branch out, meet new people even in camp. She tried to keep an eye out for any other possible romantic partner, alas to no success. She was no dainty small girl which others seemed to prefer. She had her height and her muscles in her arm that beat most mortal men. No chance for her witty and empathetic personality to shine through.

Clarisse was no child of Aphrodite. She couldn’t smell emotions on a whim, but her father’s powers gave her a similar skillset. She could sense whenever something wasn’t right and it started months ago before the Battle of Manhattan. Silena was distant. Her hair was less shiny and her eyes as dull as the calm seas. She couldn’t look her in the eyes. She was distracted, looked to the side.

Something was off with her, no matter how much positivity the daughter of Aphrodite used to cover her tracks. Clarisse could tell, but she was tactful enough to not pry. Oh, had she pried back then. She had seen the signs, why didn’t she step up and say something? The difference between desperation and the calm before the storm was so small.

Silena ran away from Clarisse as if she had been hit by the arrow of hatred. The beauty could tell that she was unable to deceive her dearest friend. So, she stopped talking to her at all, avoiding her on every occasion. No more boy trouble, no more talks, no more sneaking off to the beach, no more laying down and watching the stars. Well, Silena watched the stars. Clarisse could only see her.

The manipulation of the Aphrodite cabin never worked on the children of Ares. They saw clear through lies and deception. In war every moment counted. You needed to be one with your environment. You needed to know your opponent. Was he stronger than you? Did he have more men? Was he able to do things you could never do? Would he risk things you would never do?

Avoidance was clearly the better tactic. Silena had learned a lot from Annabeth and the other children of Athena back in those days.

The moment Clarisse’s heart began to break forever was when it turned out that Silena had been the spy for the cursed Castellan boy. That he was. A naïve boy who thought that whining and throwing a fit on the ground would cause change. As the son of one of the master manipulators on Mount Olympus, Luke should have seen Kronos’ betrayal a mile away. But he was a broken and cursed boy like all of them, a kid in college and the Titan Lord cracked him like a walnut. No one in camp could have resisted, not even the strongest children like Percy, Thalia and Nico.

But why her? Why Silena? What did he do to Clarisse’s sweet Silena? What did he do that made her lights go out forever? What did he do to let her die like that? She deserved the death of a warrior, not the death of being the traitor’s second-class shadow.

Silena had chosen her in the end. Her, poor Clarisse La Rue. Like Patroclus and Achilles back then, millennia ago. She chose to disguise herself as Clarisse. The greatest deception, a war tactic of its own.

How had Achilles overcome his loss? How did he mourn? With agony. With the most destructive pain. With anger. Was he ever reunited with his lover? Clarisse did not know the answer. All she saw was her rose wilting on the dirty grounds of Manhattan.

The poison tore Silena’s face apart, the sad reminder of her being was slowly decaying. The shell of her being. The pain that she left in Clarisse’s heart. Silena had coughed and Clarisse knew it was time for Thanatos to put an end and for Hermes to bring her to the other side. She knew it, yet didn’t want to face the truth. It would break her already broken heart.

“Why did you do this?” whimpered Clarisse. “Why did you, you silly girl?”

But Clarisse knew why. It was like always – Silena did it out of love. Both for Beckendorf and for her. Her last moment was dedicated to the both of them.

The last red petal fell. It was just like that. One last breath and her life force was gone, the eyes dull and an ash gray layer covered her. The teary blue eyes. It was no picture for the gods yet something Clarisse would never forget. Of that she was certain. Silena’s black hair was framing her body like a dark halo. They were putting down roots on the cold and hard concrete. The final whispers of an escaped nymph making peace with the situation.

A piercing cry haltered all movements. Monsters and men alike. It echoed through the streets and drowned out all the noise from the battle grounds. Today they would die. Rage covered every inch of her body. The movements were robotic as if a parasite had taken over her, but it truly was the devastation that manifested itself within Clarisse’s mind.

She had killed that fucking drakon just like it killed one of the most precious people on earth. She never had the chance to hell her that she loved her dearly and sincerely. Deep down Clarisse knew that Silena knew the entire time. But she never had the guts to say it to her face, rejection be damned. To be freed of the burden and speak her truth. Clear her consciousness and her mind.

She was shaking with pain and desperation. Every muscle, every thought burned and hurt. Clarisse channeled all the ugliness of war. All of her strength just for her. She who had just left this plane of existance.

Clarisse had lost her.

The thorns had lost their beauty.

And they would all pay for it.

I hope the Apollon and Daphne theme shone through ^^ lmk what you think!!

[chimaerakitten]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2eF2BW8QhNO2UesloUNkuk?si=SfOWQO6CTQy28MPE0ndjMA)

so, now that I am officially free of both finals and my work on the TQT title sequence animation, I thought it would be a good time to turn to my other bit project for this fandom, Chi’s crazy-long chronological playlist. I started this. One week after ROTT came out. ONE WEEK. I thought I’d get it done and written up in two or three days. It is now. December the 15th. Two months. TWO MONTHS, THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS

Bellow the cut: A writeup explaining the position of each song + a little bit more commentary on it from me (spoilers. everything is spoilers all the way through ROTT below the cut):

This is a mix of some pretty typical fanplaylist fare (there is. A lot of Bastille on here) some Queen’s Thief must-haves (can you really have a Queen of Attolia playlist without Achilles Come Down?) and my own really weird music taste (Filk like Tin Soldier and Courage Knows No Bounds)

Some of the ones I’m most proud of are Monster by Starset for the Mede camp scenes in ROTT (I mean, it starts with “Under the knife I surrendered” It’s kinda perfect) Laughter Lines for Relius and Teleus (I have it on good authority that that caused a lot of heart pain for other fans) and Soft to be Strong for Irene and Relius.

without further ado, the song list:

“Eddis”—Warriors

“Thief!”—Second Child, Restless Child

The Thief

Whatever it takes—“I can steal anything”

Tin Soldier—“Nobody would mistake you for anything but a tool, Gen.”

Centuries—“His name would be carved in stone on a stele outside the basilica, and mine would be written in the dust.”

Everybody Wants To Rule the World—“He doesn’t want the queen…He just wants the pass through the mountains so that he can invade Attolia.”

Patron Saint o’ Thieves—Eugenides and the Sky God’s Thunderbolts (I will be honest. This one was chosen based on title and Vibes, tm, not lyrics)

The Only Exception—“But if there hadn’t been one that I loved, I wouldn’t have landed myself in the king’s prison.”

Thief—Before braving the temple of the Aracthus.

Come Wayward Souls—Inside the temple.

History Has Its Eyes On You—The answered prayer for silence.

The Queen and the Soldier—“You are more beautiful, Your majesty... But she is more kind.”

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)—Walking to Eddis.

Stand By Me—“Oh, It’s you, Eugenides.”

Family—Helen, Eugenides, and the Minister of War.

“Destruction”—Dread Sovereign

The Queen of Attolia

Run Boy Run—The chase through the palace.

Icarus—Eugenides, caught.

When the Chips are Down—“I still think tradition might hold the best solution to my problems with you.”

Achilles Come Down—Eugenides, after returning to Eddis.

Heroes—The Secret War and the expectation that Eugenides will die soon.

Burn It Down—Burning Sounis’s navy.

Sit Still Look Pretty—“It was her fiancé who gave her the name shadow princess.”

Heroes and Thieves— “She pulled the bedclothes up as far as they would go and suppressed a perverse wish to have her old nurse come to chase away the darkness, perverse because she didn’t know if she wanted the shadows to be empty or not.”

Thousand Eyes—The plan to take Ephrata.

We Remain—“There’s an easier way for a man to become king,”

Black Water—“She reached up to push the wet hair out of her face, wondering when she had sunk so low that she had begun torturing boys.”

Simple Song—"I watched you walking between the rows of cabbages and then dancing under the orange trees. I was above you, in one of the trees.”

She’s Always a Woman—"Eugenides had accepted gladly and read carefully, trying to see whether Attolia could be the monster in human guise she was accused of being, or only a woman who ruled without the support of her barons.”

Queen of Peace—“Just asleep,” Eddis reassured her.”

I’m Not Calling You A Liar—“I sometimes believe his lies are the truth, but I have never mistaken his truth for a lie.”

Losing My Religion—“You made a mistake,” Attolia agreed. “You trusted your gods. That was your mistake.”

Pompeii—The vision of the volcano.

All I’ve Ever Known—“Love I am not familiar with.”

Love Love Love—"Who am I, that you should love me?

A Healing In This Night—“And she believed him.”

The King of Attolia

Bow to the Crown— “He dropped to his knees before his queen and lowered his head almost to the floor.”

Shut up and Dance—"Her queen danced like a flame in the wind”

Carry Your Throne— It was not a kiss between strangers, not even a kiss between a bride and a groom. It was a kiss between a man and his wife.”

It’s Alright—"If it was embarrassing to wake like a child screaming from a nightmare, how much more embarrassing to be the reason your husband woke screaming.”

Believer—“like a god revealed” and the fall of the house of Erondites.

I CHOOSE YOU— “He was very likable—Eddis would have married him.”

Hunger— “I did not say that I am afraid. He is, though, I think. Afraid of his own desire for power.”

Soft to Be Strong—"I have learned that there is a flaw in your philosophy. If we truly trust no one, we cannot survive.”

Gold—Eugenides on the crenellations.

True & Destined Prince—“He is an Annux, a king of kings.”

“Knife Dance”—Human

A Conspiracy of Kings

Things We Lost In The Fire—The raid on the villa.

Constellations—Sophos and Moira in the dream library.

Welcome Home, Son—“I didn’t want a choice; I wanted to stay right where I was and build walls and share poetry with an avid audience and enjoy a swim with friends, but I didn’t want it to be my choice.”

Words as Weapons— “Eugenides looked me in the eye as if I were a complete stranger and said, “The simplest way to end a war is to admit you have lost it.”

Share Your Address— “You made a proposal in your previous letter. Perhaps it was only hypothetical?” “It was not.”

I Love You—“When I was working in the fields, I knew how unfounded my hopes were,” he said. “I was a poor excuse for an heir of Sounis when I made the proposal and then became even less than that.”

Iron—“I will go to Melenze. And hope to delay the Medes long enough to find some other solution to their imperial expansion. Of course, that assumes the king and queen of Attolia intend to honor the laws of hospitality and allow me to travel safely to the border.”

Young Volcanoes—“Just what makes you think you can get away with that?” he asked the young man standing over him with a butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression incongruous on his scarred face.”

The Fates—Sophos’s naïve speech before the first vote.

Handmade Heaven—Shooting Hanaktos and Akretenesh, lifting a hand to the sky for a lightning bolt that will not come.

I Bet My Life—"There is no reason I can see that I would not be honored to join Eddis to you.”

Flaws—“Eddis stared at him for a long time, knowing that forgiving someone because you have to is not forgiving him at all.”

For The Dancing And The Dreaming—“Are you certain that you want to be my wife?” “Absolutely,” said Eddis, quietly. “Eternally certain.”

Blood Brothers—"He had been saved by the men Eugenides sent, though he did not yet know the ferocity with which the king of Attolia had stripped those men from other posts, the capital he had expended, the secrets that had been revealed in order to send help to Sounis.”

Thick as Thieves

I’ll Believe In Anything—"If there had been any alternative, I would have taken it, but I could see none, and there was no time for hesitation.”

You’ve Got A Friend In Me—“Head wounds bleed, but we can stitch it up, I’ve done it before, don’t be afraid. Kamet, I wouldn’t tell you this if it weren’t true. I swear to you, I am not going to leave your dead body beside the road to Perf. I didn’t come all the way to this godsforsaken cesspit so that I could go home and tell my king I failed him.”

Desert Song—Costis and Kamet crossing the empire, eating caggi.

Empire—"It would be possible, I supposed, for an outsider to see disruption and think the empire might collapse, but it was too all encompassing, too well sewn together to come apart. As each smaller nation was absorbed, it was integrated into the whole, enjoying all the benefits of being in the empire.”

Fell In Love With A Girl—Kamet’s story of Marin the dancing girl.

Foreigner’s God—Kamet’s encounter with Ennikar while Costis is in the well.

The Hell If I Go Home—Kamet trying to leave in Sukir.

Stray Italian Greyhound—“If you had told me in Sukir, I would have let you go.” / “Costis,” I said, using his name for the first time since he had told it to me, on board the riverboat at the start of our journey. “Costis, I’m sorry.”

Poet—"I began this narrative in the palace of Attolia but have only recently neared its completion. I will eventually send it to Relius, when I am sure it can be delivered without interception, and I hope he will be satisfied with my account, as I would be honored to have it added to his library.”

All This And Heaven Too—“Immakuk and Ennikar,” he said. “Where?” I snapped my head around to scan the dock, and he nudged me with his elbow. “Idiot. Us,” he said.”

Return of the Thief

How Far We’ve Come—Exordium.

The Great Escape—Pheris finding a place for himself.

The Heart Is a Muscle—“Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults”

I Will Wait—“His heart is unlikely to be in his work.”

Laughter Lines—Relius and Teleus saying goodbye.

Stole You Away—“Attolia says she leaves with you”

Poison & Wine—“I think they have to show their worst selves sometimes”

United at War—“Sounis will not run…nor Eddis.”

This is War—Arrival at Leonyla.

No Light, No Light—“All wars make men monsters, all wars and all men.”

Survivor’s Song—The Etisian winds came early.

Daniel in the Den—The ambush and the Mede Camp.

Monster—“Nahuseresh tells me I am not king. We’ll see if he really prefers the Thief.”

Natural—“Once, when I said he had saved me, you said I had saved him. From what?”

Tomorrow I Leave For Battle—Before the Naupent.

March of Cambreadth—The Naupent.

Courage Knows No Bounds—A pyre that burned for three days.

Bad Blood—The pardon of Sejanus.

Call the Names—The naming of Hector and Eugenia.

Here’s To Us—Dancing on the Roof.

I lived—Pheris, and the gods were pleased.

“Alyta’s Missing Earring”—Falling and Empire

final note: I did my best to have songs have at least one meaning in the pace they were put, plus more meaning when considering the series as a whole—for example, “Tin Soldier” appears early on in the context of the king of Sounis and the Magus using Gen as a tool, but if you loop back around to it after Return of the Thief, Gen being “weapon more than child” gains a whole new meaning. "She’s always a woman” is an Irene song in the context of QOA, but the more we learn about Helen, the more it applies to her, etc. etc. Not every song is like that, but I wanted to give the playlist at least a bit of re-listen value, in the spirit of the books’ reread value.

[macbetha]

So very excited to share this! It’s a playlist for my upcoming Free! fic, This Heart of Mine, the rewritten sequel to Eyes Wide Open All the Time. You can listen to the playlist on YouTube; this list simply helps define who or what a song represents to me. This list also includes some lyrics that you may want to pay special attention to. I recommend reading the lyrics by themselves before listening to the playlist. Mind you - some of these lyrics only act as symbolism. Some mean more. Some songs have connections. Some don’t. ;) *go girl give us nothing* List below! 

 THIS HEART OF MINE: PLAYLIST GUIDE 

Theme: Bring Me The Horizon feat. Halsey - In The Dark (MTLT / amo version) Oh so tall, it broke the fourth wall Guess our fairytale had a few plot holes Don’t you know you’ve lost control ↳ Honorable Mentions: ✧ grandson - Bury Me Facedown When I go into the ground I won’t go quietly I’m bringing my crown I won’t get tired Set the town on fire Thinking that they’ve won It’s only just begun  ✧ Lorde - Everybody Wants to Rule the World ✧ Ry X - YaYaYa ✧ Rihanna - Goodnight Gotham

CHARACTERS

✦ Haruka ✧ WDL - Monster vs Angel Got my own monster Nobody but me  Got my own angel  I would never call him enemy He’s the good god I need  But both of the sides Fight for me  ✧ Mumford and Sons - Broken Crown I’ll never be your chosen one In this twilight  How dare you speak of grace But in this twilight Our choices seal our fate I’ll crawl on my belly till the sun goes down I’ll never wear your broken crown  ✧ Lia Marie Johnson - DNA Dark as midnight 6 Pack Coors Light You don’t look the same Past my bedtime Blue and red lights come take you away I won’t be like you Fighting back, I’m fighting back the truth Eyes like yours Can’t look away But you can’t stop DNA 

✧ Cat Power - Sea of Love Come with me, my love To the sea, the sea of love ✧ Al Green - Love and Happiness (side note: this if my favorite song of all time) Love and happiness Something that can make you do wrong And make you do right 

✦ Makoto ✧ The Oh Hellos - Soldier, Poet, King There will come a soldier Who carries a mighty sword He will tear your city down Oh ley, oh lei, oh lord ✧ Labrynth - Still Don’t Know My Name I took your heart I did things to you only lovers would only do in the dark I made you a god Priests, popes and preachers would tell me I did wrong ✧ The Civil Wars - Devil’s Backbone Don’t care if he’s guilty Don’t care if he’s not He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I got Oh lord, I’m begging you, please Don’t take that sinner from me  ✧ Sleeping At Last - Make You Feel My Love (Cover) I could make you happy Make your dreams come true There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do Go to ends of the earth for you To make you feel my love  ✦ Sousuke ✧ Angel Haze - Detox You dance in a cage with some rats in it I’m about chemistry, you just react to me God might turn us to ash, baby I might just taste your last stars tonight  We were gods in a world that did nothing but doubt us But fuck it, I got us, from the dirt with the flowers Put in work in the shower ✧ Kaleo - No Good  You better start runnin’ When you hear the man coming It won’t do you no good Kiss your baby goodbye Come on love, it’s all right Heaven knows they wanna break you apart  ✧ The Oh Hellos - The Lament of Eustice Scrubb Brother, forgive me We both know I’m the one to blame When I touched the water They told me I could be set free ✦ Rin ✧ Halsey - Young God (Lullaby / Music Box Intro, Live from Webster Hall) Running, running, running And we’ll be running, running, running again ✧ SZA - Good Days Tell me I’m not my fears, my limitations I’ll disappear I gotta keep from losing the rest of me Chasing a fountain of youth that’s in the present I’ll await my armored fate with a smile Still wanna try, I still believe in good days ✧ Lola Blanc - Angry Too Does it get your blood boiling? Does it make you see red? Cause it gets my blood boiling It would eat you like poison if you knew what I knew I don’t wanna drink the venom they made me I don’t wanna be controlled by the past But boy, if you were me Could you really blame me?  ✧ Kendrick Lamar - u And if this bottle could talk: I cry myself to sleep, everything is your fault Because you shook as you knew confinement was needed I know your secrets Don’t let me tell them to world  About the shit you thinking  And the time that you - I’m ‘bout to hurl  I’m fucked up But I ain’t as fucked up as you ✧ Halsey - More Wooden floors, little feet Flower bud, concrete A little screen, a photograph Mine to take I still believe it won’t be like before I’ve loved you for all of my life ✦ Nao ✧ Johnny Hollow - Worse Things Anger grew like ecstasy And Leda threw the swan on me There are worse things, perverse things You should answer when the phone rings There are worse things I could do ✧ Young Heretics - Bones of a Rabbit You play with wolves But you sleep with the bones of the rabbit  You have conquered cities And torched the mighty sea You may keep yourself afloat But you cannot outswim me  ✧ Phantogram - Black Out Days (Future Islands Remix) Hide the sun  I will keep your face out of my mind  I’m hearing voices all the time And they’re not mine  Haunting my mind ✦ Natsuya ✧ Gang of Youths - Achilles, Come Down Remember your virtue  Redemption lies plainly in the truth Where you go, I’m going When you jump, I’m jumping There is no me without you  Today of all days See how the most dangerous thing is love ✧ Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love The stars, the moon They have all been blown out You left me in the dark ✦ Ikuya ✧ Penelope Scott - Cigarette Ahegao So like, I guess I call it the sophomore slump Always crying and always drunk A few dead, more gone, the rest well on their way Thanks! I hate it Everyone that I love is stuck Because this, that, the other, and the state fucked up We covered it in a class that I’m about to fail  ✧ 100 gecs, Laura Les, Dylan Brady - Money Machine Tell me what's the deal, I've been trying to go to bed I've been up for days, I've been trying to get ahead Said it all before, and I'll say it once again I'm better off alone ✧ Halsey - Clementine  Through a breakdown or a blackout Would you make out with me Cause I don’t need anyone I just need everyone and then some ✦ Hiyori ✧ Florence + The Machine - Seven Devils Holy water cannot help you now A thousand armies couldn’t keep me out I don’t want your money I don’t want your crown See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down ✧ Michael Buble - Feeling Good (Cover) It’s a new life for me This old world is a new world And a bold world for me Freedom is mine And I know how I feel I’m feeling good ✦ Asahi ✧ Sam Henshaw - Broke If I wasn’t broke Would you spend more time with me Like you said you’d do Tell me what I’m supposed to do Cause the only thing I need Is to be loved by you  ✧ Mikky Ekko - Smile Smile, the worst is yet to come We’ll be lucky if we ever see the sun ✦ Aki ✧ Aly & AJ - Church I did bad things, can’t you see it on my face? I get caught in every lie I need redemption for sins I can’t mention For all the things I can’t reverse For all the places where it hurts ✧ ZZ Ward - Ghost Here the devil call out my name I’ve broken promises, burning flame God knows, darling God knows I gave Now the truth cuts like a knife ✦ Nii ✧ Of Mice and Men - My Understandings  Keep in mind that I’m a sore eye With blurry vision  ✧ Neoni - Outlaw They say that I’m wanted Hear the whispers in the street You better start running Cause nothing scares me  Faster, faster You’re the one I’m after  You built a fortress But I’ll never kiss the ring I’m my own king

✦ Gou ✧ Melanie Martinez - Lunchbox Friends We can be friends if you wanna be But only till the clock hits three I don’t want no lunchbox friends, no I want someone that binds the ends, no Come to my house, let’s die together Friendship that will last forever ✧ Maroon 5 - Come to the Water Come away little light Come away to the darkness Away from the life that you always knew Come away little lamb Come away to the water To the arms that are waiting only for you ✦ Isuzu ✧ Jessie Reyez - NO ONE’S IN THE ROOM  Spent my whole life being graded, being told I’m not enough Being told go find the one and sit and wait for death to come I don’t want to I need to talk to God There’s things I just don’t understand Like who am I when no one’s in the room EMI - Bad Friends Yeah, I got some bad friends No you cannot have them If you wanna talk to them  You talk to me, yeah We don’t fuck around with just anybody, yeah

✦ Takuya ✧ Imagine Dragons - Ready, Aim, Fire Off in the distance, there is resistance Bubbling up and festering Here in the casing Shaking and pacing This is the tunnel’s light Blood in the writing, stuck in the fighting Look through the rifle’s sight ✧ Billie Eilish - you should see me in a crown (acapella) Bite my tongue Bide my time Wait till the world is mine, ocean eyes Count my cards Watch them fall  Blood on a marble wall You should see me in a crown I’m gonna run this nothing town Watch me make ‘em bow One by one ✦ Kinjou ✧ Urban Country - Knife and Stone Tell me, have you ever seen a mirror Mirror in the middle of the forest Just waiting for the rain or the crown I’ve been up for thirty days Someone point to lost and found Ain’t no blood in the temple Just a knife and stone

✦ Mikhail ✧ Elsie Lovelock - Friends on the Other Side (Cover) The cards, the cards The cards will tell The past, the present, and the future as well I got voodoo, I got hoodoo I got things I ain’t even tried And I got friends on the other side I hope you’re satisfied, but if you ain’t Don’t blame me You can blame my friends on the other side ✦ Ryuuji ✧ elbow - Grounds for Divorce I’ve been working on a cocktail Called Grounds for Divorce Down comes him on sticks but then he kicks like a horse There's a hole in my neighborhood Down which of late I cannot help but fall ✧ Mumford and Sons - The Enemy I am not the enemy It isn’t me, the enemy I came and I was nothing So why did you choose to lean on A man you knew was falling? ✦ Nadia ✧ Halsey - Castle (Orchestral Version) They wanna make me their queen  There’s an old man  Sitting on the throne  Saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut I’m headed straight for the castle

THEMES: GROUPS

✦ FREEBIRD ✧ Kaleo - Way Down We Go Oh father, tell me Do we get what we deserve They will run you down Down till you fall They will run you down Down till you crawl Till you can’t crawl no more And way down we go ✦ ROUGH RABBIT ✧  Imagine Dragons - Who We Are Up on the mountain Down in the king's den  It's who we are Doesn't matter if we've gone too far Doesn't matter if it's not okay Doesn't matter if it's not our day ✦ DIAMONDBACK ✧ Florence + The Machine - Bedroom Hymns This is good a place to fall as any We’ll build our alter here  In the wine, the women, the bedroom hymns Such selfish prayers, I can’t get enough I’m not here looking for absolution Because I’ve found myself an old solution

✦ HONEYBLADE ✧ Megan Thee Stallion and Normani - Diamonds I love me this much My pear-shape all dripped up He want me to be a little more lady-like? Come through with my girls and beat your ass on ladies night ✦ BLOODHOUNDS ✧ Angel Haze - The Wolves Nothing left out there for me  I left my fucking heart out at the sea This shit sounds like the danger zone  I’m the big bad wolf  Gonna take the throne 

THEMES: PAIRINGS 

✦ Makoto + Haruka ✧ Phoebe Bridgers - Smoke Signals One of your eyes is always half shut Something happened when you were a kid I didn’t know you then and I’ll never understand why It feels like I did ✧ Radical Face - Welcome Home Peel the scars from off my back I don’t need them anymore I’ve come home ✧ The Track Team - Heart Chakra ✧ Blackmill - Redemption ✦ Sousuke + Rin ✧ Kaleo - Bang Bang (Cover) Seasons came and changed the times I grew up, I called him mine He would always laugh and say: “Remember how we used to play? Bang, bang.” ✧ Zayn - Good Guy I’m not a good guy But I know you’re mine (bang) I know you’re mine (bang, bang) ✧ L'Orchestra Cinématique - Crazy In Love (Instrumental Cover)

✦ Natsuya + Nao ✧ Cosmo Sheldrake - The Moss But have you heard the story Of the rabbit in the moon? Halsey - Colors Your little brother never tells you But he loves you so I hope you make it to the day you’re 28 years old 

✦ Hiyori + Ikuya ✧ Elvis Drew - Where Are You  I been trying to figure out where you from Is it the moon? Is it earth? Is it this place, where nothing is worse?  Nothing can compare to the life we had My dear just grab my hand and let me take you To my wonderland ✧ Swae Lee - Sunflower Some things you just can’t refuse I’m not tryna lose

✦ Isuzu + Gou ✧ Snow Patrol - The Golden Floor I’m a peasant in your princess arms Penniless with only charm

[star-birthmark]

Better: Formaggio x Reader x Mista (18+)

To that one anon that asked, “Uwu if you could throw us some more of that juicy formaggio and mista being in love with the same s/o it would be muy greato” It’s finally done, the NSFW part 2 to my Formaggio x Reader x Mista fic . It took me a while, but it is finally done. This is my first not sfw post on this blog, so go easy on me everyone!

CWs: drinking, dirty talk, slight degradation, threesome, slight cucking (lmk If I should add any other tags)

Without further ado: Better (NSFW) (6k words)

You had a strange relationship going within Passione, two men at once. One of them, Mista, a teammate of yours in Bruno’s gang. The other, Formaggio, a supposed “rival” of yours from La Squadra. Though you figured things were going smoothly enough, both men had certain complaints about the arrangement. Formaggio, not content to be your little secret, wanted to claim you for himself and himself alone. Mista, younger than both you and the older mafioso, still felt inadequate against his male companion. One fateful night, the three of you were spending time together, and things soon escalate. Catching you and Formaggio together, Mista embarrassingly asks the older soldato for advice on how to please you... Together, the two of them give you the rough, degrading night that you had long hoped for. 

- - - 

Formaggio leaned back in his chair, staring up at the night sky. He reached over for the bottle resting on the table nearby, taking a sip of the drink and stared out to his view of Naples. It was his week off, the week Risotto gives all his men, so the assassins can clear their heads from the mafia, and this week happened to be his. He was spending his evening alone sitting on his apartment’s balcony. Trying to forget about work, the young man lounged in a warm red crew neck and sweatpants. It was a perfect night to relax, spend some time unwinding, and mess around with something. Formaggio wiped his mouth after taking a sip and frowned. A perfect night, except that you weren’t there with him. And he missed you, but you were out with Mista that night. 

His phone rang from inside the house, and he rushed to pick it up. Prosciutto was on the other end of the line, quick to start speaking, as usual. 

“Hey man. I know it’s your week off but the group’s having a poker night. Melone got a little extra from a recent hit and he’s feeling lucky enough to bet it. You in?” 

Formaggio shook his head. “Nah… I’m watching the game with (y/n) tonight.”

“Is that Guido guy gonna be there?” 

Little Feet’s stand user huffed, not wanting to be reminded of that. “Yeah… he will.”

When Formaggio had initially agreed with Guido Mista that the two of them would “share” you, he didn’t quite realize that agreement’s implications. He hadn’t realized that “sharing” meant you would still be dating Mista, meanwhile he’d be regulated to your secret “side piece”. It was frustrating, especially given the fact that you dated him first, and the fact that he was forced to agree with this arrangement because you’d hate for your precious Capo, Bruno Buccellati, to find out you were in bed with a member of La Squadra. It wasn’t fair. Formaggio had you first, and how he was regulated to the sidelines as your little skeleton in the closet. 

The whole situation would be so much easier if he actually hated Mista, then he could just kill him, but he didn’t. Ever since meeting him, the two mafiosos had become incredibly close friends, even going so far as to spend time together without you even being there. They both knew that if it came down to it, they’d be willing to kill each other, but for now, they enjoyed each other’s company. Formaggio wanted to hate Mista so badly, but he couldn’t ignore the smile that came to your face whenever you looked at him while the three of you were hanging out. He supposed he should take it as a compliment, in a sick kind of way. He and Mista were very similar in personality. And since Mista was two years younger than you and Formaggio, the younger soldato often asked the older for advice on how to better survive in the mafia. So perhaps, in that way, Formaggio should feel complimented that you’re so taken by someone so similar to him. But it wasn’t him specifically, though, and that ate him up inside. Formaggio stood up from his chair and got ready to drive over to your place. 

He missed you. He missed calling you his. He didn’t like that the only reason he was allowed to sleep with you was that Mista was a chill guy that happened to be cool with it. He was the superior mafioso and he wanted to claim you for himself. 

Good thing he’d soon get his chance. 

- - - - 

The three of you had been planning a night together for a few weeks now. Just a chill night spent together, watching a soccer match, a couple of drinks between you all and nothing intense. Formaggio was finally on his week off from La Squadra, Mista was open for the night and you were just happy to see them both in the same room. You knew perfectly well how odd your situation was, to simultaneously be with two mafia men, one a teammate of yours and the other a supposed “rival”. 

But you’ve fallen in love with Mista and fallen back in love with Formaggio, and you were incredibly grateful that the two of them liked each other. The only issue that arose was with the mafia itself. Bruno knew how dangerous La Squadra di Esecuzioni could be, and both you and Mista knew that Bruno shouldn’t find out about your little outings with Formaggio. 

Thus, even if the assassin didn’t love the idea, you decided it would be best to continue dating Mista, and Formaggio would be your little secret. Though, you couldn’t help but want it to more than that. The Formaggio you used to date back in the day, paled in comparison to the man that you spent time with now. He was stronger, more confident and assertive, and well… hotter. You could tell how much he hated being your side piece while Mista was your main, but you didn’t want to lose either’s company. 

You heard a car horn blast near your building and looked out the window at the sound, seeing Formaggio’s car parked near your front door. Rushing out, you entered the car. Formaggio gave you an up and down and smirked. 

“You’re looking good, baby.” You turned over to him with a smile.

“You think so?”

Formaggio grinned, placing a hand on your upper leg and giving you a teasing squeeze there. 

“I know so, babe.”

You gave him your own flirtatious giggle. You knew it was odd to have two “boy toys” as Mista called it, but you just couldn’t help yourself. 

“Are you excited about tonight?” You asked your driving companion, and his hand went further up your leg. 

“Yeah… should be fun. Napoli’s playing Roma. Should be an exciting game.”

“Too bad Mista’s rooting for Napoli though… only the smart ones root for Roma.”

“Well you and I grew up together in Roma, dolcezza, don’t forget.”

Formaggio grinned, giving your inner thigh a teasing pinch, before he suavely took your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it romantically. You rolled your eyes at him, slapping him on the arm. 

“Nothing funny tonight alright? I just want it to be chill, the three of us.” 

 You watched as Formaggio’s mood visually soured as he nodded and made a sharp turn onto a new street. 

“Yeah yeah, the three of us… Why? Did Mista say he wanted that?” 

You look at him confused. “No… I want that.” 

Formaggio gave you a quick glance and you soon realized what he meant. You shook your head, giving him an annoyed huff. Why did he have to act like such a baby?

“Oh dio mio, are you still on about this whole thing?” 

Formaggio gripped on tighter to the steering wheel. “Yeah… I am. I had you first.”

You gritted your teeth, angry with him. “Oh, you had me first huh? So? Mista was around when you weren’t. Moron, I’m not some object. I’m a human being you know?”

However, your face softened away its annoyance when you saw how genuinely upset Formaggio was, even if he wasn’t showing it outright. You knew he didn’t like being hidden away like this. You sighed, a sad smile on your face. 

“Oh… Formi… caro, cuore mio…” 

Formaggio gave you a stabbing glance. “Stop it with the pet names (y/n).”

You saw right through that toughness. “You know you still have a special place in my heart amore… No one can change that. This whole thing is just to save face alright? I joined Passione to find you, and Mista was there for me… I thought you were dead. But I still love you too. I love you both…”

Formaggio gulped. “Why can’t you transfer to La Squadra? Your stand would be better used there anyway.” 

“Formaggio, you know that’s not how that works. And besides, Mista won’t give me up that easily.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile on your face. Formaggio shook his head, a low chuckle taking over him. He couldn’t stay mad at you, his own emotional Achilles heel. You were just too important to him. 

“If I were Mista, I wouldn’t give you up either. I’m not giving up on this though.” 

Finally, the car pulled up in front of Mista’s place, the chosen location for the three of you for that night. You often rotated the three apartments for your hangouts, and this night fell on Mista to host. You and Formaggio stopped right before Mista’s front door, the assassin hesitating to knock. Your hands were full from holding things for the night, so you couldn’t knock either. Formaggio looked over his shoulder back at you and you shrugged. 

“Formi, knock already will you? My hands are starting to hur-”

Formaggio cut you off by turning to you and planting a deep, passionate kiss on you. You let out a surprised whimper as the young man took your face in his hands. You had expected a normal, quick, loving kiss from him, just a show of affection before keeping it more platonic for the evening. But this was far from sweet and loving, it was needier, more desperate. Formaggio moved his hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush against him. It was almost as if he only wanted you to think of him for that moment. He finally broke the kiss briefly, letting you breathe. You looked up at him, eyes hazy. 

“Umm… uh... Dante I-”

Formaggio cut you off again with another kiss, smirking to himself. You only addressed him by his real name when you were super infatuated by his actions. When it felt like you two were back in Rome together, just normal people. He must be doing a real number on you with this kiss. But before you could drop your things and kiss back more forcefully, Formaggio let you go and quickly knocked on Mista’s door, leaving you bright red in the face as you straighten yourself out. 

Mista opened the door, incredibly excited to see you two. You’d been gone on a mission for the past week and he hadn’t gotten a chance to spend time with you, and he was antsy about it. Being younger than both you and Formaggio, he felt that he needed to prove himself to you both, given that he was a sort of addition to your already existing relationship, but you kept assuring him that you valued him just as much as anyone else. 

Formaggio was the first to walk in, giving Mista a small hug before collapsing onto the couch in front of the TV. The pregame programming was starting and Mista and him were already wearing their jerseys. Mista took your supplies from you, putting them in the fridge before returning to your side, taking your coat from you, and hanging it up. You could tell what was going on, from his jittery movements and him nervously wiping his clammy hands off on his jeans. When he finally went to speak to you, you instead pulled him in, giving the younger member of Bruno’s team a quick peck on the lips. 

“Calm down alright?” You said to him sweetly, and he nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a while since anything’s happened between us.” 

“I’ve been busy… why? Did you think anything’s going to happen tonight?” 

Mista blinked at your overly direct flirt, suddenly getting even more excited. “Do... d-do you want something to happen?” 

“Hmm… nope. No funny stuff tonight. I already told Formaggio.”

Mista thought for a moment, relieved. “Thanks… You know I get self-conscious when he’s around with us...”

“And you shouldn’t be. You’re perfectly capable on your own.” 

“Yeah but… he’s better than me at um… you know. You know he’s better.”

“Well you’ll get better. I-”

“Can you two stop talking in the doorway and come sit? I can hear you…” 

“Yeah, we’re coming Formi! One sec!”

Mista turned away from you at the sound of the other man’s voice while you shouted to him. Mista was always more nervous whenever he was around both you and Formaggio. He felt he had at least some form of superiority over you, given that he’d been part of Bruno’s gang longer, even if you were older than him. But he always felt inferior to Formaggio in one way or another. Mista had had a few nights alone with you, but when he asked you straightforwardly if he was as good at pleasing you as Formaggio was, you couldn’t help but say that Formaggio was still better, not wanting to lie to your teammate. Such honesty definitely bruised his ego, but Mista was still going to try to hold his ground in this odd relationship. He owed that to himself. 

“Alright… let’s go other there.” You instructed Mista before giving him a longer kiss. You chuckled as the other’s face became bright red. 

“I uh… umm...  I… okay, (y/n).”

“Aww… you’re so cute, caro.” You teasingly ruffled Mista’s hair and he followed you to the couch happily. 

The three of you sat together on the couch, getting ready for the game to start. Mista was quick to open three beers, one for each of you, and the drinks were soon knocked back. You rested your head on Mista’s shoulder to make him feel less nervous, running your hand up and down the other’s chest. Formaggio felt a bit annoyed at the display but decided not to do anything about it. 

The soccer match soon began, the three of you too preoccupied with the excitement of the game to notice just how many of the beers you had already emptied. All three of you were starting to get rather buzzed by the time the second half of the game was coming to a close. Roma was beating Napoli three goals to two, and Formaggio was having the time of his life drunkenly making fun of Mista for his soccer team preferences. You were enjoying your time with them both, going from resting your head on Mista’s shoulder, to laying against Formaggio’s chest, to having Mista’s head resting in your lap, to snuggling back into Formaggio’s arms. 

By the end of the game, you had already lost your inhibitions enough to be sitting in Formaggio’s lap, giggling to yourself while playing with Mista’s hair as he sat nearby. Formaggio kept his hands on your hips while still watching the last remaining minutes of the game, though whenever your attention would stray from him, he would grip onto your hips tightly, leading you to gasp just a bit. Mista felt emboldened enough by his drunken state to kiss you while you were still in the other’s lap, and you were more than willing to indulge him, both of you lightheaded as you kissed him back roughly. Formaggio looked up at the two of you, his face flushed red. The act of seeing you make out with someone else, especially Mista, was strangely hotter than he’d like to admit, though that could have very well been the alcohol talking. 

None of you were watching the game anymore. None of you were thinking normally, you were all getting far too comfortable with each other, and the night was still young. It was a recipe for disaster. 

When the game finally ended, Roma beating Napoli, you and Formaggio celebrated, meanwhile Mista went off to his room to change out of his jersey, wanting to forget the game ever existed. Formaggio watched Mista walk down the hallway out of sight, before turning to you. You turned around to make eye contact with him, still in his lap, both of you lightheaded from cheering and drinking. 

Ceasing this opportunity for alone time, Formaggio eyed you up and down, enjoying what he was seeing. “Hey there bambina… Come here.” 

With that, the mafioso leaned into you and began placing slow but meaningful kisses all over your neck and jaw, his hands still gripping onto your hips tightly. You looked down at him, knowing he should stop, but also not really wanting him to. You bit your lip, looking around the living room for any signs that Mista had come back from his room. There were none.

“Wait what if Mista comes back?” 

“Let him. Who cares? He’s probably thinking the same thing I am.” 

Your attention was soon commanded by a telephone ringing, the sound coming from Mista’s room. You heard the other male go to pick it up, greeting Bruno who was at the other end. It seemed that Mista would be gone for a bit.

You let out a small hum as Formaggio’s hands moved up and down your back. Looking down at him, Formaggio glanced back up at you, his green eyes squinting in his own unique form of mischief, even if his lips didn’t leave from your neck until he was sure he had just left a deep, blood-red mark there. Formaggio gently ran his thumb over the hickey, a toothy grin coming over his face. 

“I wonder where else I can put one of these...”

Your face flushed red at such a comment, assisted by all the alcohol in your system. You felt your desire for him begin to grow larger in the pit of your stomach. You promised both him and Mista that there wouldn’t be anything that night, but you were quickly throwing that promise out the window. Turning around so your chest faced his, you leaned down and took matters into your own hands by kissing the assassin before he could tease you about your broken vow for the night. Formaggio chuckled against you, kissing you back with fervor while his hands went back down to your hips to gently work your body back and forth over his lap. You let out a small whimper into his ear and Formaggio couldn’t help but groan at the erotic sound. He turned to you, no longer smiling. Instead, a look of quiet awe swept over him, the same way it did every time you two slept together. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you were his. At least partially.

“Are you okay with this?” 

He asked, his hands still gripping onto you. You answered him by kissing his neck the same way he did to you and at the same time, moving your hips over him without him needing to guide you. Your lips left him for a second and you muttered a shy, “yes.” 

The sound of your voice, combined with you moving over the growing tent in his pants got Formaggio going faster than he’d realized, muttering huskily to himself, “Now that’s the spirit…” 

Knowing you wanted it, his hands began to roam, one moving underneath your shirt to feel you up through your bra, and the other moving to roughly pinch your ass. You flinched forward with a high pitched squeal, subconsciously jolting your hips forward with one harsh movement over his pants, and causing you to moan, and for Formaggio to let out a growl deep in his throat. 

He looked up at you, his lip swollen from your kissing and from biting on it. 

He smiled. “You wanna do that again tesoro?” You remained silent for a moment before shyly nodding. 

His hand went to your ass again, this time giving it a teasing smack, causing you to jolt forward again, much to the pleasure of both of you. Seeing that your partner was encouraging you, you kept your hips moving at the same rough pace, meanwhile, your lips returned to his, both of you getting lost in each other. You couldn’t stay mad at him, no matter how much he provoked you. Your bodily desires began to dominate your thoughts and before long, both of your shirts and your bra had been thrown to the other end of the couch and you were still grinding on him. Formaggio regained his focus when the two of you broke your kiss, eyes blown out in pleasure. 

You leaned back to give him a full view of your chest, prompting the man to gasp out a desperate, “Oh my god…”

Enjoying his view, Formaggio took it one step further, now latching his hot mouth onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting at the tender bud. Your mouth hung open as soft moans poured out, your hands gently running through the other’s red hair.

The two of you were becoming impatient. With one last peck on the lips, you got off of your lover’s lap and both of you hurriedly slipped off your respective pants. 

Formaggio chuckled, bringing his experienced hands up to your hips to pull you back to him. “Who gave you the right to be this sexy?” 

You giggled a bit at his flirting. “I’d ask you the same.” 

“Are you ready? I don’t wanna wait anymore.” 

“Why don’t you find out?” 

You chuckled as you climbed back into his lap, resting your knees at either side of his legs to raise yourself so his face was at eye level with your chest. Getting the hint, Formaggio snaked his hand down in between your legs and placed a confident hand over your clothed pussy. You let out a small gasp, and your knees almost gave out from how sensitive you had become. Formaggio ran his thumb over your covered clit, and you gripped onto the back of the couch in order to not fall forward. Your own hand came down to stroke along your partner’s cock through his boxers, squeezing a bit just where you’d remembered he was most sensitive.

Formaggio let out a loud groan at that and bit his lip to silence himself. “You alright babe?” He asked softly, placing more pressure on the swollen bud.

You smiled. “I should be asking you.”

“Are you alright though?” He asked again, rubbing your clit a little harder. 

You nodded after letting out a moan. “Y-yeah… just really wet…” 

Formaggio tugged the last remaining cloth off of you, your sensitive heat now exposed to the cold air. Formaggio marveled at how wet you were, bringing a hand up to rub little circles around your clit once more. 

“Yeah… you’re ready.” 

It wasn’t long until you both gave in. With a quick motion, Formaggio tugged off his boxers, releasing his hardened cock. Leaning in to give him a deep kiss, your hands came down and gave the length a few tentative strokes before you leaned forward, lining up his head with your entrance. Formaggio groaned feeling your wet warmth seep over him, taking his cock in hand and rubbing its tip with your sensitive slit. You shook desperately at the teasing, your hands coming to Formaggio’s shoulders and gripping tightly. Taking the hint to finally give in, Formaggio aligns himself with your hole. You let out a loud gasp as he sunk your hips down to meet with his until he was finally bottomed out inside of you. You hissed at the brief feeling of discomfort before your hips began to instinctively move up and down to provide sweet friction between you two. You rested your head on Formaggio’s shoulder as your hips worked his cock up and down, your walls squeezing at the head for extra intensity. 

“Mmm… yeah… keep going just like that dear. Oh fuck you’re so tight. You’re so good for me baby.”

Formaggio kept his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he helped you moved along his shaft, the young man getting more and more turned on by the lustful moans leaving you for him to hear.   

You could stay there forever, being this close to him, in complete bliss. It felt so good. So right. But your drunken mind had forgotten one important thing. Or well… person. 

Without either of you noticing, the door to Mista’s bedroom opened, the younger man walking out, starting to talk to you. 

“Hey (y/n), sorry I was in my room for so long. Fugo had called to talk about a mission next week and it took a long time cause I’m drunk and I can’t really think straight you… know…”

Mista looked up to see you and Formaggio together on his couch, the other man’s back facing him, both of you lost in pleasure and enjoying each other’s company. Hearing the sounds escaping your lips, Mista got the idea of what the two of you were doing, but he didn’t have any idea what he should do about it. He didn’t have to think long however when you glanced up and saw him in standing there, watching you and Formaggio fuck. You stiffened, stopping your hips movements and covering up your chest with your arms. 

Formaggio charmingly asked, “what’s wrong sweetie? Was is feeling too good-wait what?” He snickered before turning around to where you were looking to see Mista as well, muttering an understanding “oh.”

Quickly sobering up, you tried to leave Formaggio’s lap, only to find his strong grip was holding you down onto his cock. You looked over at Mista, unable to meet his gaze, embarrassed that you were still moaning slightly at the pleasurable contact. 

“Mista I’m so sorry I um… I know I promised you I wouldn’t do anything with Formi tonight but um… I’m sorry. And I’ll make it up to you I-”

“Can I join you?” 

Both you and Formaggio were understandably surprised at such words, both turning to the younger stand user curiously. The thought caused you to grow in arousal even further. “Join us?” You asked. 

He walked over to you two, still joined together, and sat nearby on the couch. You glanced down to see that the other man had already become hard in mere moments. Mista glanced up at you, his hand slowly going to stroke his own length through the fabric of his pants. 

“Yeah… I figure I could get better at fucking you if I learn from him, (y/n). Plus… it’s kinda hot.”

Reaching over, Mista placed a tentative hand on one of your bare tits, the other hand more roughly stroking himself. You watched as Mista’s face grew bright red in embarrassment and desperation. You got the sense that he’s had the idea of joining you and Formaggio for a while now. Speaking of which, Formaggio soon took you out of your drunken thoughts by cackling loudly at what Mista was proposing. All three of you lacked common sense after a night of drinks, and it had already begun to show. 

“So you think I’m better than you huh? Alright, fine.” 

Formaggio looked Mista up and down, the assassin’s confidence boring a hole into the young man’s embarrassment. Mista sighed, slowly nodding. 

“Yeah. I do.” He muttered shyly. 

You sighed. “Or… you two could share me.”

The two men looked at each other, a smile on each of their faces. A smile came to you, leaning down to grasp Mista’s face in one hand, meeting your lips with his. The other hand brought Formaggio’s mouth to your tits. He soon figured what you wanted and resumed his ministrations there, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin. 

Mista hungrily leaned into your touch, bringing the kiss deeper as his tongue intertwined with yours. The noises leaving him signaled that he was already hard enough to take you, but Formaggio was having none of that. 

He placed a strong hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Sit down Mista. I’ll teach you a few pointers, but I’m going first.” He growled before grabbing your chin in one hand to pry you two apart, taking your lips for his own. Mista sat back and watched the two lovers return to their previous passions before he so rudely interrupted them. Too desperate to remain in his clothes, Mista stripped down and sat next to you on the couch, his hand going down his body to start stroking his already sensitive cock. 

It didn’t take much to get Guido Mista going. The fact that he wasn’t the most experienced sexually didn’t help his case either. Just one sight of you getting fucked by someone obviously more adept than him, had his cock twitching and beginning to leak precum. 

Formaggio, amidst his rough pounding of your body, eyed the other’s member, seeing how turned on he was. It gave him quite the ego boost to have the younger soldato realize that you belonged to him, the man fucking you in that moment instead of the boy pathetically watching. 

Mista wanted to learn from him on how to please you.  

Formaggio’s hips sped up further, the pressure in his lower half building ever closer to his release. He watched your face twist in euphoria, until an idea came to him. His hand came behind you, and in a swift motion, he slapped down hard on your ass in a loud spanking. You moaned loudly at the slap before Formaggio took your cheeks in his hand again and turned you to face Mista, who was still jacking off at the sight of you two. 

“Go on dolcezza, tell Guido how good it feels for me to fuck you.” 

Mista groaned at such words. He didn’t know why getting cucked like this by Formaggio did so much to him. All three of you were into it, but no one knew why. 

Formaggio spanked you again, harder this time. “Go on sweetie, tell him. Tell him how much you also like it when I spank you.” 

You whimpered as Formaggio lifted you up higher to bounce you up and down his shaft. “Oh god. It feels so good, he fills me so well ugh…”

Formaggio spanked you again. “Is he better than me?”

You bit down hard on your lip, too embarrassed to say. One last strike on your ass caused you to blurt out, “no… you’re better Formi!”

Mista hissed after hearing you say that, reaching his first climax, his cum running down his hand, yet his member remained hard all the same. You grabbed his hand away from his length, leaving him trembling. Making eye contact with him, you brought his hand to your mouth, sucking and licking the cum off his fingers, an act that had both men groaning in needy desire for you. Formaggio bit onto his lip hard. His cock was reaching its peak. Hurriedly, he let go of his tight grip on your hips. 

“Get off (y/n). I wanna cum in your mouth.”

You quickly get off of his lap, kneeling in front of him on the floor. You were about to suck him off before he spoke again. 

“Aww come on dear. Don’t you think you should help Mista too? Don’t be selfish, baby, he should find out how much you love being taken from behind…” 

He grinned and Mista let out a moan, his hand already working up to his second orgasm. You smiled, sharing a knowing look with the assassin before you climbed onto the couch on all fours and began to blow him. Mista brought his hand up to your dripping heat, and ran a nervous finger over your aching clit, causing you to moan around the other man’s cock. You focused on your attention on the blow job, bobbing your head up and down the long shaft. Mista hesitated to move forward into you, wondering if he should ask for what to do. 

Formaggio rolled his eyes at the other’s nerves. “Just take her already, man. She’s a big girl, she can take it.” 

He teased, prompting Mista to get on his knees, lining his rod with your gaping hole. You were feeling too empty after Formaggio had pulled out, a problem Mista was about to fix. 

In one quick motion, Mista plunged into you and you gasped, stopping your blow job for a moment. Mista wasn’t as long as Formaggio, but oh god was he thicker. It felt so good to have him inside you. He started off with slow, shallow thrusts, nervous that he might hurt you or that you didn’t like what he was doing. Of course, he was wrong. One harder thrust already had you losing your mind on his cock. 

“Oh god… Mista.” 

You whimpered before Formaggio grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought you down on his cock, its tip reaching the back of your throat.   

“Pay attention to me baby, keep blowing me. I’ll teach Mista how to fuck you right.” 

Humming in pleasure as you continued using your mouth on him, Formaggio leaned back, his body slick with sweat from your efforts. Both men were lost in pleasure over how incredible you made them feel. Still, the two of them were nothing if not troublemakers. 

“Hey Mista, enough of this pathetic ‘love-making’ shit. You gotta do better than that. Hasn’t (y/n) told you how much she likes it rough?” 

He grinned, keeping your head down as he rammed his length in and out of your mouth, gagging you slightly. It wasn’t long until, with one final thrust, the assassin reached his limit and came down your throat. You choked a bit, but managed to swallow it all down. Formaggio let go of your hair, brushing it out of your pretty, blushing face. He didn’t realize how much he’d fallen back in love with you. You were so good for him. 

Formaggio smiled, still panting. “Oh god… I love you baby. Come here.” 

He pulled you forward, giving you a brief kiss before you broke the contact with a moan at one of Mista’s particularly hard movements. Mista, having seen how rough the other man was handling you, threw his hesitation out the window and began to pound you even faster. Formaggio reveled in your elated expression at the quickened pace and decided to kick it up a notch. 

“Hey Mista, has (y/n) ever told you how much she loved having her hair pulled?” 

Formaggio joked breathlessly, still recovering slightly from his huge orgasm. Mista looked down at your moaning form as you bounced desperately on his cock, an overconfidence smirk coming to him at his new found arrogance. 

“No ‘Formi’, I don’t think she has!” 

He teased back, grabbing your hair in one hand and pulling it back to fuck you even harder than before. Your head came back and Mista leaned forward to make eye contact with you as he ground his hips against yours. Both of you felt your orgasms approaching. 

Formaggio a little embarrassed at Mista using his pet name, nonetheless, turned to you in confidence. “Does it feel good baby? Do you like his dick?”

“Y-yeah… it feels so good.” You managed to moan out. 

“Are you gonna cum from him fucking you, baby?” 

“Y-yeah…” 

Formaggio reached down, a practiced finger moving to rub directly on your clit. The action brought you over the edge, and soon you let out a loud gasp as your climax washed over you, causing your whole form to tremble in jubilation. Feeling your walls clench down on his length, Mista reached his end soon after, pulling out and cumming all over your back. 

Formaggio set you down gently on the couch while Mista came to his senses, the three of you all panting in the thick, musky air of the apartment. You were the first to speak. 

“Oh my god… that was incredible you two.”

You giggled. You tried standing up to get dressed, your legs failing you after your intense climax. Formaggio caught your fall, and you shyly thanked him. 

“Umm… we should do that again sometime…” 

The prospect caused the two light headed men to look at each other in shock. “Really? You wanna?!” 

You grinned mischievously and each of them remembered why they fell in love with you. You were just as nuts as they were. 

“Yeah, are you kidding? A girl can’t just pass up another night with her two boyfriends.” 

Formaggio raised an eyebrow at the last part. “Two boyfriends huh? I thought I was just the side piece.” 

You chuckled, finally finding enough strength to stand up over them. 

“I’ll keep you around for more caro. I love you too much not to. Both of you. Now... I feel gross. Which one of you boys wants to join me in the shower?” 

Both Mista and Formaggio looked at you in shock at your crude words, watching you head down the hall. Mista turned to Formaggio. 

“How’d we get so lucky?” 

“You mean how’d I get so lucky? I had her first…” 

Mista rolled his eyes. “Alright stronzo, how’d you get so lucky?” 

Formaggio thought for a moment, realizing how incredible you really were. “I don’t even know…” 

With that, the two of them shared a grin and rushed down the hall as well to head to where you were. The fun was only beginning for that night.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Who are some women in history that would be comparable to Napoleon or Alexander? Women who rose to power because they sought greatness and not because they used the feminine form to seduce for an easier life? How can the feminine mind come out of the mentality of being “the weaker sex”?

The short answer is that there are no women in history comparable to Napoleon or Alexander but equally I would quickly add that there are no other men in history either. These two contrasting men are unique. Alexander and Napoleon share similarities in their warfare, and how they used it to conquer and establish new lands. Both left legacies in which their very name has been equally loathed and loved down the ages. But they were unique.

Both were outsiders whose personal qualities rose above obstacles. Alexander was Macedonian and the Greeks looked down upon him as uncultured barbarian in the same way Napoleon was Corsican nobility and the old French aristocracy pulled up their noses in snobbish superiority. And yet able to rise through the grit of discipline and learning, luck and skill.  

Both were great battle field commanders with a greater understanding of how to use one’s forces at hand to the terrain. Both were not quite true innovators as many might imagine. Alexander's military brilliance is beyond dispute but the groundwork for his superior tactics and strategies were laid by his father Philip of Macedon. Much of Napoleon’s greatness relied on the conscription model that the French revolutionary wars ushered in.  

Alexander used new technology in new ways, invented new formations, and used his battlefield successes to accomplish his strategic goals with the innovative use of propaganda that was unseen before. Alexander was very unmatched in winning battles against much larger enemy formations as he was often outnumbered 2:1.  He was a tactical  genius in finding the weakness in the enemy’s lines and making the surgical strike necessary to ensure victory. He was quick witted at being able to make quick tactical decisions in the thick of the battle.

He was able to snatch victory from the claws of certain defeat, time and again, always against overwhelming enemy superiority in numbers, always in a terrain that his enemies had carefully chosen to maximise their advantages.

Any city he ever attacked he conquered. His own father the great Philip II failed to take Byzantium, and was defeated by Thracian tribesmen, but not Alexander. He made land out of a sea and conquered the heavily fortified island city of Tyre, and he used rock climbers to take the Sogdian Rock in Bactria/Afghanistan, an impregnable citadel that was compared to an eagle’s nest. Moreover he never lost a battle.

Napoleon was a brilliant general and even in his time earned grudging respect from his enemies. Napoleon was very successful in most of his military campaigns, and that laid the foundation necessary for his political achievements.

He fought 60 battles in his career,  losing only 8 with two being considered “tactical victories” only (Second Bassano and Aspern-Esseling) . Nevertheless in the vast majority of his defeats (as well as victories) he was horrendously outnumbered, logistical suffocated, or betrayed by his allies.

He was exceptionally talented both strategically and tactically. In campaign after campaign he defeated larger armies with a smaller force, through methods like moving boldly and quickly, defeating them in detail, cutting off their lines of retreat, and doing what his enemies least expected.

Less glamorously but even more important he was great at logistics. One of his most famous maxims is that, “An army marches on its stomach.” If troops are not well equipped and well fed, they can not be expected to fight well. Napoleon had his armies live off the land, and marched faster than his enemies. While Napoleon still had supply lines, much of the food, clothing, and pay for his men was looted from conquered territory. This allowed him to march faster, and he often did forced marches where his men would march twice as far each day as the enemy predicted.

His opponents were often shocked at how quickly he outmanoeuvred them. At Ulm he surrounded an enormous Austrian army and forced them to surrender - while they thought he was over a hundred miles to the west and were waiting for reinforcements. Again, another thing that got him into trouble in Russia: the Russians retreated even faster, and burned everything in their wake, so there was nothing to loot.

He was innovative too in his use of light horse artillery - smaller cannons were pulled by fast horses, ridden by their crew - who could get into position rapidly and move into a new area when required. Napoleon loved these guys and used them in combination with his slower artillery to great effect often in support of heavy artillery.

Both were inspirational leaders of men in battle. In Alexander’s case he almost killed himself jumping into the Indian city of the Malians alone, a wound which weakened his body and eventually probably contributed to his death. He was simply fearless. Like the Carthagenian Hannibal, and all ancient Greek military leaders, Miltiades, Epameinondas, Philipos II, etc, and Romans, like Caesar, Alexander was always leading from the front line. In Napoleon’s case he too was fearless At Arcole he tried to inspire his men to attack, by grabbing a flag and stood in the open on the dike about 55 paces from the bridge. Both were loved by their men and their very presence on the battlefield was an inspiration to their fighting men.

Both were superb political strategists who were able to build on military gains with statecraft skills. Alexander the Great’s strong perseverance and incredible battle strategies led to increase his power over his empire. Napoleon used his intelligence and skill of manipulation to earn respect and support from the French people, which gained him great power.

For all this, they were both losers in the end. Both lost because they failed the most valuable lesson history can give: success is a bad teacher. Their military victories made them increasingly cocky and their political gains made them overreach. In the end their own personal qualities that brought them so much unprecedented success was the harbinger of their downfall.

So we are left with the question: what is greatness? The judgement of history seems to suggest that glory is fleeting but true greatness lasts the test of time.

There are simply too many women to list that would be worthy of anyone’s attention to show that women have achieved greatness throughout history.

Here is a good basic list of warrior women in recorded history https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/women-in-combat

Indeed one doesn’t have to stray too far from antiquity to show that women as warriors did make an impact.

I shall just focus on a few from antiquity that stand out for me and and a few more modern choices that are very personal to me.

Penthesilea

I had heard of Penthesilea and the Amazons before as a small girl. But the first time I really understand just how impressive and unusual it was in the ancient world to be a woman who “fights with men” was when I was taking Latin at my English girls’ boarding school.   Contrary to popular belief, Penthesilea’s story isn’t actually told in the Iliad (which ends with Hector’s funeral, before the Amazons arrive), but in a lost ancient epic called  Aethiopis.  This poem continued the story of Achilles’ great deeds, which included the killing of several famous warriors—Memnon, King of Aethiopia, and Penthesilea most prominent among them.

The Amazons had a number of famous Queens, but Penthesilea is perhaps the most storied. She was a daughter of the war-god Ares, and Pliny credits her with the invention of the battle-ax.  She was also sister to Hippolyta, who married the hero Theseus, after being defeated by him in battle.  Penthesilea ruled the Amazons during the years of the Trojan war—and for most of that time stayed away from the conflict.  However, after Achilles killed Hector, Penthesilea decided it was time for her Amazons to intervene, and the group rode to the rescue of the Trojans—who were, after all, fellow Anatolians.  Fearless, she blazed through the Greek ranks, laying waste to their soldiers.  

During the battles, Penthesilea was not a queen who sat by and watched the men fight. She was a warrior in the truest sense.  It is said that she blazed through the Greeks like lightning, killing many.  It is written that she was swift and brave, and fought as valiantly and successfully as the men. She wanted to prove that the Amazons were great warriors. She wanted to kill Achilles to avenge the death of Hector, and she wanted to die in battle. I love Vergil’s glorious description of her in battle: “The ferocious Penthesilea, gold belt fastened beneath her exposed breast, leads her battle-lines of Amazons with their crescent light-shields…a warrioress, a maiden who dares to fight with men.”

Although Penthesilea was a ferocious warrior, her life came to an end, at the hands of Achilles. Achilles had seen her battling others, and was enamored with her ferocity and strength.  As he fought, he worked his way towards her, like a moth drawn to a flame. While he was drawn to her with the intention of facing her as an opponent, he fell in love with her upon facing her. However, it was too late.

Achilles defeated Penthesilea, catching her as she fell to the ground. Greek warrior Thersites mocked Achilles for his treatment of Penthesilea’s body after her death. It is also said that Thersites removed Penthesilea’s eyes with his sword. This enraged Achilles, and he slaughtered Thersites. Upon Thersites’ death, a sacred feud was fought.  Diomedes, Thersite’s cousin, retrieved Penthesilea’s corpse, dragged it behind his chariot, and cast it into the river. Achilles retrieved the body, and gave her a proper burial. In some stories, Achilles is accused of engaging in necrophilia with her body. In other legends, it is said that Penthesilea bore Achilles a son after her death. Yes, I agree, that does feel creepy.

Penthesilea’s life and death were tragic. She is portrayed as a brave and fierce warrior who was deeply affected by the accidental death of her sister. This grief, compounded with her desire to be a strong warrior who would die an honourable death on the battlefield, led her to Troy, where her tragic death weakened Troy, but also led to unrest in the Greek camps due to her death’s impact on Achilles and his revengeful acts. In the end, she died the ‘honorable’ death on the battlefield that she had longed for, at the hands of the legendary Achilles, no less.

The heroines of Greek mythology tend towards thoughtfulness, fidelity and modesty (Andromache, Penelope), while the daring and headstrong personalities generally go to the antagonists–Medea, Clytemnestra, Hera.  But Penthesilea is something else entirely: a woman who meets men on her own terms, as their equal.  Perhaps in honour of this, Virgil doesn’t give her the standard heroine epithet of “beautiful.”  For him, it is her majesty and obvious power that make her notable, not her looks.

By the way, the word that Virgil uses for warrioress is bellatrix, the inspiration for Bellatrix Lestrange’s name in the Harry Potter books. So she lives on in immortality through our modern day Virgil, J.K. Rowling (just kidding)

Cynane (c. 358 – 323 BC)

Cynane was the daughter of King Philip II of Macedon and his first wife, the Illyrian Princess Audata. She was also the half-sister of Alexander the Great. Audata raised Cynane in the Illyrian tradition, training her in the arts of war and turning her into an exceptional fighter – so much so that her skill on the battlefield became famed throughout the land. Cynane accompanied the Macedonian army on campaign alongside Alexander the Great and according to the historian Polyaenus, she once slew an Illyrian queen and masterminded the slaughter of her army. Such was her military prowess. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, Cynane attempted an audacious power play. In the ensuing chaos, she championed her daughter, Adea, to marry Philip Arrhidaeus, Alexander’s simple-minded half-brother who the Macedonian generals had installed as a puppet king. Yet Alexander’s former generals – and especially the new regent, Perdiccas – had no intention of accepting this, seeing Cynane as a threat to their own power. Undeterred, Cynane gathered a powerful army and marched into Asia to place her daughter on the throne by force.

As she and her army were marching through Asia towards Babylon, Cynane was confronted by another army commanded by Alcetas, the brother of Perdiccas and a former companion of Cynane. However, desiring to keep his brother in power Alcetas slew Cynane when they met – a sad end to one of history’s most remarkable female warriors. Although Cynane never reached Babylon, her power play proved successful. The Macedonian soldiers were angered at Alcetas’ killing of Cynane, especially as she was directly related to their beloved Alexander. Thus they demanded Cynane’s wish be fulfilled. Perdiccas relented, Adea and Philip Arrhidaeus were married, and Adea adopted the title Queen Adea Eurydice.

Olympias and Eurydice

The mother of Alexander the Great, Olympias was one of the most remarkable women in antiquity. She was a princess of the most powerful tribe in Epirus (a region now divided between northwest Greece and southern Albania) and her family claimed descent from Achilles. Despite this impressive claim, many Greeks considered her home kingdom to be semi-barbarous  – a realm tainted with vice because of its proximity to raiding Illyrians in the north. Thus the surviving texts often perceive her as a somewhat exotic character.

In 358 BC Olympias’ uncle, the Molossian King Arrybas, married Olympias to King Philip II of Macedonia to secure the strongest possible alliance. She gave birth to Alexander the Great two years later in 356 BC. Further conflict was added to an already tempestuous relationship when Philip married again, this time a Macedonian noblewoman called Cleopatra Eurydice.

Olympias began to fear this new marriage might threaten the possibility of Alexander inheriting Philip’s throne. Her Molossian heritage was starting to make some Macedonian nobles question Alexander’s legitimacy. Thus there is a strong possibility that Olympias was involved in the subsequent murders of Philip II, Cleopatra Eurydice and her infant children. She is often portrayed as a woman who stopped at nothing to ensure Alexander ascended the throne. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, she became a major player in the early Wars of the Successors in Macedonia. In 317 BC, she led an army into Macedonia and was confronted by an army led by another queen: none other than Cynane’s daughter, Adea Eurydice.

This clash was the first time in Greek history that two armies faced each other commanded by women. However, the battle ended before a sword blow was exchanged. As soon as they saw the mother of their beloved Alexander the Great facing them, Eurydice’s army deserted to Olympias. Upon capturing Eurydice and Philip Arrhidaeus, Eurydice’s husband, Olympias had them imprisoned in squalid conditions. Soon after she had Philip stabbed to death while his wife watched on.

On Christmas Day 317, Olympias sent Eurydice a sword, a noose, and some hemlock, and ordered her to choose which way she wanted to die. After cursing Olympias’ name that she might suffer a similarly sad end, Eurydice chose the noose. Olympias herself did not live long to cherish this victory. The following year Olympias’ control of Macedonia was overthrown by Cassander, another of the Successors. Upon capturing Olympias, Cassander sent two hundred soldiers to her house to slay her.

However, after being overawed by the sight of Alexander the Great’s mother, the hired killers did not go through with the task. Yet this only temporarily prolonged Olympias’ life as relatives of her past victims soon murdered her in revenge.

Artemisia I of Caria (5th Century BC)

Named after the Goddess of the Hunt (Artemis), Artemisia was the 5th century BCE Queen of Halicarnassus, a kingdom that exists in modern-day Turkey. However, she was best known as a naval commander and ally of Xerxes, the King of Persia, in his invasion of the Greek city-states. (Yes, like in the action movie 300: Rise of an Empire.) She made her mark on history in the Battle of Salamis, where the fleet she commanded was deemed the best against the Greeks. Greek historian Herodotus wrote of her heroics on this battlefield of the sea, painting her as a warrior who was decisive and incredibly intelligent in her strategies. This included a ruthless sense of self-preservation. With a Greek vessel bearing down on her ship, Artemisia intentionally steered into another Persian vessel to trick the Greeks into believing she was one of them. It worked. The Greeks left her be. The Persian ship sank. Watching from the shore, Xerxes saw the collision and believed Artemisia had sunk a Greek enemy, not one of his own.

For all of this, her death was not one recorded in a great battle, but in legends written by the victors, the Greeks - so one must obviously be skeptical of accepting what they said as 100% truth. It's said that Artemisia fell hard for a Greek man, who ignored her to his detriment. Blinded by love, she blinded him in his sleep. Yet even with him disfigured, her passion for him burned. To cure herself, she set to leap from a tall rock in Leucas, Greece, which was believed to break the bonds of love. Instead, it broke Artemisia's neck. She's said to be buried nearby.

But much like Penthesilea, she lives on in our modern culture, but arguably more dubiously through Hollywood in the sub-par action movie 300: Rise of an Empire. Now I forever think of Artemisia as the beautiful and sultry French actress, Eva Green.

Boadicea (also written as Boudica)

Boadicea was a Celtic queen who led a revolt against Roman rule in ancient Britain in A.D. 60 or 61. As all of the existing information about her comes from Roman scholars, particularly Tacitus and Cassius Dio, little is known about her early life; it’s believed she was born into an elite family in Camulodunum (now Colchester) around A.D. 30.

At the age of 18, Boudica married Prasutagas, king of the Iceni tribe of modern-day East Anglia. When the Romans conquered southern England in A.D. 43, most Celtic tribes were forced to submit, but the Romans let Prasutagas continue in power as a forced ally of the Empire. When he died without a male heir in A.D. 60, the Romans annexed his kingdom and confiscated his family’s land and property. As a further humiliation, they publicly flogged Boadicea and raped her two daughters. Tacitus recorded Boudicca’s promise of vengeance after this last violation: “Nothing is safe from Roman pride and arrogance. They will deface the sacred and will deflower our virgins. Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do.”

Like other ancient Celtic women, Boadicea had trained as a warrior, including fighting techniques and the use of weapons. With the Roman provincial governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus leading a military campaign in Wales, Boadicea led a rebellion of the Iceni and members of other tribes resentful of Roman rule. After defeating the Roman Ninth Legion, the queen’s forces destroyed Camulodunum, then the captain of Roman Britain, and massacred its inhabitants. They went on to give similar treatment to London and Verulamium (modern St. Albans). By that time, Suetonius had returned from Wales and marshaled his army to confront the rebels. In the clash that followed–the exact battle site is unknown, but possibilities range from London to Northamptonshire–the Romans managed to defeat the Britons despite inferior numbers, and Boadicea and her daughters apparently killed themselves by taking poison in order to avoid capture.

In all, Tacitus claimed, Boadicea’s forces had massacred some 70,000 Romans and pro-Roman Britons. Though her rebellion failed, and the Romans would continue to control Britain until A.D. 410, Bouadicea is celebrated today as a British national heroine and an embodiment of the struggle for justice and independence.

Queen Zenobia

In the 3rd century AD, Queen Zenobia, natively know as Bath Zabbai, was a fierce ruler of Palmyra, a region in modern day Syria.  Throughout her life, Zenobia became known as the ‘warrior queen’. She expanded Palmyra from Iraq to Turkey, conquered Egypt and challenged the dominance of Rome.

“Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely as well as the most heroic of her sex,” Gibbon wrote in an awestruck account of her brief reign. “She claimed her descent from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, equaled in beauty her ancestor Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess in chastity and valour.” The only contemporary representation we have of Zenobia is on a coin, which makes her look rather witchlike, but Gibbon’s description of her pearly-white teeth and large black eyes, which “sparkled with uncommon fire,” cast a spell over future historians, both in the West and in the Arab world, who quarrel over nearly everything having to do with Zenobia and her confounding legacy.

Many legends have arisen about Zenobia’s identity, but it seems she was born into a family of great nobility who claimed the notorious Queen Dido of Carthage and Cleopatra VII of Egypt as ancestors. She was given a Hellenistic education, learning Latin, Greek, the Syriac and Egyptian languages. According to the Historia Augusta her favourite childhood hobby was hunting, and she proved to be a brave and brilliant horsewoman.

Despite this, many ancient sources seem to gravitate to one quality – that she was an exceptional beauty who captivated men across the whole of Syria with her ravishing looks and irresistible charm.

She was probably in her twenties when she took the throne, upon the death of her husband, King Odenathus, in 267 or 268. Acting as regent for her young son, she then led the army in a revolt against the Romans, conquering Egypt and parts of Asia Minor. By 271, she had gained control of a third of the Roman Empire. Gibbon sometimes portrays the warrior queen as a kind of well-schooled Roman society matron. “She was not ignorant of the Latin tongue,” he writes, “but possessed in equal perfection the Greek, the Syriac, and the Egyptian languages.” Palmyra’s abundant wall inscriptions are in Latin, Greek, and an Aramaic dialect, not Arabic. But to Arab historians, such as the ninth-century al-Tabari, Zenobia was a tribal queen of Arab, rather than Greek, descent, whose original name was Zaynab, or al-Zabba. Among Muslims, she is seen as a herald of the Islamic conquests that came four centuries later.

This view, popular within the current Syrian regime, which boasts Zenobia on its currency, also resonates within radical Islamic circles. Isis radical fighters have believed Palmyra to be somehow a distinctively Arab place, where Zenobia stood up to the Roman emperor.” Indeed, Isis fighters, after seizing Palmyra, released a video showing the temples and colonnades at the ruins, a unesco World Heritage site, intact. “Concerning the historical city, we will preserve it,” an Isis commander, Abu Laith al-Saudi, told a Syrian radio station. “What we will do is pulverise the statues the miscreants used to pray to.” Fighters then set about sledgehammering statues and shrines.

Zenobia’s nemesis was the Roman emperor Aurelian, who led his legions through Asia Minor, reclaiming parts of the empire she had taken. Near Antioch, she met him with an army of seventy thousand men, but the Roman forces chased them back to their desert stronghold. During the siege of the city, Aurelian wrote to Zenobia, “I bid you surrender, promising that your lives shall be spared.” She replied, “You demand my surrender as though you were not aware that Cleopatra preferred to die a queen rather than remain alive.” Zenobia attempted to escape to Persia, but was captured before she could cross the Euphrates. Palmyra was sacked after a second revolt. Aurelian lamented in a letter to one of his lieutenants, “We have not spared the women, we have slain the children, we have butchered the old men.”

Some Arab sources adhere to the theory that Zenobia committed suicide before she could be caught. Gibbon follows Roman accounts that place her in Rome as the showpiece of Aurelian’s triumphal procession. “The beauteous figure of Zenobia was confined by fetters of gold; a slave supported the gold chain which encircled her neck, and she almost fainted under the intolerable weight of jewels,” he writes. The grand homecoming apparently elicited a snarky response from the commentariat. According to the “Historia Augustus,” Aurelian complained, “Nor would those who criticise me, praise me sufficiently, if they knew what sort of woman she was.” Instead of beheading her in front of the Temple of Jupiter, once a common fate of renegades, he awarded her a villa in Tivoli. The historian Syncellus reported that she married a Roman senator; their descendants were listed into the fifth century. She is said to have died in 274 AD in Rome.

Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204)

Eleanor was a formidable Queen twice over – first as Queen of France, then of England! Her father William X died in 1137, leaving Eleanor to inherit his titles, lands and enormous wealth at just 15. Suddenly one of France’s most eligible bachelorettes, she married Louis, son of the French King, and not long after became Queen of France, still in her teens.

Famously fierce and tenacious, Eleanor exerted considerable influence over Louis, and accompanied him on the Second Crusade of 1147-49. After their marriage was annulled in 1152, she stayed single for just two months before marrying the heir to the English throne Henry Plantagenet, and in 1154 they were crowned King and Queen of England. Eleanor took a leading role in running the country, directing church and state affairs when Henry was away, and travelling extensively to consolidate their power across England. This was all while raising eight children, and finding time to be a great patron of courtly love poetry!

Eleanor and Henry separated in 1167, and after Eleanor sided with her children over Henry during a revolt, she became Henry’s prisoner. She was held under house arrest for over a decade, and it was only in 1189 after Henry died and her son Richard the Lionheart became king that Eleanor was freed.

By now a widow in her 70s, instead of retiring to a quiet life away from court politics, Eleanor became more badass than ever. While Richard was away on crusade she took a leading role once again in running the realm and fending off threats of attack, and when he was taken hostage by the Duke of Austria she personally collected his ransom money and travelled to Austria to deliver it and ensure his safe return to England.

After spending many of her final years criss-crossing France and Spain on diplomatic and military missions, Eleanor died in 1204 at a monastery in Anjou. The nuns there described her as a queen ‘who surpassed almost all the queens of the world’.

Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603)

Elizabeth I is one of my favourite Queens of all time. She reigned for 45 years and is well remembered for her defeat of the Spanish Armada, her progresses, her economic policies, and her patronage of the arts – as well as her virginity. The history books talk much of her make-up and spinsterhood, but there is no doubt that she was one of the most badass monarchs England ever had.

Elizabeth’s early life did not start well. By the age of three, her father had had her mother executed, and Elizabeth had been deemed illegitimate. Nonetheless she was given a rigorous education. One tutor even noted that her mind showed “no womanly weakness”. She excelled at Greek, Latin, French and Italian, as well as theology – knowledge that would equip her for diplomatic leadership so necessary in later life.

In 1554, under the reign of her devout Catholic sister Mary, Elizabeth became the focus of a Protestant rebellion. She was arrested and sent to the Tower of London, but was found innocent and escaped with her life a few months later. Her true commitment to the reformed church was only openly revealed upon her accession to the throne.

Indeed, as Queen Elizabeth promptly expressed her support for the Protestant church, and yet her reign is celebrated for bringing relative religious stability to the country. She adopted a policy to not “make windows into men’s souls”, which allowed for a margin of freedom beyond that of the monarchs before her. Her astute appointment of ministers and officials along with careful housekeeping also led to a period of relative economic stability, which in turn allowed for the arts to flourish during this time. Elizabeth attended the first performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and appointed the acclaimed miniaturist Nicholas Hilliard as a court painter.

Elizabeth’s choice not to marry was radical (and wholly understandable given her monster for a father and abusive step-father.) Yet, throughout her reign the expectation remained that she would find a husband and give birth to an heir. Instead, the Queen used her ‘eligible bachelor’ position as a political tool, while creating an image of herself as married to the nation. Her popularity with her subjects and her own self-styled image as Gloriana made Good Queen Bess into a legendary figure; today, she has been portrayed in more films and television shows than any other British monarch.

Her most amazing achievement is the fact that her name defined a chapter of Western history so that even today we talk of Elizabethan era. A feat matched only by Queen Victoria to define the 19th Century.

Tomoe Gozen

When I was living in Japan as a child I began to appreciate Japanese history. I also took an interest in the Japanese martial arts as well as being thrown in at the deep end to struggle to learn the language. So as an outsider I was happy to discover that Japanese women were not always demure and subservient or even passive witnesses to history. Some even made it. Outsiders don’t truly know how some Japanese women had shaped their own destiny as well as their country’s within the constraints of the rigid social structures of Japanese society. Contrary to what many think there were indeed female samurai. Not many but one or two who became the stuff of legend and lore.

The most famous onna-bugeisha (female samurai) in Japanese history was Tomoe Gozen. Gozen was a title of respect bestowed on her by her master, shogun Minamoto no Yoshinaka. She fought alongside male samurais in the Genpei War, which lasted from 1180 to 1185. While a woman fighting among men was highly unusual, it seems Yoshinaka's high esteem for Tomoe and her fighting skills overcame prejudice.

In the history tome The Tale of Heike, Tomoe was described as "a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot." She was also said to be beautiful, fearless, and respected.

Her hobbies included riding wild horses down intimidatingly steep hills. She regularly led men into battle and to victory. Her last was the Battle of Awazu, where Minamoto no Yoshinaka was killed. Tomoe escaped her enemies there, and gave up her sword and bowed to retirement. From there, some say she married. Years later, when her husband died, it's believed Tomoe became a nun.

Nakano Takeko

The other known onna-bugeisha (female samurais) in Japan's history, Takeko was educated in literary and martial arts before distinguishing herself in the Boshin War, a Japanese civil war that lasted from January 3rd May 1868 to 18th May 1869.

In the Battle of Aizu in the fall of 1868, she and other females who chose to fight were not recognised as an official part of the Aizu army. Nonetheless, Takeko led her peers in a unit that was later dubbed Jōshitai, which translates to the "Women's Army." Her weapon of choice was the naginta, a Japanese pole arm. But while it helped her earn glory, it would not safeguard her through the war.

Takeko was shot in the chest while leading a charge against the Imperial Japanese Army of the Ogaki domain. Fearing that her enemies would defile her body and make her head a gruesome war trophy, she asked her sister to cut it off and bury it. This was her final wish, and her head was subsequently buried beneath a pine tree at the Hōkai-ji Temple in modern-day Fukushima. Today, a monument to her stands nearby, where girls come each year to honour her and her Women's Army during the Aizu Autumn Festival.

Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi (1828-1858)

Laxmibai would have made any of warrior women of Classical antiquity proud. She was the last of the true warrior queens. The fact she was Indian and bitterly fought the British to the death doesn’t deter me from admiring her hugely in the same way the British still admire Joan of Arc.

Like many other families scattered across the British Empire, my family lost brave relatives who died during the tragic Indian Mutiny of 1857 (the Indians call it the First War for Independence). But however ugly and bloody that chapter of British imperial history was, I find myself in awe of the life of Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi.

When as a family we moved to India I learned a little about her from Indian school friends. I learned a lot more from a couple of Indian officer cadets at Sandhurst (Sandhurst takes in officer cadets from the Commonwealth and other countries) with whom I struck an affable friendship because I could speak Hindi and we used to watch Bollywood movies with our platoon mates. Laxmibai is every bit as remarkable as Jeanne d’Arc and much more. I can say I am humbled when I try to retrace her steps of her life when I visit India from time to time.

By the time Laxmibai (or Lakshmibai) was a teenager, she had already violated many of the expectations for women in India’s patriarchal society. She could read and write. She had learned to ride a horse and wield a sword. She talked back to anyone who tried to tell her to live her life differently. But where those spirited ways might have been scorned in another young Indian woman, they would prove to serve her well as she went on to leave an indelible mark on Indian history.

In the mid-19th century, what became the modern nation of India was dotted with hundreds of princely states, one of which, Jhansi, in the north, was ruled by Queen Laxmibai. Her reign came at a pivotal time: The British, who were expanding their presence in India, had annexed her realm and stripped her of power. Laxmibai tried to regain control of Jhansi through negotiations, but when her efforts failed she joined the Indian Rebellion of 1857, an uprising of soldiers, landowners, townspeople and others against the British in what is now known as India’s first battle for independence. It would be 90 years before the country would finally uproot the British, in 1947.

The queen, or rani, went on to train and lead her own army, composed of both men and women, only to perish on the battlefield in June 1858. In the decades that followed, her life became a subject of competing narratives. Indians hailed her as a heroine, the British as a wicked, Jezebel-like figure. But somewhere between these portrayals she emerged as a symbol not just of resistance but of the complexities associated with being a powerful woman in India.

Laxmibai wasn’t of royal blood. Manakarnika, as she was named at birth, is widely believed to have been born in 1827 in Varanasi, a city in northeast India on the banks of the Ganges River. She was raised among the Brahmin priests and scholars who sat atop India’s caste system. Her father worked in royal courts as an adviser, giving her access to an education, as well as horses. In 1842, Manakarnika married Maharaja Gangadar Rao, the ruler of Jhansi, and took on the name Laxmibai. (It was — and, in some parts of the country, still is — a common practice for women to change their names after marriage.)

By most accounts she was an unconventional queen, and a compassionate one. She refused to abide by the norms of the purdah system, under which women were concealed from public view by veils or curtains. She insisted on speaking with her advisers and British officials face to face. She wore a turban, an accessory more common among men. And she is said to have trained women in her circle to ride and fight. She attended to the poor, regardless of their caste, a practice that even today would be considered bold in parts of India. While she was queen, the powerful British East India Company was beginning to seize more land and resources. In 1848, Lord Dalhousie, India’s governor general, declared that princely states with leaders lacking natural born heirs would be annexed by the British under a policy called the ‘Doctrine of Lapse’.

Laxmibai’s only child had died, and her husband’s health was starting to deteriorate. The couple decided to adopt a 5 year-old boy to groom as successor to the throne, and hoped that the British would recognize his authority despite the declaration. “I trust that in consideration of the fidelity I have evinced toward government, favour may be shown to this child and that my widow during her lifetime may be considered the Regent,” her husband, the maharaja, wrote in a letter, as quoted in Rainer Jerosch's book,  “The Rani of Jhansi: Rebel Against Will” (2007). His pleas were ignored. Soon after he died, in 1853, the East India Company offered the queen a pension if she agreed to cede control. She refused, exclaiming: “Meri Jhansi nahin dungee” (“I will not give up my Jhansi”) - a Hindi phrase that to this day is etched into India’s memory, stirring up feelings of pride and patriotism.

Beyond Jhansi’s borders, a rebellion was brewing as the British imposed their social and Christian practices and banned Indian customs. The uprising spread from town to town, reaching Jhansi in June 1857. Dozens of British were killed in the ensuing massacre by the rebels. The British turned on Laxmibai, accusing her of conspiring with the rebels to seek revenge over their refusal to recognize her heir. Whether or not she did remains disputed. Some accounts insist that she was wary of the rebels and that she had even offered to protect British women and children during the violence.

Tensions escalated, and in early 1858 the British stormed Jhansi’s fortress.

“Street fighting was going on in every quarter,” Dr. Thomas Lowe, the army’s field surgeon, wrote in his 1860 book “Central India During the Rebellion of 1857 and 1858.” “Heaps of dead lay all along the rampart and in the streets below….Those who could not escape,” he added, “threw their women and babies down wells and then jumped down themselves.” As the town burned, the queen escaped on horseback with her son, Damodar, tied to her back.

Historians have not reached a consensus on how she managed to pull this off. Some contend that her closest aide, Jhalkaribai, disguised herself as the queen to distract the British and buy time for her to get away.

In the end, the British took the town, leaving 3,000 to 5,000 people dead, and hoisted the British flag atop the palace. Left with no other options, Laxmibai decided to join the rebel forces and began training an army in the nearby state of Gwalior.

The British troops, close on her heels, attacked Gwalior on a scorching summer morning in June 1858. She led a countercharge — “clad in the attire of a man and mounted on horseback,” the British historians John Kaye and George Malleson wrote in “History of the Indian Mutiny” (1890) — and was killed. However accounts differ on whether she was stabbed with a saber or struck by a bullet. It was the last battle in the Indian Rebellion.

“The Indian Mutiny had produced but one man,” Sir Hugh Rose, the leader of the British troops, reportedly said when fighting ended, “and that man was a woman.”

The violence left thousands dead on both sides. The British government dissolved the East India Company over concerns about its aggressive rule and brought India under the control of the Crown. It then reversed Lord Dalhousie’s policy of annexing kingdoms without heirs.

Today, Queen Laxmibai of Jhansi has been immortalised in India’s nationalist narrative. There are movies, TV shows, books and even nursery rhymes about her. Streets, colleges and universities are named after her. Young girls dress up in her likeness, wearing pants, turbans and swords. Statues of her on horseback, with her son tied to her back, have been erected in many cities throughout India.

And, almost a century after her death, the Indian National Army formed an all-female unit that aided the country in its battle for independence in the 1940s. It was called the Rani of Jhansi regiment.

There are plenty of other women that one could write about of great women leaders who while not on the front line of battle did lead their countries to greatness or skilfully pulled the strings from behind the throne. History is littered with many examples.

What metrics we determine to define ‘greatness” is very much in the eye of the beholder. It’s not a matter of masculine or feminine virtues - although they are important in their own way. Above all I would say what makes a leader great is character.

There is no ‘weaker sex’ - that would be a terribly unfair slur on our men.

I’m joking of course. But my point stands. I don’t believe it’s about who is the weaker sex. But let’s talk of character instead.

Character defines the essence of leadership. I say this because I often encounter a perception among women that they need to become more like men to be considered equal to them. Nothing could be further from the truth. What makes you uniquely who you are as a woman is highly important.

We are all called to become the best versions of ourselves, and as women, we don’t do that by trying to be more like men. It would be a mistake to put one’s heroines on a pedestal because they are all flawed and have feet of clay - just like men. Character knows no gender. Character is virtuous. Character is rising to greatness despite one’s flaws.

As early as the 1300s, Catherine of Sienna wisely said, “Be who you were created to be, and you will set the world on fire.” More than 500 years later, Oscar Wilde reiterated that notion: “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

So be the best version of yourself.

Thanks for your question.

[littlesparklight]

A Handful of Escaping Sweetness

It's a sunny afternoon in late spring the day the world ends.

There's no one present but Paris and his cattle to feel the grinding shift in the air, like a storm rolling in from the sea, whipping the tops of waves high and white, threatening to upend the little boats out on the water surprised by the rush of chill, rain-heavy wind and clouds. The cattle around him, previously the picture of bovine unconcern, low and shift around, come huddling together and calling their new calves to themselves.

Paris, sitting on a rock, eye them with some concern for whether or not they'll be liable to start stampeding, and when he glances back he's looking up at a young, smiling face with dark, dark blue eyes, the smile a twinkle on his face. Paris can't breathe. He makes himself breathe.

"Prince Alexander of Troy, for your exemplary judgement you have been chosen to stand arbiter in a small dispute the Father of Gods and Men feel must be judged by an outside mind."

Paris glances beyond Hermes, sees the goddesses - it doesn't matter if he recognizes them or not, but of course he can't not know who they are, as shiningly, painfully obvious as they've made themselves, the very light settling about their heads like crowns, the air quivering in bending obeisance to their passing, daring not to disturb the fine fabrics of their clothing or beautifully tumbling tresses - and sees his death.

"A dispute, Lord Hermes?" Paris asks, light as if he doesn't feel light-headed, from lack of air, from the three piercing sets of eyes beyond the veiled, gentle darkness of Hermes' gaze. Hermes offers him a golden apple - it could be a ripe quince if not for the metallic shine of the skin, and Paris takes it unthinkingly, curious despite himself. Somewhere marginally safe to rest his eyes and attention. There's writing on the apple, and this is not safe.

"All three wish for this apple, Prince Alexander. Your fair mind and eyes shall be the judge as to who deserves it best."

Paris stares at the apple in his hand, silently reading out Kallistei and understands all too well what isn't said, what isn't meant to be understood. They will offer rewards, kingly, divine, as anyone should to a judge having offered the best and straightest judgement, but they have come here from anger, and if he can only award one of them the apple, he will soothe one but stir deeper anger in two.

They are goddesses, they are all breathlessly beautiful in their own ways. Paris could sing their praises with complete earnestness for years and not run out of words for it, from the flashing eyes of Pallas Athena, the broadness of her shoulders emphasizing the fall of her simple dress, the thrust of her nose the easy way she carries her helmet; from the milky shade of Queen Hera's skin, her shining eyes and rich tresses stars in the sky and jewels to her crown; from the supple gracefulness of Aphrodite's stance, her dainty feet stepping just so, the intoxicating edge to her little smile. Hera is, of course, the queen. Paris isn't sure why this is a contest at all, the answer should be clear. Not that it matters what the right or wrong answer is; there are three goddesses, one apple.

One winner, two losers, and since this is a dispute, he should lose no matter what.

"Deathless Ones, honouring me beyond what any mortal could ask for. While I am of royal blood, my family having welcomed me back past warnings, and am related to Father Zeus' own blessed cupbearer, I am also nothing more than a neatherd. My judgement may be true, and I would not deprive the winner of her fairly awarded judgement, older men than I have more experience, kings are well-versed in standing between quarrelling sides and have the authority to offer a solution." He stands up, slowly. Holds the apple out and is already shifting his weight away, towards taking that first step that will have him running, when Hermes' hand, light as a feather, more weighty than chains, come to his shoulder.

"Your blood is flawless, and you didn't hesitate when Ares won over your prize bull," Hermes says, and now the twinkle is gone from him eyes, he's serious as the coldest night. The squeeze is as reassuring as it's restraining. "Father Zeus has deemed you the most suitable."

It doesn't matter what he might choose to say; there's no way out of this, and he can't refuse.

And if he can not refuse, if he should anger two goddesses no matter what, should he not take the reward that might please him the best?

Paris of Troy isn't without ambition, but war has never suited him. He cares little for the respect to be gained through battlefield slaughter, the riches amassed through weapon skill and sacking of cities, so greater skill in such matter, though some who lacked such would surely leap upon the chance, holds little attraction for him. And while a throne of his own, vaster than any could dream of, wealth to rival the limits of man's ability to possess stir him more, Alexander of Troy is, down to his core, a romantic.

Aphrodite offers the most beautiful mortal woman in the world, and Paris thinks she wouldn't offer her if they wouldn't be compatible. If there couldn't be joy and pleasure in their meeting and joining, she would not make this her reward. He can't win, and two of the three goddesses will lose, and so Paris stays true to the foolish, gentle heart and hope of him; the mortal striving for as much pleasure as mortals can hope for in a world that will mostly offer cruelty.

When he first lays eyes on Helen of Sparta, even understanding that she's already married, Paris hopes even more to find his wishes for the reason Aphrodite offered Helen as her reward for him choosing her fulfilled. She stares at him, for a brief moment wide-eyed - an expression matched by half by her husband, too - and looks to the tall, reddish-blond man to her side before looking back at their guest.

"And what son of the blessed immortals are we welcoming into our home?" Helen is half joking, half deathly serious, and blinks, caught breathless for a moment when Paris denies himself any god as a parent with a smile.

At a hunt three days into the visit, the queen of Sparta having come with their great, baying company, Paris leans in close to her, whispering not for any flirting words or voiced wishes to kiss that rosy, fair skin, but because he's saying something entirely more dangerous even than openly lusting after another man's wife.

"How far have you gone, my lady? How much of the sky have you claimed, for your own pleasure?"

Helen goes a little pale, but where she could refuse to answer, when she glances to him, Paris quiet and attentive, leaned in close but not touching, she cracks. "... Not as far as I might have wished, once upon a time."

"Great, shining daughter of Zeus and Leda, why shouldn't you have all you want?" Paris touches not Helen, but his own chest, the spot above his heart, while shaking his head. "If you want more, you should have as much as your husband, at the very least, shouldn't you?"

Helen glances at him, looks away. Paris lets himself be drawn into the hunt, and that evening, sits in the middle of loud, cheerful noise, beautiful music and attended by two very great and beautiful people lamenting his trip will have to end at some point, and thinks of the laments made for a dead warrior, mother, sisters and daughters arranged around the great man, now cold and empty.

This is a funeral feast, and only Paris knows it.

This is the best it will get, from hereon out. Not that there won't be pleasure, won't be happiness - he should be given to some small amount of joy more, shouldn't he? - but when Menelaos has left for Crete, when he comes to Helen's chamber and she opens the door before he can knock, when they finally reach the shore and board the ships and when they land on Cranae over a day later, and she comes with him, into a shaded hide made secret by blooming myrtle bushes, their eyes meet as Paris turns Helen to face him.

They stare at each other, still for a moment, knowing the weight of the next action, and both know this is the most fragile, perfect happiness they will get.

Helen sighs, sweeter sound there wasn't, and leans in. Paris meets her, pulls her closer, and Helen throws her arms around his shoulders; such kisses are worth dying for.

*** Helen grows up in Sparta wanting for little and yet wishing for more.

Theseus scares her small and quiet, for a little while at least. And then she is just angry - why should he be allowed to do such things, why should he be able to, just because he is a man? The world is vast and yet she's allowed to hold so little of it.

It's not so displeasing, she almost forgets it when the two royal refugees come from Mycenae. The younger one is cuter, possessed of a sweeter mind, a more pleasant disposition. More patient than Agamemnon, and he even wrestles with her once, incredulous that she would want to, but not refusing her out of hand. It's not repeated, but Helen treasures that moment, treasures the startled, warm brown eyes on her when she's pinned Menelaos to the ground.

She can feel his eyes on her, earnest emotion behind every word he speaks to her while trying not to be too obvious and yet she can hear what some of the servants are whispering too, the pleasures found at his gentle hands, and Helen swallows down unfairness. Why can he, without repercussions, but not her?

Still, when her father finally marries her away, when Menelaos and Agamemnon have been back in Mycenae for two years already, Helen isn't displeased when Menelaos is proven to be among the suitors. By the amount of wealth sent as gifts, she would've been worried it was Agamemnon, but he married Clytemnestra last year. It's not. It's Menelaos, and it's Menelaos who wins out, Achilles too young to make a claim in person and Peleus refraining from making the claim for him.

Helen, led across the threshold and knowing little what to expect, only what she's observed so far, only hopes knowing the man better will bring more sweetness than not.

She isn't much fond of being pregnant, she finds. Too, what she can grasp of the world seems to shrink further, even when her heart has only grown, for tender hope has been buoyed by jokes and the laughter her husband has drawn from her, has grown high and sturdy from gentle touches and Menelaos welcoming her knowledge of city and its lands. It helps, in its own way. Makes old, secret wants sink down into the bottom of her heart, to be little thought of.

Until they received their guest from Troy.

Women cannot take, cannot do, what men can, and Helen has been living her life like that, not quite accepting it but enduring it. But then there is Prince Alexander of Troy, who whispers call me Paris, and he smiles at her and she can suddenly understand what the rest of the world must be seeing when she smiles at it.

Still, she knows her duty; she has a life, her daughter, though hard and heavy to carry as she was in her womb, makes her insides melt, and her husband's hand around hers is warm and steady. She is not unhappy.

But she wants.

She wants and has been wanting since she was young, many things, but this is one of them, and she might have confessed, once or twice, quietly, with Aphrodite there to hear. And so, whether she'd planned it or not, when Menelaos leaves for Crete and Paris comes to her chamber, she opens the door before he can reach to knock, and instead of sending him away she welcomes him.

The world does not end in the grievous fire of a city falling to its enemies, torn apart stone by stone by furious divine forces. It ends on a sunny spring afternoon, it ends in the gentle darkness of Queen Helen's chamber, it ends on Cranae under the sweet-smelling blossoms of the myrtle bush. Sometimes we take even knowing we shouldn't, and sometimes there's no choice either way, Aphrodite spreading her golden veil over the new lovers and smiling sweet enough there's the illusory hope the bitterness might not taste as sharp later.