#Diomedes never let him live it down

[backpackingspace]

Listen. Odysseus practiced his dad skills on his men.

[neflil]

*sighs* Here is my Owlk OC, DIogenes the Hermit!! Holding an eepy Neph <3 Below for info, a doodle, a ref sheet, and whatnot vv

yes the guy ties grass on his antlers

He's a horned owl owlk. Plays the stringed instrument that the owlks have and vibes in his own lil home. He lives alone inside a tree trunk that is decorated with all kinds of different trinkets and objects. Dio is often considered "crazy" and never taken seriously because of the things he says and believes in. Folk tales, adding more magic to his life, weird philosophies that very much don't align with that of the majority ect. He speaks in peculiar ways and never makes much sense. Sooo he just... exists in his own lil house and vibes, playing his instrument and singing. He's content with his life and really, a simple creature. Happy with what little he has. To add onto that, others often don't let him talk to the younger owlks as they're afraid that his words and ideas will corrupt them in some way. No use listening to the crazy person amiright. He might look a little grumpy but hey, after years of getting turned down by your peers makes you like that. But really if someone is kind to him he's very much a nice dude! In his ref sheet it doesn't show but his appearance is often messy. He decorates his antlers and whatever else he can with all sorts of trinkets and hanging jewelry. Crystals, feathers, grass, you name it. And he often doesn't bother to tie his bandages the correct way, feather sticking out of them or them being loose- along with decorating them with beads. Every day he looks a different way! Despite everything, the rest dragged him into joining the choir/band seeing as he plays the instrument really good- but aside that he doesn't have anything else going on. He really doesn't agree with the simulation, as it goes against all his morals about life and death. Some even confuse his name as they're used to only hearing "Dio". Some call him Diogenes, some call him Diomedes, some don't even know his actual name. His thoughts on this is that he doesn't need a name, he calls himself "The Hermit" seeing as he very much is one. Aaand yea... that's pretty much it hsajkdhsajhdsa

[doloneia]

odydio and boar parallels

good morning evening and night folks i have been pondering THIS for 12 hours straight and after writing what. appears to be a beautiful essay in my words doc i’ve just decided to throw all my thoughts at the wall instead. love that essay but it is becoming so very well-written academic work and i am so deeply unserious online.

anyways. on the subject of odysseus and diomedes and their shared boar vibes. the thing i kept coming back to was how boars were fucking TERRIFYING in ancient greece. to the point where the calydonian boar hunt (essentially just 30 dudes rocking up to kill a divine pig*) is a whole Event its a whole Heroic Tale. because you think 30 dudes can get that boar without a scratch WRONG two guys die and peleus stabs some other dude in the confusion. boars are ruthless and frankly overpowered as fuck little bastards in ancient greece and of the four i can think of with names at least TWO of them had divine origins somehow (calydonian and crommyonian).

and honestly? ruthless, terrifying as fuck, difficult for a horde of men to stop let alone some guy? got some nebulous relationship to the gods that give you strength? holy shit thats tydeus right there babey. he kills like 49 guys and sends the other one home as a warning. he literally gets married off of Boar Vibes dude. its his whole personality.

and so obviously diomedes, whose entire job for ten years is Bring Honor To Dead Father, is like well shit! time to adopt the whole boar vibe! i mean he’s literally compared to a boar in book V with unending strength truly he is the boar guy junior. he fights hordes of thebans/calydonians/trojans without resting, he cuts down hundreds of men without mercy, he gets athenas favor and despite how well he plays the part he is so tired. he’s ruthless, but does he want to be? he’s skilled in battle, but has he known anything else? he’s favored by the gods, but did he ever have a choice in that?

meanwhile odysseus. odysseus who is scarred by the boar he hunted as a child on his thigh. escaped what is otherwise certain death. marked so deeply by an animal so connected to divine rage that it transcends even athena’s disguise. it is this scar, that proved him equal in combat to that boar, that identifies him to his friends and family. that helps him retake his house and throne. just. the scar itself cements odysseus’ mortality but it also transcends any attempt at concealing who he is.

anyways putting all these thoughts together. i think that for diomedes the boar symbolism is something that doesn’t quite fit. its something that stretches and aches, like an old shirt thats too tight, because its not indicative of him its indicative of tydeus. but tydeus died at thebes, and diomedes has to live up to his legacy, so he tries regardless and it never quite feels right. meanwhile odysseus fights tooth and nail to survive, even when he’s surrounded like a boar by hunters and their dogs. sacks cities and kills hundreds of men and for all the help he gets from the immortal gods, odysseus remains wholly mortal. maybe the real disguise is how diomedes is the one scarred and odysseus is the boar, but neither of them look it.

[gotstabbedbyapen]

What are your top ten Greek Mythology headcanons?

Ooooh I have a lot of Greek mythology headcanons, so it took me a while to select the top ten 😅 But I've finally done it!

Here is the final list:

10. There is an Eurotas River "tradition" for all the couples in the Spartan royal family.

I like to think it's "tradition" for all members of the Spartan royal family to find the love of their lives at the Eurotas River (Lacedaemon & Sparta, Amyclas & Diomede, Hyacinthus & Apollo, Helen & Menelaus, etc.)

The idea came to me because of the role and presence of this river in Apollo and Hyacinthus' myth (Ovid's version) and Menelaus and Helen's story (Euripides' play). HyaPollo had frequent river dates and MeLen swore fidelity with one another by the same river, so it's fun to think that the other Spartan couples also meet and spend their time together here.

9. Persephone is everyone's childhood friend.

This is also true in the mythos! Persephone grew up with Athena and Artemis in Sicily, her domains overlapped with her other siblings, the Homeric hymn to Demeter has a list of her nymph friends, and every once in a while someone is said to be Persephone's playmate.

She's a true social butterfly lol

8. The second generation Olympians also share traits with their grandparents.

I love to think that the younger Olympians inherit something from their Titan grandparents, you know? Here are some of the ideas:

Ares is loving and protective over his children like Rhea.

Persephone is intimidating and wield her scythe like Kronos.

Hermes is crafty and cunning like his great-grandfather Iapetus.

Apollo has Coeus' deep, intelligent gaze and Artemis has Phoebe's radiant smile.

Athena is unconsciously attracted to the ocean, the kingdom of Oceanus and Tethys.

7. All of Zeus' children, mortal or immortal, inherit his fury.

They can be calm like Apollo or have anger issues like Heracles, but once a child of Zeus get really pissed off, their act of wrath can be as destructive as their father's.

This explains why Artemis shot down Coronis and her family and Persephone inflicted a plague on Thebes.

6. The second generation Olympians (plus Persephone and Aphrodite) love each other in their own ways.

I really dislike depictions of Olympian siblings always at each other's throat. Yes, their history is complicated and dynamics aren't perfect but that doesn't mean they only have bad tension! Where is the nuance in their relationship???

Artemis and Apollo have seen the worst of one another and ridiculed each other for that. But if someone were to talk crap about their twin, it's on sight.

Ares is torn between following his mother and accepting his illegitimate siblings. He had persecuted the twins before they were born but later joined them in the Trojan war.

Athena might be distant from others at times due to her personality and domains, but there are moments she enjoyed dancing and playing music with her siblings.

And Persephone's case is the worse. She might not be an Olympian and stays in Underworld for half a year, but she had never expressed hatred for her non-chthonic family. Let Persephone have good relationship with her upper world family, too!!!

5. Hyacinthus has purple eyes.

Or, in elaborative words, the eyes ever so gentle like flower petals drifting on a calm lake in early spring, hand-painted by the finest of brushes with a meticulous shade of softly vibrant purple that could not be easily sought out in the tapestry of nature.

Sorry for the sudden poetic wax XDDD

Basically, I want Hyacinthus to have pretty purple eyes as one of his signature traits. It makes him stand out from the crowd due to the "divinity" it brings to him (because of the forth headcanon)

4. Hyacinthus' mother is Clio, the Muse of History.

The second-popular parentage of Hyacinthus in the myths, but I have lots of ideas and interpretations with this mother and son relationship:

- The son of the history Muse dating the god of prophecy. Past and future intertwine!

- Their domain and attribute! We study history to learn from the past mistakes and avoid repeating them. The hyacinth flower represents forgiveness, and I like to think it includes self-forgiveness as well. So Clio being Hyacinthus' mother can symbolize accepting and learning from your mistakes to forgive yourself.

- Family angst! Clio knows every way something can go wrong and result in her son's tragic end. So throughout Hyacinthus' life, she will do her best to prevent all possible demises that can happen to him, only to still end up losing him.

- It will give Aphrodite another reason to aid Hyacinthus' resurrection. Since Aphrodite is the one cursing Clio to fall in love with a mortal man and have Hyacinthus, she might feel guilty later when Clio was grieving her son, so she decided to help the mother and son reunite as repentance.

3. Polyboea becomes a huntress of Artemis.

We actually don't have any clear indication that Polyboea became a huntress of Artemis in the myths, but hey, it's not a bad headcanon! Polyboea died a maiden, and Artemis was fond of her enough to help bring her back from death. So it wouldn't be a stretch of the goddess recruit her into the hunter pack.

I have a lot of ideas for a Polyboea-centric fic after she became a virgin huntress, just her journey in perfecting the art of archery, making friends with the other huntresses, and learning to be her own person than just "the youngest princess of Sparta".

2. Apollo and Hyacinthus raise children together.

This heacanon definitely didn't come to me after reading a certain fanfic series hehehe...

The title said all, I like to thing after Hyacinthus' deification, he and Apollo are happily "married" and raise a bunch of kids together, adopted or from another lover (and they may or may not have a child together). Those kids will have the best childhood!

1. Hyacinthus and Polyboea undergo many trials in the Underworld before being granted resurrection and immortality.

As much as I love Hyacinthus and want him to have a happy ending with his loved ones, he's a potential package for physiological and psychological torture :)

There isn't much that we know of about Hyacinthus' resurrection in the myths other than him and his sister, Polyboea, being taken to the Heavens by a parade of deities. But I don't think the Underworld will allow two of their residents to go easily, so Hades and Persephone must have given Hyacinthus and Polyboea a trial like they did to Orpheus and Eurydice, but it will be 1000x worse because love me some blood-choking angst :D

For what the Underworld trials are and how Hyacinthus and Polyboea overcome them, they are will remain for now as ideas and concepts in the making for my Hyapollo fanfic

[neonmetro]

You made a mistake posting the Achaeans designs /vpos

YOU GUYS ALREADY KNOW I LOVE ACHILLES ( and patroclus, but this isn't about him ). HIS DESIGN IS SO COOL WHAT THE SIGMA...... I LIVE FOR THE GREEN SO MUCHHHH. THE COAT THAT SOMEWHAT GIVES MARCHING BAND VIBES, THE SPINE LOOKING DESIGN ON THE BACK, AND THE JEWELRY THAT GIVES MAJOR PEACOCK VIBESSSS......I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Chat......can we congratulate my boy Diomedes for that glow up.....bro is GORGEOUS. THE RED COAT WITH THE FUR, I MIGHT AS WELL JUST PASS AWAY/silly AND THE HAIRRRRRR I LIVE FOR HIS HAIR ITS REALLY JUST SO AWESOME DUDE

And as much as I love all of them, I would like to give a special shout out to uly and Nestor.....Uly because, well, it's uly and Nestor because HOLY SHITTT THAT DESIGN MIGHT JUST BE PEAK........

I would love to write about all of them, but i don't want to make this ask super long, or else it'll just be my yapping. But in turn, give me all you got of these guys 🔥🔥🗣🗣

The Achaeans are just the butch lesbian assembly tbh...../j

-paris anon

HELP WHEN I FIRST READ THIS I THOUGHT I MADE A ACTUAL MISTAKE WHILE POSTING/DESIGNING THE ACHAEANS 😭😭😭😭

anyhoo sorry for the late response i haven't been able to sit down and ramble in a bit.... hope this is still worth the wait :')

ACHILLES HAD THE MOSTTTT AMOUNT OF THOUGHT INTO HIS REDESIGN (as in literal time. i still thought about the achaeans but achilles i had a literal mood board up dedicated to just Him)

his colors + jewelry were so fun to come up with. he only deserves the best color palette... pretty pretty princess of pthia

i saw this outfit/dress on lolitawardrobe and it screamed achilles to me 😭😭😭 i really wanted to incorporate the skeleton and marine animal together as a way to signify what's to come and his mother's origins (OH. AND HIS ANIMAL IS HECTOR'S DOLPHIN. HOPE THIS HELPS.)

THANK YOU SO MUCH. HE TRULY DID GLOW UP I HAVE NO IDEA HOW BUT I WOKE UP ONE DAY AND BLASTED HIM WITH THE YASSIFICATION JUICE. i really wanted to focus on the red eyes i put in his og design for better color balance...

also his fuck ass bangs 😭 i still like the full head kind of bangs but I'll prob keep it for just when he's going batshit insane

he did already have his braid but since i was already doing the bigger profiles for more details i wanted to emphasize it more...

RAGHDHDGEJWKE THANK YOU SO MUCH....

NESTOR HAS NO RIGHT TO BE THAT PRETTY. AND YET HE IS. #GIRLBOSS?

definitely upgraded that hairstyle + how i stylized his facial hair like girl... og nestor was kinda . let's say lacking .

nestor was kind of. color hell for me i'm ngl? for some reason i couldn't make up my damn mind on which colors go where? plus his grey hair... was kinda fucking me up... please old man... stop making me cry... (looking back my vocalization wasn't so bad it was mostly in my head but STILL)

for uly i really wanted him to have a diff silhouette but still vaguely look like outis lcb... i chose the trench coat bc omg kinda like penelope and also its just like pathos to mathos frfr but he would never really wear smth like that and it ended up way too similar to menelaus. then i thought FUCK OUTIS LCB SINNER CROPPED JACKET. WE WIN

though the 2nd image is kinda just a vague pass of the silhouette, i just needed him to be a lil more diff...

GRBRHRNRNVHN THANK YOU SO MUCH THOUGH!!! my beautiful butch assembly... its just business..........

[telltale-apologist]

Alright my brothers, listen closely

Tonight we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay

Think of your wives and your children

Your families wonder where you've been

They're growing old and yet you're still here

Do what I say and you'll see them again

(Yes sir)

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And Little Ajax will stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

(Yes sir)

Find that inner strength now

Use that well of pride

Fight through every pain now

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

(What do you live for?)

(What do you try for?)

(What do you wish for?)

(What do you fight for?)

Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for us

I fight for us

Penelope

(What do you try for?)

Telemachus

(What do you wish for?)

I'm on my way

(What do you fight for?)

Attack!

Who was that?

A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be outrun

Can only be dealt with right here, and now

Tell me how

I don't think you're ready

A mission

To kill someone's son

A foe who won't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

Say no more

I know that I'm ready

I don't think you're ready

It's just an infant

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

I could raise him as my own (he will burn your house and throne)

Or send him far away from home (he'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (the gods will make him know)

I'd rather bleed for you, down on my knees for ya (he's bringing you down on your knees)

I'm begging please (this is the will of the gods)

Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

Is this Epic or is it PJO (I have Not caught up on either oopsies 😬)

[enderinbelial]

The Horse and the Infant Lyrics

[ODYSSEUS]

Alright, my brothers, listen closely

Tonight we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay

Think of your wives and your children

Your families wonder where you've been

They're growin' old, and yet you're still here

Do what I say and you'll see them again

[SOLDIERS]

Yes, Sir

[ODYSSEUS]

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates

To take the whole city at large

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And Little Ajax will stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

[SOLDIERS]

Yes, Sir

[ODYSSEUS, SOLDIERS]

Find that inner strength now (Huh)

Use that well of pride (Huh)

Fight through every pain now (Huh)

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for? What do you try for?

What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

[SOLDIERS]

What do you live for? What do you try for?

What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

[ODYSSEUS]

Penelope, Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for us, I fight for us

[SOLDIERS]

What do you live for?

[ODYSSEUS, spoken]

Penelope

[SOLDIERS]

What do you try for?

[ODYSSEUS, spoken]

Telemachus

[SOLDIERS]

What do you wish for?

[ODYSSEUS, spoken]

I'm on my way

[SOLDIERS]

What do you fight for?

[ODYSSEUS, spoken]

Attack!

[Battle cries and war sounds are heard

A figure approaches ODYSSEUS and stabs him]

[ODYSSEUS, spoken]

Argh

Who was that?

[Thunder, an eagle cries]

[ZEUS]

A vision of what is to come, cannot be outrun

Can only be dealt with right here and now

[ODYSSEUS]

Tell me how

[ZEUS]

I don't think you're ready

A mission to kill someone's son, a foe who won't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

[ODYSSEUS]

Say no more, I know that I'm ready

[ZEUS & GODS]

I don't think you're ready

[ODYSSEUS]

It's just an infant, it's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose

That I cannot avoid?

[ZEUS]

This is the son of none other

Than Troy's very own prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger

One fumed with rage as you're consumed by age

[ZEUS & GODS]

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save

[ZEUS]

You can say goodbye to

[GODS]

Penelope

[ZEUS]

You can say goodbye to

[GODS]

Penelope

[ODYSSEUS, ZEUS & GODS]

I could raise him as my own

He will burn your house and throne

Or send him far away from home

He'll find you wherever you go

Make sure his past is never known

The gods will make it known

I'd rather bleed for ya, I'm on my knees for ya

We're bringing you down on your knees for ya

I'm begging please

Oh, this is the will of the gods

[ODYSSEUS]

Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

[ZEUS]

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

[ZEUS & GODS]

All you can choose is whose

I look into your eyes and I Think back to the son of mine You're as old as he was When I left for war

Will these actions haunt my days? Every man I've slain Is the price I pay, endless pain Close your eyes And spare yourself the view How could I hurt you?

I'm just a man Who's tryin' to go home Even after all the years away from what I've known I'm just a man Who's fighting for his life Deep down I would trade the world to see my son and wife I'm just a man

But when does a comet become a meteor? When does a candle become a blaze? When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?

Forgive me (When does a man become a monster?) Forgive me (When does a man become a monster?) Forgive me

I'm just a man

[i-would-get-in-the-water-naked]

In an honor of the subtle (but for my neurodivergent brain A VERY PAINFUL) change of lyrics in "Done For" from "so you better cower before me" to "so you better cower now and flee", i decided to make this subtly different but cursed version of The Horse and the Infant. Enjoy.

Alright, my comrades, listen closely

Tonight we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay them

Think of your wives and your children

Your family wonders where you've been

They're growing old and you are still here

Do as I say and you'll see them again

Yes, sir

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates

To take the whole city at charge

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And Little Ajax, you'll stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

Yes, sir

Find that inner strength now

Use that will and pride

Fight through all the pain now

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for you

I fight for you

(What do you live for?)

Telemachus

(What do you try for?)

Penelope

(What do you wish for?)

I am on my way

(What do you fight for?)

Attack

What was that?

A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be undone

Can only be dealt with right here and now

Show me how

I don't think you're ready

A mission

To kill someone's son

A foe who can't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

Say no more, I know that I'm ready

I don't think you're ready

It's just a baby

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

This is the child of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to a soldier

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't kill him now, you'll have no one left to save

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

You can say goodbye to

(Telemachus)

I can raise him as my own (he will burn your house and throne)

Or take him far away from home (he'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (the gods will make him know)

I'd rather bleed for you (they're bringing you)

I'm on my knees for you (down on your knees for you)

I'm begging, please (oh, this is the will of your gods)

Please don't make me do it, don't make me do it

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

[crocwork-clockodile]

Don't Look Back

This is a creative writing piece I did for a class this semester. I'm pleased with it, and with my other two pieces, so I thought I'd post them here! Here's The Tale of Sir Gylbard and Chosen's Choice.

Dividers by @plum98

They’ve never bitten us before, Eurydice thought distantly as she took stock of the grand, dark hall she found herself in. Not in our own forest. Not when we’re dancing. She blamed that fool “folk hero” Aristaeus. If he hadn’t crashed the party, she and her sisters would not have had to run, and then she wouldn’t have spooked that viper.

Thinking back on the moment, first there was fear, then pain, worse than she’d ever felt before, then quiet. All the while, she thought of Orpheus, her love. Wishing he could save her, wishing to see him, begging whatever gods might hear her to keep him safe. Then Lord Hermes, looking harried but sympathetic, was ushering her down to the ferry (“Don’t worry, hon, extenuating circumstances, you ride free. Extended family discount”) and before she really understood what was happening, here she stood, before Lord Hades. She had never seen him before, but he couldn’t be anyone else. Holding his scepter, he sat upon a dark stone throne in a great hall. He was imposing, sombre, but his eyes were not unkind. He briefly welcomed her to this new home and passed her off again to an attendant spirit. She barely had time to acknowledge the famed beast Cerberus standing patiently at the gates she had entered through. He seemed like a sweet fellow, and Orpheus always liked dogs –

“Though your timing is sad, Miss, I do think you’ll come to like it here,” her guide said. Eurydice walked in step with them through hazy, dark corridors, keeping her eyes forward. This couldn’t be real, she thought, I haven’t had a chance to be a wife yet. A single tear trailed down her cheek. By the grace of the gods, her guide didn’t let on if they noticed. She had to wait for a moment alone before she could let herself cry properly. Her guide spoke up again, valiantly attempting to fill the silence. “You’re a Nymph, yes? How fortunate! That means you’ve got a place in Elysium! It’s lovely there, even this time of year.” When Eurydice didn’t respond, their guide paused again, piping up after a moment, “You know, since the Lady’s Topside, things tend to get a bit dreary down here, but it’s not so bad where you’re going. It did, at the beginning, but you’d never believe the complaints we got! I mean, I guess the divinities would be used to a certain standard of living, but you’d think we’d personally insulted Diomedes’ mother when the temperature fell a little below – oh! Here we are!”

Before them was the most beautiful plain Eurydice had ever seen. The boughs of nearly every tree were heavy with fruit, the grass grew ankle-high and was softer than any she’d ever felt beneath her bare feet. Above her appeared to be a sky, but was too hazy and bright to be the same sky she had lived under before. The air felt pleasantly cool on her arms and face, and a breeze tugged playfully at her hair. It was nothing like her home before with Lord Pan and the other Nymphs, nothing like the home she had just started to build with her love. Perhaps one day she could learn to love this place, but now all she could think of was everything she had left behind.

“Thank you,” she said to her guide, her voice trembling and eyes blurring with tears. “This is perfect. I get to stay here?”

“You do, Miss. And it’ll only get better, since the Lady’s due back any day now. You’re free to wander around here as you please, but if you’d prefer to set up a little corner of your own, there should be a nice house for you.” As if summoned by their voice, Eurydice noticed for the first time a modest stone cottage nestled comfortably under the largest pomegranate tree she had ever seen.

“Thank you,” she said again. Taking this as their cue to leave, her guide bowed to her, assuring that if she needed anything, just to ask and someone would be happy to help her out. Eurydice walked slowly to the cottage. It was everything she could do not to rush in to hide and cry herself sick. She had only just become a wife, only just started building a life and a home with the only person she could ever want to do that with. Would she have to start again? How long would she have to wait for her love? She scolded herself for wishing he were here, she would never want anything for him but a long, fruitful life. But how long would she have to wait for him? What if he moved on, married someone else once the grieving was done? Would he even still want her when he finally arrived in Elysium? Settling down on a chair in her new home – too soft, too deep, how could she possibly think of comfort now? – she became dimly aware of the dull roar of water from outside. The ocean? A river? It was comforting to hear, anyway. Birdsong gave a melody to its deep undertone, and as she finally allowed herself to cry, the only thought she had was Orpheus is going to love it when he gets here.

~*~*~

Time was difficult to track down here, but eventually Eurydice met some of the other residents of Elysium. They were generally friendly, though of course, an unaccompanied woman had little to talk about with people like Hector or Patroclus. That didn’t bother her too badly, but she did notice that she was starting to feel lonely. She wondered often how her Orpheus and sisters were faring ‘Topside,’ as the residents called the world of the living. She knew Orpheus would love to meet some of these people, especially Lord Hypnos, who was so dear to his mother and aunts, the Muses. It was purely a stroke of luck when one day, while out exploring, she stumbled upon a party of very serious-looking ladies out for a stroll.

There were six of them. Their clothes flowed in a phantom breeze, and there was an air of authority about them. The three women on the outside of the group looked around vigilantly, as though guarding the three in the centre. They held themselves with the confidence that Eurydice had only ever seen in warriors. These were not just ladies, she realized, but Ladies.

“Hello,” Eurydice called to them, excited to meet some new women in this place. They stopped at once and fixed her with looks that varied from inquisitive to “knife-like.” Under their scrutiny, Eurydice nearly balked. She tossed away the remains of the pomegranate she had been eating and prayed she didn’t have seeds or juice on her face. I don’t want to be alone here. I need to make friends if it’s the last thing I do here. Mustering her courage and reinforcing her friendliest smile, she approached the party and spoke up again, “I’m Eurydice, a Nymph. I… arrived here a short time ago. May I ask who you Ladies are? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The three guarded ones, standing close together, moved in unison: a slow smile slid across their faces, sharp, approving. They appeared to be mirror images of one another, or perhaps the same woman at different stages of life. Each had midnight hair, fair skin, and a curious silver crown of crescent moons. Then, as one, they spoke:

“Greetings, Lady Eurydice. I am Lady Hecate. These,” the women gestured together to the others in the party, “are known as the Furies. It is true that we have not met many of the women who reside in this part of Lord Hades and Lady Persephone’s domain. We would happily welcome you for our evening meal tonight, so we might get to know each other better.”

This was better than Eurydice had even dared hope for. She eagerly accepted the Ladies’ offer, and over time (how much had passed since her arrival in Elysium?) she developed a routine. Sometimes she and the Furies would visit Lady Hecate for a meal, sometimes they would come to her. She still thought of her Orpheus often, but as time flowed vaguely on, she felt less lonely and unhappy to be apart from him. After all, it was temporary, right? He would join her eventually, and in the meantime, maybe establishing a new home here in Elysium wouldn’t be so hard. She wouldn’t be lonely with her new friends, and the beautiful landscape of the divine afterlife was starting to grow on her. The fruits here were delicious.

~*~*~

It was not to last, however. Eventually, she heard a rumor from a spirit who worked in Lord Hades’ palace that a man had entered his Hall begging for an audience with the Lord and Lady of the Underworld. “And I heard,” the spirit said, leaning in more urgently, “he’s still alive.”

Still alive? Impossible. Nobody could do that, how would anyone have even gotten here from Topside by themselves? And how could they have gotten past the ever-vigilant guardian dog? It was probably just a slow day in the palace; the spirits had to entertain themselves somehow. Deciding it wasn’t worth dwelling on much more, except to tell her friends the next time they shared a meal, Eurydice moved along. She hummed a tune that Orpheus had once composed for her as she picked pomegranates from her tree.

LADY EURIDICE.

She screamed, dropping her pomegranates. Where had that voice come from?

YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED IN THE HALL OF LORD HADES AND LADY PERSEPHONE.

What? But she had never been summoned to the Hall before, had never been inside since her arrival, which felt like years ago now. What could possibly be wrong? Unless –

Orpheus is here.

He’d joined her! He was finally here! Of course, it was terribly sad that he’d died, but now he was here, and as a son of Lord Apollo he was obviously going to join her in Elysium, and she could introduce him to everyone, and…

Her mind buzzed with all the things they could do now that her beloved was here. The songs he could write! The people she could introduce him to! The fun they would have, now that they could finally be together forever! Again, she seemed to float as she made her way through the metaphysical haze to the Lord and Lady’s Hall. And when she finally got there, her heart skipped a beat.

There he was, her beloved. Just as beautiful as she –

Wait. Not quite as beautiful as she remembered. His eyes were bloodshot and dark, his face ruddy, as if from crying. His frame appeared to sag, as though under the weight of Atlas’ burden. And… why did he look so strange?

The inhabitants of the Underworld looked much like they did Topside, but there was a subtle lightness to them, a fuzziness to their edges. Orpheus looked… too hard, too solid for this place. That rumor… could it be?

As though hearing her enter, Orpheus’ head whipped to find Eurydice. When his eyes fell on her, it was as though the heartiest feast had been laid before a starving man. He moved to approach her, but the voice of Lord Hades stopped him.

“Hold it, pup. You may have won over my wife and the Ladies of my domain, but you still need to abide by some rules.” It was now that Eurydice noticed the Hall’s other occupants. Lady Persephone sat beside her husband, trying to compose herself behind a handkerchief. She had been crying. Across the room, she saw her friends, the Furies, weeping into each other’s shoulders. Orpheus barely tore his gaze away from her to acknowledge Lord Hades again, then turned back.

“You may not touch her here, pup,” Lord Hades’ voice was clear over the sound of weeping. Even Eurydice felt hot tears blur her vision, and blinked them away furiously, refusing to let anything obscure the sight of her longed-for love. “I will let you bring her home, but get a good look at her now. After you leave this Hall, until you both reach the threshold of the world above, you may not look at her. She is to walk behind you until you exit. If you should fail, and turn to look, she will return to her place in Elysium forever more. You get no second chances, boy. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Orpheus said, and despite being slightly raspy from singing and sobbing, that single syllable was still the most perfect sound Eurydice had heard since before she died. “I’m here, Eury,” he rasped, “I’m here, and I’m gonna bring you home now. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Home? But Elysium had everything they needed. It was so wonderful there, Orphe, she knew he was going to love it there, and they would still be together forever – Eurydice tried to say something, but found she had no voice. She could only nod.

“The dead may not speak to the living,” Lady Persephone said apologetically. “Follow him, dearheart.”

“Thank you, gracious Lord and Lady.” Orpheus bowed deeply to the gods and grasped his lyre to his chest. With one last look at Eurydice, he turned and walked out of the Hall. Bowing uneasily to Lord Hades and Lady Persephone, Eurydice followed silently. Curiously, her footsteps made no sound, either. Had they been like this when she arrived here? Nevertheless, she pushed forward.

Why was she so uneasy? Wasn’t this what she wanted? To be reunited with her beloved? But this felt wrong. She would have to endure winter Topside. There were snakes and wolves and storms Topside. If only he could understand that it only got better, that she was happy down there, and if he’d been a little patient, he could’ve been happy with her too.

Well. Perhaps this was the best way to do it. Now she had something to look forward to returning to. And be Orpheus’ wife Topside, like she was supposed to be. Best not to look back, just keep going forward. This was a new leg of her journey.

Don’t look back, that was the key.

Don’t look back.

“Eurydice? You’re still there, right?”

Don’t look back.

“Lord Hades wouldn’t have lied to me, right? You followed me?”

Yes, I’m here, and I’ll travel any road with you, my love. Our adventure’s just beginning.

“Eurydice, I can’t hear your steps…”

Don’t look back.

Orpheus, don’t look back!

“Eury? Are you there? I can see the exit.”

I can see it too, Orphe! We’re so close!

“Eury, please let me know you’re back there…”

I’m here! Don’t look back! Keep going forward!

~*~*~

He would join her, one day. Later, much later, Orpheus would make his way back to Lord Hades’ Hall the conventional way. And his Lady Eurydice, having returned to the home she had worked to build in Elysium, was eager to finally welcome him.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you like this story, and reblog, if you like! Please don't repost, though, I worked very hard on this piece.

I'm submitting this and the next few pieces of creative writing I'm posting to my creative writing prof as part of my portfolio, but I thought it'd be a shame not to share the stories I was so proud of with anyone else. <3

[xxx-cat-xxx]

One in 14 000 605 futures translates to a 0.000007% success rate. That number is downright abysmal: it’s smaller than the birth rate of conjoined twins, the chance of being selected as a Rhodes Scholar, and the survival rate of named characters in Titus Andronicus.

So shut up and take your miracle. You don’t remember any different. You don’t remember in how many other futures he lived a long and happy life. Don’t remember in how many more his life was frazzled and short. The one where he drank it away and you had to drag him bodily to his own best friend’s funeral. Or where he sequestered himself away and built and built and built until Rogers pulled you aside and set you against him because he hadn’t yet constructed any defences against magic. Where he volunteered for a suicide run and you shoved a scalpel into his abdomen because he’d had seven years to grind you down. Where you told him the truth years too late for it to matter and watched that thing inside him hanging by a thread snap loose forever.

You save him over and over and over again because you can’t let him die. Not yet. You tell yourself you’re saving him for later but old habits die hard and later never comes. You took an oath when you were twenty-five and hide behind it every day. The truth is you are a selfish man, you can't bring yourself to watch him die.

This is how you fail the universe: you refuse to fail a friend.

Rec of the Day: Conversations at Yorick's Graveside by Diomedes

Author’s summary: Two days after the funeral Stephen starts hallucinating a dead man.

(aka when you thought you’ve read every mind-boggling, traumatising, gut-wrenching, beautiful fic about tony stark and then you stumble across a new author with 9 of those)

[audaciiaearchive]

“ Odysseus. ” Diomedes was in the middle of shedding his armor as the man passed by his tent. He flagged Odysseus down, approaching him while reaching inside the collar collar of his tunic under the armor. “ We saw one on our way back from the raid. It's not quite the same as what you would have in Ithaca. It was smaller and not as dark. But we got it. ” He pulled a string out and over his head. At the end of it hung something white and about a thumb's length long. A wild boar's tusk. Diomedes pressed it into his companion's hand. “ Never let things lie, right? ”

Odysseus will never complain about Diomedes wanting his attention, and really, he didn't have anything better to do, so he walks over to his companion with a grin, a curious look in his eyes. "Good to see you back in one piece, Diomedes...what's that?"

He blinks, looking down at the tusk when Diomedes' presses it into his hand. It gives him pause, then his grin only widens, and he laughs, clapping a hand on Diomedes' shoulder. "Oh, did you give it the ol' one two for me? I'm flattered." He holds the tusk up, examining it for a moment before he ties it around his neck. "Thank you, Diomedes. I will treasure it for as long as I live."

[indigo-greer-collins]

Alright, my brothers, listen closely

Tonight, we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay

Think of your wives and your children

Your families wonder where you've been

They're growing old and yet you're still here

Do what I say, and you'll see them again (yes, sir!)

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates

Through the gates to take the whole city at large

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And little Ajax will stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector (yes, sir!)

Find that inner strength now (whoo!)

Use that well of pride (whoo!)

Fight through every pain now (whoo!)

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for? What do you try for?

What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

(What do you live for? What do you try for?)

(What do you wish for? What do you fight for?)

Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for us

I fight for us

Penelope

(What do you try for?) Telemachus

(What do you wish for?) I'm on my way

(What do you fight for?) Attack!

Who was that?

A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be outrun

Can only be dealt with right here and now

Tell me how

I don't think you're ready

A mission to kill someone's son

A foe who won't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

Say no more

I know that I'm ready

(I don't think you're ready)

It's just an infant

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save

You can say goodbye to (Penelope)

You can say goodbye to (Penelope)

I could raise him as my own (he will burn your house and throne)

Or send him far away from home (he'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (the gods will make him know)

I'd rather bleed for ya (he's bringing you)

Down on my knees for ya

I'm begging please (oh, this is the will of the gods)

Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

These rp accounts are so cringy oml

Yall are grown adults, don’t you have bills to pay? job to go to?

.

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

My entry for Day 1: Music & Day 2: Deities of @patrochillesweek​ 2021! Where the Greeks in Troy celebrate Dionysus' festival, and Achilles and Patroclus spend some time alone (~4.5k words, rated E for smut, check Ao3 link for full list of tags)

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: With a Shuddering Gasp

The music from the lyres and cymbals drifted through the camp, mingling with the crackling of flames from the many bonfires that had been lit. The celebrations for Dionysus’ festival had been going on for most of the day and the night before, and the scent of incense and wine hung heavy in the air.

I had never before attended such a festival. It wasn’t celebrated this widely in Opus or Phthia, where I had grown up. The Dionysia was among the largest festivals in Athens, celebrated with days and nights filled with drink, dance and theatrical performances of all kinds. Here, in the Achaean’s camp, where people from the farthest reaches of Greece gathered, it had quickly become a tradition.

I had been in the healers’ tent for most of the day, and now the moon hung high over the dark sea. My fingers were red from scrubbing, my eyes were tired, and the pungent scent of astringent was thick in my nostrils. I was weary, but it was a pleasant sort of weariness. When I worked, my mind was free of thoughts, of worries. I focused only on the act of healing, on helping the wounded soldiers as best I could. A bloody skirmish earlier that day had filled the beds in the tent to bursting, yet no lives had been lost. Perhaps the Trojans had been as tired of bloodshed as the Greeks were on that chilly February afternoon.

“Your wound needs to be cleaned and dressed once a day,” I told the soldier I'd been tending to, securing the bandage around his arm. “And stay away from the thick of the fight, if you can help it. Sweat and dirt will only slow down the healing.”

He nodded and stood up, limping away. I brushed the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, letting out a soft sigh, just as Philomela, one of the healers’ assistants, approached me.

“It’s late, Patroclus,” she said. “You should join the celebrations, before they are over.”

I smiled at her. She was small in stature, with her wild curly hair bound in tight braids. She was one of Menelaus’ women, taken after an attack on one of the northern villages of Troy. She’d been brought to me one day with a cut on her thigh, her knees scraped, her eyes wide in panic and terror. I had been the first to treat her, and she had since regarded me with kindness and reserved affection. Menelaus was kind with his women, and he often let her join me while I worked, helping me, and I taught her what I knew.

“I don’t often join festivals like these,” I told her earnestly. “There's too much noise and commotion, and I am not a heavy drinker.”

“What about your prince?” she asked, her gaze darting away before settling on me again. “Achilles?”

The name was uttered quietly, almost apprehensively. It always stung, just a little, to know that the captives thought of Achilles with so much trepidation. His exploits had earned him something of a reputation, as I understood it: the Greeks revered him, while the Trojans feared the very mention of him. Philomela had visited our camp once or twice, and had seen that Achilles was quiet, almost gentle, when he wasn’t in his armour, yet a hint of disquiet was always there.

I shook my head, dipping my hands in the brass bowl that we used to clean ourselves. The water was cold and refreshing when I splashed it over my face and neck.

“Achilles does not much enjoy noisy gatherings like these either,” I said. “He... prefers being on his own these days.”

It had not always been so. Achilles relished the attention of others; he blossomed with it, and there was bound to be much of it if he joined in the celebration. His campaigns over the last couple of months had been met with overwhelming success, filling his men’s coffers with gold and riches and their camps with slaves. The leaders of the Achaeans would toast him and drink plenty of wine in his honour, the bards would sing of his achievements and his skill in battle until the early morning. Yet, boasting such as this was not always met with alacrity. There were many amongst the Danaans that envied Achilles the power of his station, and sneered at his reputation when they thought he was out of earshot.

Achilles was proud, and rarely paid attention to rumours and gossip. Yet, when he sometimes refused to grace Agamemnon’s lavish dinners with his presence, I could tell it was because the leader of the Greeks occasionally had trouble holding his tongue, especially after a few cups of wine. That was when the older man would gloat and boast, often blowing his own achievements out of proportion, in an effort to measure up to Achilles’ greatness, his promise of glory, the prophecy that had followed him since the moment of his birth, his reputation that only grew, day after day.

One does not need the blood of a goddess, he would say, his cheeks flushed from the drink, eyes gleaming, after recounting a story that was supposedly about a hero of old, if they have the favour of one. Would you not agree, Pelides?

Achilles pretended not to hear, not to know. He would smile at Agamemnon with all his teeth and toast him graciously, as Peleus had taught him, but he was still a man. He had learned to hide his true feelings from others, but I could still see how the whispers fuelled his frustration, how they turned him bitter, even when he insisted they did not.

Achilles was sharp and direct from nature; it troubled him when others were not. He wanted things to be simple and clear-cut, yet, here, they were anything but.

I sighed again, patting my hands dry on a linen towel. Philomela was by my side when we walked out of the tent, and into the festivities. The bonfires were burning high into the night, and from the lit braziers tendrils of incense smoke curled towards the stars. Soldiers and their women gathered around the heat, drinking and dancing to the rhythm of the music that the bands were tirelessly playing. Not a few were wearing animal furs, their faces darkened with soot, as was the custom.

No sooner had I walked out than someone grabbed me by the arm and thrust a cup of wine in my hands. I blinked up, startled, to see Diomedes grinning at me.

"Come," he said. "Drink. Celebrate with us."

I smiled politely and shook my head. "I really should be going back."

"What for?" Odysseus was quick to appear beside him, his usual easy smile ready on his lips. "You've been working all day. Everyone deserves a break, from time to time."

"That's right." Diomedes' wolfish grin got wider, his dark eyes sparkling. "All work and no play makes people dull, haven't you heard?"

Odysseus smiled encouragingly at me behind the rim of his own cup. "Have a drink with us. Just because he doesn't join us anymore doesn't mean you can't."

Of course he was referring to Achilles. It had not gone unnoticed that he had been avoiding gatherings such as these of late. I swallowed as I accepted the cup and reluctantly brought it to my lips. If my presence there could smooth those ruffled feathers, then a drink or two couldn't be that bad, could it?

The wine hit my tongue in a rush of heat, honey and spices. It warmed me as it glided down my throat, pushing the edges of my weariness away. I took another draught, letting its acidic sweetness jolt me awake.

My mild surprise must have been plain on my features, for Diomedes clapped me on the shoulder, chuckling knowingly. "That's it," he said, "that's a good lad. Now, drink up."

I didn't need further encouragement. The wine was unlike any I've ever tried; before long, I had drained my cup, and a servant had filled it to the brim again. The wild cadence of the drums and the flutes matched the beats of my heart, and I wasn't even thinking about my tired and aching limbs when Menelaus' arm wound around my shoulders, pulling me towards the writhing, undulating crowd.

In the smoke of the fires, in the heat of so many bodies moving close together, I forgot about my troubles, my worries. The edges of consciousness blurred, a mist that curled around me, rendering me indefinable. I closed my eyes and simply moved to the rhythm, blending into the crowd like a single petal amongst countless falling cherry blossoms, swirling with the wind.

In the depth of that mist, in the midst of that insubstantial territory, I saw him.

Achilles.

I saw him as he was once, years before, far away from the fires and blood of the war, from the intrigue, the whispers, the jealousy. I saw him running down the beach in Phthia, the pink undersides of his feet flickering. I saw the rich honey brown strands that hid in the depths of his golden hair, the wind that combed through them and brought them before his eyes when he turned to look at me. I saw him swimming in the stream in Pelion, the water running down his limbs in laze swirls.

I could see him clearly in my mind's eye, as if he were there. I could see him laughing, singing, playing his lyre in the pale light of morning, golden and vibrant and carefree. And in him, I saw myself.

I opened my eyes as the beat of the music reached a wild crescendo, as the people cheered and sang at the top of their lungs. Cups were raised high up in the air, wine swirling, overflowing, spilling from its confines and mixing with the brown dirt underfoot. Menelaus was dancing with one of his women — Aristea, his favourite, the fabric of her colourful dress tangling at her ankles as he swirled her about. Her laughter was drowned out by the noise, fading away.

I took a deep breath to center my focus, and stepped back, away from the crowd. My heart was still beating fast, and the music was hypnotic, but I knew I had to return to my own camp before it got too late.

Odysseus and Diomedes were caught in the festivities as well, so no one noticed me slipping away. Only Philomela's eyes caught mine amidst the sea of bobbing heads, and pushed her way towards me. She was holding a bowl filled with the sweets that the slaves had made earlier that day for the festival, dried fruits stuffed with nuts and drenched with syrup.

"For you," she said, smiling warmly at me, "and your prince."

~

The music and noisy chatter from the festival had dulled to a hazy, distant thrum by the time I made my way back to our camp. I was still feeling lightheaded from the drink, breathless from dancing and weaving through the endless rows of tents and throngs of inebriated, laughing soldiers. My brow was damp with sweat despite the chilly night, and my pulse still thumped in my throat in a strange sort of anticipation, a restless hunger. I clutched the bowl close to my chest, and hurried on.

The soft, plaintive sounds of Achilles’ lyre reached me as soon as I caught sight of the Phthian banners, fluttering in the breeze at the edges of our encampment.

Achilles was sitting on a bench, my mother’s golden lyre nestled in his lap. His fingers ran over the strings languidly, plucking notes that were brighter than water from a babbling stream, sweeter than honey. In the fire’s trembling halo, he seemed ethereal, very nearly transparent, yet at the same time more vibrant than I had ever seen him, dispelling the darkness of the night beyond. His hair caught the amber light on the flames and reflected it in aureate strands, his skin shimmered like polished gold, the muscles of his arms rose and fell underneath it like waves with every movement.

Beautiful, my mind supplied, as it always did when I looked at him. I had been gazing upon him since I was a child; it still was not enough for me to get used to him, to the effortless grace of his presence, the perfect symmetry of his eyes, his lips. The festivities that had been raging for a day and a night may have well been for Dionysus, yet it was Achilles, right there before me, who looked like a god, one for whom people gathered on wintry nights like this, to drink and dance and fornicate in his honour.

Would people remember him with kindness, I wondered, many years from now?

His jade green eyes snapped up to mine, and the familiar heat rushed through me, brushing away my swirling, distracted thoughts.

He set the lyre beside him and stood up. “You stayed with the healers until late tonight,” he said.

“I did,” I replied simply, standing at the edge of the fire. The bowl with the sweets was still cradled in my chest. Achilles glanced at it curiously, then at me.

“Is there something amiss?” he asked.

Of course he could tell I was different, just by looking at me, without me having to say anything. He always understood so much more about me than he let on.

“I just like looking at you.”

Achilles tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in question, a tiny fox’s smile curling the edges of his lips. He stood up and paced towards me unhurriedly, his footsteps barely audible on the soft earth.

My pulse raced ever so slightly when his finger brushed carefully under my eye. “You’re flushed,” he said.

“I had some wine. At the festival.”

“Ah.” His finger travelled higher, tracing my cheekbone. “Your pupils are larger than usual. What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I smiled. “It’s so I can see you better.”

Achilles huffed a quiet laugh at that, his features softened by pleasure. He always liked it when I gazed at him, praised him. The sound of his laughter slithered down my spine like warmed honey.

I do not know what possessed me then. Perhaps it was the drink, or the moon that hung high above us like a silver coin, or the way the firelight danced in his eyes and caressed the side of his face, but I had to be alone with him.

I took his hand in mine, walking backwards towards our tent. I could not look away, nor did I want to.

“One of Menelaus’ women gave me these sweets,” I told him. “They’re for you.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, amused. He caught on the game I was playing instantly, by reflex. “Then I’ll be sure to try them.”

We stepped in the tent together, the leather flap closing soundlessly behind us. I set the bowl on the low table that stood in the center of the place that we had come to call home, ever since we’d come to Troy.

We stood opposite each other across the table, facing each other, our breaths the only sounds. I swallowed; I did not know why I was feeling so restless all of a sudden, like it was the first time we had found ourselves alone.

“Take your pick,” I said, gesturing at the bowl.

Achilles quirked a fair brow as he glanced down at them, like a lord perusing a lowly merchant’s stall. “I will not choose at random,” he replied in an artfully haughty tone. “You must choose for me. You are my therapon; I know you will choose well.” He was in a playful mood, smiling at me like a mischievous boy; I loved it when he got like this. I didn’t often get to see him like that anymore.

I picked up one of the sweets and brought it to my lips. My teeth sank in the supple flesh of a dried fig, the walnuts within it softened from the syrup. I chewed slowly, my eyes never leaving him.

“How is it?” he asked. “Is it good?”

I shook my head. “Not good enough for you, my prince.”

Achilles bit back a grin, eyes shining. “Go on, then. Try another.”

And so I did. I picked up the syrupy fruits slowly, one after another, watching him. Every time Achilles asked me how it was, I answered in the same fashion: “Not good enough for you, my prince.”

I tried one of every sweet in the bowl, until my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth with the sweetness. When I had finished my thorough examination, Achilles crossed his arms leisurely before his chest.

“So, what is your verdict?” he asked, smirking. “Which one amongst them is the sweetest for me?”

I licked my lips, sticky with honey and spices, as my heartbeat soared. I reached into the bowl and dipped two fingers in the syrup, then slowly, holding Achilles’ gaze, I lifted them to my neck, dragging them across my skin.

“I am, my prince.”

Achilles’ eyes flashed in the half dark. There was something feral about the way his gaze honed in on me; a hunter’s gleam. He circled the table, closing the distance between us in two well-measured strides. I could smell the sweet scent of his sweat as he leaned in close, and a deeper, muskier one; the smell of his arousal. I bit the inside of my lip as his arm wound around my waist, pulling me until I was flush against him.

“Then I shall have you,” he whispered in my ear.

I shivered when his tongue brushed the side of my neck, warm and slick, velvet smooth. My head tipped backwards and I clung to him, holding him tight against me. His skin was hot to the touch underneath the fabric of his chiton, hotter than my own. Achilles’ mouth traced the hollow of my throat, the line of my jaw, the curve of my chin, before brushing over my own.

“I believe,” he hummed, his tongue flicking over my bottom lip, “this, here, is the sweetest yet.” His hands were on the base of my spine, drawing me in, and I was helpless in his hold. “You chose well.”

A soft moan escaped me, my fingers sinking into Achilles’ fragrant strands while he kissed me until my breath was all but gone from me. I followed the line of his neck, his shoulder, undoing the golden clasps that held his chiton in place. I could feel the weight of his waking interest pressing up against my thigh, and I suddenly couldn’t bear the feeling of clothes between us, or anything else; it had to be just us.

I pushed the fabric down, caressing and kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. I looked up at him when I had sunk down on my knees before him, bare as he was, his form illuminated by the shifting light of the brazier. My pulse hummed in my ears as I let my gaze follow the muscled planes of his chest and stomach, the definition in his arms, the strength of his powerful legs. He was watching me, too, through eyelashes that gleamed like threads of gold.

“My sweet Patroclus,” he whispered, thumb brushing over my lips, and in his gaze that familiar fondness lingered, unchanged through the many years I’d known him.

This. This was how I liked him best. When he was naked before me, body and heart, looking at me like this, touching me like this. This was when I knew he was mine, and mine alone; the world could not take this from me. From us.

I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around him, taking him in my mouth. Achilles shivered underneath me, his lips falling open on a quiet moan. His emerald eyes were dark with wanting, bottomless, when he reached down and threaded his long fingers through my hair. I was caught, pinned under that gaze, magnetised.

“Achilles,” I breathed, kissing the smooth skin of his navel as I stroked him, breathing in the musk of his sweat, the scent that rose from him: sandalwood, pomegranate, almonds and earth.

His hold on the back of my head tightened. He pulled me up gently and nudged me towards our bed, and I followed, half stumbling over my own toes.  

My back sank into the furs as Achilles climbed over me, hovering above me. His smile was half-obscured by the trembling shadows, framed by the curtain of golden hair that fell around his face. The scent of the oil he used wafted in the air when he opened the vial that lay beside our bed.

“There’s more I haven’t tried,” he said.

“Is there?” I whispered. I spread my thighs wider apart, sighing when I felt the pressure of his fingers between my legs.

“Yes.” He kissed and nipped his way down, glancing up at me mischievously every time his fingers and tongue drew more shivers from me. His breath was hot over me when he said, “I have saved the best for last.”

I laughed, but the edges of my laughter broke on a strained sob of pleasure. I could feel him everywhere, his hands wandering all over me, the heat of his mouth swallowing me whole. I closed my eyes and surrendered to him, to this blissful, blessed torture. I was helplessly drawn to him, in his hands a mere plaything. Like the lyre he played, I was but an instrument, his touches drawing sounds from me that were meant for his ears alone.

When my heart had been filled to bursting, just when I thought that I would unravel in his hands, he pulled back, climbing back up the length of me again. His cheeks were flushed and so were his lips, his length hard against my skin where it touched me.

I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, heart beating wildly in my chest. “Is there more you’d like to try?” I asked in a teasing whisper. “Or have you had enough?”

“Enough?” His laughter was husky, a tad breathless. He kissed me deeply, reaching for the oil once more. “I’ll never have enough, philtatos.”

I gasped softly when he pressed against me, opening me up. My arms and legs wound around him, as if by rote, clutching him hard, pulling him to me. We were flush against each other, our bodies locking perfectly like two pieces of a whole. There was no one else but him in the world; there was no room for anything else. Just my skin touching his skin, the smell of his hair and the sweetness of his mouth, his quiet sighs in the half dark, and this hunger: these endless wells of aching want that existed between us, this fire that burned eternal.

We moved and breathed in unison, the edges between us blurring once more, our bodies melting into one. I closed my eyes and lost myself in that heat, that pressure, the pleasure that built and built, yet it was still him that I saw behind my eyelids. Even when my gaze turned inward and I drifted, swimming in the deepest recesses of my mind, I could always find him there, waiting for me, his image crisp as if he were right before me. He was a part of me, as I was of him; there was no me without him.

Achilles buried his face in the crook of my neck as he thrust deeper, harder, more urgently. His brow was damp with sweat now, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh where he held me fast. I was pinned underneath him, legs spread open at either side of his powerful hips, my hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back. Muscles that I knew better than my own, lines and angles that I could trace in the dark, with my eyes closed.

“Patroclus,” Achilles said in a shuddering gasp against my throat as his thrusts got faster, more erratic. “Patroclus—”

Achilles often got impatient, chasing his finish like a lion locked on to a deer, yet I didn’t want this to end just yet. I didn’t want to lose this warm, melding feeling. I hugged him tightly and pushed him to the side, flipping us both around.

I pinned his wrists above his head and held his gaze as I rolled my hips slowly, sinking down on him.

Achilles looked up at me, flushed and panting, his skin glistening, his hair spread in lazy golden swirls about his head. I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his.

“The fastest of the Greeks,” I hummed, “in all things, it seems.”

Achilles laughed, the sound vibrating through me where we were connected. “A champion in all things, you mean.” He grinned wickedly, yet it wasn’t long before his laughter turned into breathless, shaky moans again, his length stiffening within me. My name poured forth from his mouth with every breath, over and over, kissing it onto my lips, whispering it over my flushed and warmed up skin.

Achilles had never told me that he loved me, and I had never told him. It was always understood between us, a truth as natural as breathing, buried deep beneath our skin and woven in our bones. Yet when he said my name like this — Patroclus, Pa-tro-clus — repeated it like a chant, like it was holy, I knew well what he meant.

And so did he.

“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, threading my fingers through his. “Achilles,” I gasped when he bucked, arching underneath me. “Achilles,” I breathed, when I felt the warmth of his pleasure blossoming inside me, when he melted in my arms, when his eyelids fell over his eyes like the petals of a nightflower at dusk.

We lay like this for a long while, arms and legs tangled atop the furs. I held him tight, long after our breaths had eased and our heartbeats had found their natural rhythm. The music and voices from the festival drifted through the leather walls of our tent, mingled with the trill of the crickets, the hoot of distant night birds hidden in the trees. Though I knew where we were, what lay beyond the safe haven of our small home; though the weight of a long day of healing death was quick to return to my limbs, it did not quite stir the peace between us. I had him, like this, soft and pure and unblemished like the first time I’d seen him, the first time I’d kissed him, the first time I’d laid with him. No one could take this from me. From us.  

“Patroclus,” Achilles sighed sleepily, nuzzling into the hollow of my throat, arms coming around me to hold me close.

Yes, I thought. I knew well what he meant, when he said my name like this.

“Achilles,” I whispered in return, and closed my eyes.

~

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) If you enjoyed this one-shot, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have a great day! <3

[godsofhumanity]

BOOK VIII | HOMER'S ILIAD | LITERATURE REVIEW

SUMMARY: Zeus declares that none of the gods are allowed to participate further in determining the fate of the war. He goes down to watch the war unfold, and holds up his golden scales to decide which side is favoured best- and the scales tip in favour of the Trojans. Hector leads a mighty slaughter of the Achaeans, and none are able to challenge Hector. Hera and Athena attempt to defy Zeus, but are foiled when Zeus' anger scares them into returning to Olympus. Nightfall returns, and the soldiers go back to their respective camps.

previous book / all books / next book

another short analysis today!

Book VIII opens with Zeus telling the rest of the gods that they're not allowed to intervene in the war anymore,, much to Athena and Hera's despair.

many of the Olympians have important roles in the Iliad- Athena and Hera are patrons of the Achaeans, and do their best to support them,,, Aphrodite and Apollo take the side of the Trojans, inspiring their spirit, while Apollo himself often directly diverts any arrows away from Hector's skin,,, Ares, as the god of war, doesn't tend to take any particular sides unless one of the other gods appeal to him, but for the most part, he's fairly neutral.

Zeus, however, is an interesting god to me-- it's evident that whichever side is supported by Zeus will no doubt pull through and win the war,, him being the strongest god, and with authority to rule over the other gods... yet, though Zeus has many sons and daughters in the midst of the chaos, he is unable to show favouritism exclusively to any particular side..

i think this "neutrality" of Zeus links with his role as a god of justice... in Book VIII, the imagery of Zeus with his golden scales is a very prominent motif.

unfortunately for the Achaeans, Zeus' scales tip in favour of the Trojans- their side of the scale is lifted upwards to heaven, signifying that fate is with the Trojans. as such, Zeus uses his fierce lightning to pull the Achaeans back, and allow the Trojans to make havoc.

yet, Zeus still acts somewhat impartially- those who pray to him have their prayers answered, regardless of which side of the war they're on, as evidenced with Agamemnon who reminds Zeus of his previous sacrifices, and wins Zeus' pity thus sparing the lives of the Achaeans:

"'... Father Zeus, did you ever so ruin a great king... Yet, when to my sorry I was coming hither, I never let my ship pass your altars without offering the fat and thighbones of heifers... Vouchsafe me then this prayer- suffer us to escape at any rate with our lives, and let not the Achaeans be so utterly vanquished by the Trojans.' Thus did [Agamemnon] pray, and father Zeus pitying his tears vouchsafed him that his people should live, not die."

the power of 3 returns again in Book VIII when Zeus sends his lightning 3 times to ward off Diomedes:

"[Diomedes] was in two minds whether or no to turn his horses round again and fight [Hector]. Thrice did he doubt, and thrice did Zeus thunder from the heights of Ida in token to the Trojans that he would turn the battle in their favour."

the repetition three times has significance- 3 times did Diomedes attempt to fight Apollo in Book V, and 3 gods did Diomedes attack (Aphrodite, Apollo, and Ares)... and now here again, 3 times is Diomedes doubting himself, and 3 times is Zeus announcing his favour to the Trojans.

the last thing i want to talk about in this book is the motif of the dog- Hector is described on two occasions in Book VIII as a dog:

"And Teucer answered: '... I have shot eight barbed shafts, and all of them have been buried in the flesh of warlike youths, but this mad dog [Hector] I cannot hit.'"

"As a hound grips a wild boar or lion in flank or buttock when he gives him chase, and watches warily for his wheeling, even so did Hector follow close upon the Achaeans, ever killing the hindmost as they rushed panic-stricken onwards."

in the first instance, the comparison to a "mad dog" is meant to be derogatory; an insult to Hector implying that his mindless rage has led to his movements on the field being unpredictable, and impossible to target, like a mad dog running wild.

but in the second instance, this comparison is twisted around into a compliment- here, Hector's likeness to a dog is a good thing, for dogs represent loyalty and courage, qualities which Hector exhibits when he fights for Troy and its people.

even more so, the comparison of Hector to a hound specifically exemplifies his fighting prowess as hounds are particularly associated with hunting.

the book ends with the Trojans celebrating a well-earned rest in their city... however, the scene that Homer describes in the book's concluding paragraph is more ominous than joyful:

"They then offered unblemished hecatombs to the immortals, and the wind carried the sweet savor of sacrifice to heaven- but the blessed gods partook not thereof, for they bitterly hated Ilium with Priam and Priam's people... As when the stars shine clear, and the moon is bright- there is not a breath of air, not a peak nor a glade nor jutting headland but it stands out in the ineffable radiance that breaks from the serene of heaven; the stars can all of them be told and the heart of the shepherd is glad- even thus shone the watchfires of the Trojans... A thousand campfires gleamed upon the plain, and in the glow of each there sat fifty men, while the horses, champing oats and corn beside their chariots, waited till dawn should come."

the scene painted here is a calm one- the minimal use of plosive sounds, and the use of softer sounds like "stars shine", "serene of heaven" helps create the image of a very gentle and mild atmosphere. as the Trojans rest, so does the environment..

however, the silence in the image is eerie- Homer describes the sound of the horses eating, but there is "not a breath of air" or any other real sounds... the exclusion of a description of the men chattering away or even laughing and having a good time is foreboding.

the last line describes the camp waiting for dawn to come, and the eeriness of the scene description implies that when dawn comes, some sort of doom will arrive as well. this sense of foreshadowing is further emphasised by the description of "the blessed gods... bitterly hated Ilium". now, when the scene is described as only the "serenity of heaven" radiating down on the camp, it gives the audience a sense that heaven is watching over the Trojans.. and it may not necessarily be a good thing, considering that some of the gods are displeased with Troy.

my last note that i wanted to share was this little line, my favourite in Book VIII, about Priam's son Gorgythion dying:

"Nevertheless [Teucer] missed [Hector], and the arrow hit Priam's brave son Gorgythion in the breast. His mother, fair Castianeira, lovely as a goddess, had been married from Aesyme, and now he bowed his head as a garden poppy in full bloom when it is weighed down by showers in spring- even thus heavily bowed his head beneath the weight of his helmet."

how sad is that? i cried T-T

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 2]

part 2 of my 2020 fic recs!! as before, ive limited this to five fics per month; and fics are ordered by the month they were published. This spans fandoms and ships, and hopefully you find something you like!! credit for the idea goes to @iam93percentstardust

***

July

this is the start: @capnwinghead

Clark and Bruce continue raising the Wayne children and encounter a number of challenges along the way.

great minds (love alike): @starklysteve

Steve’s eyes flicks down to Tony’s knees on the floor.

“Are you – are you proposing to me with my ring for you?” Steve asks incredulously, eyes wide and confused.

---

Or, Steve finds Tony’s ring for him, Tony finds Steve’s ring for him. Panic happens.

Marvels Unsolved: @iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty web-series about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

it’s a small world after all: @maguna-stxrk

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop.

They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away.

you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins: @nethandrake

Tony always figured that if they ever were to break up, it would be like a blaze. Scorching and hot and all-too blinding. Intense like the two of them have always been.

Instead, they break up on a Tuesday, with the rain pelting the windowpane and the midnight silence stifling.

August

Five Times Danny said he’d marry Steve (plus one): @five-wow

Danny humphs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I think I’d probably have married you by now.”

“I’d marry you, too,” Steve says.

Or: An experiment in how many times you can say something before you have to put your money where your mouth is.

Family (You’ve Always Had It): @/SunnyQueen

A black Camaro and a scowling blond was not what Junior had been expecting.

“Hi, sir. You didn’t have to pick me up.”

The blond looked up from the screen on his phone and groaned, completely ignoring Junior's statement. “You are right, I didn't have to."

Ode To Yoga Pants: @riotfalling

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Through The Years: @hawkbucks

Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

The broken road that led me home to you: @just-fandomthings

A documented list of conversations between Steve and Danny via text and phone call following the events of 10x22 "Aloha." (Where, even thousands of miles apart, Steve and Danny can't go without talking to each other.)

September

someday, we’ll pass it on to you: @starklysteve

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

---------------

Or, five times Peter did the repulsor pose as a toddler

+ one time he used the repulsors as an adult

Classic Sci Fi: @notdoingsohot

Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.

He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.

He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.

They were right.

Blooms in Frost: @/Diomedes

Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years.

Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Hanahaki AU: Established relationship

------------------------------------------

A Single Thread of Gold: @lovelyirony

Rhodey doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that cheesy shit. He just wants someone who is nice, dependable, and safe.

Tony Stark is Housing Service's little problem for the school year, and now he's stuck in Rhodey's room because he's exploded the last two dorm rooms he's been in and won't live off-campus.

high roller, place your bet: @machi-kun

“Would you kiss Stark for a hundred bucks?”

“I would pay a hundred bucks to kiss him.”

October

press my luck: @omg-just-peachy

But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.

Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.

see it with the lights out: @starklysteve

Tony goes on a business trip, and he does not - not at all - get jealous of Dodger hogging his husband's chest, a territory otherwise known as Tony's pillow.

(or, Steve goes on an Instagram spree and Tony misses home)

adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane: @starkslovemail

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

The Buy In: @dracusfyre

For the ImagineTonyandBucky prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

November

“Hey Tony”: @riotfalling

Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

Remembering You is Hard to Do: @lovelyirony

“The future’s crazy, honey-bear.”

Jim looks up.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Honey-bear. It’s weird.”

“Inside joke we have,” Tony says, chest tightening. “We thought those couples that have the lovey-dovey nicknames were ridiculous.”

overheard your heartbeat (calling me yours): @starklysteve

"Tony - "

"I wish I could promise to come home this time," he feels the armor crawl back down his arm, continuing unnoticed over Steve's red gloves, then up the blue uniform as Tony fights to keep Steve's gaze firmly fixed on him.

The last eyes Tony might get to see, and he wants to be lost in them.

In the end, his entire life boils down a few simple things: "JARVIS, take care of him for me."

----------

Or, Tony overhears a phonecall where Steve proposes, a battle happens, and a paper ring settles some misunderstandings.

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.: @nethandrake

For as long as Steve can remember, he's been crushing on Tony Stark. The thing is, he's pretty sure Tony doesn't know Steve exists. And how could he? Steve's scrawny and little. He's a nobody compared to Tony who's Mr Popular and the son of a billionaire.

Or at least he thought so until Tony swings by the bakery Steve's mother happens to own to enlist Steve's help in finding the perfect Valentine's Day card.

The perfect Valentine's Day card for someone who isn't Steve.

One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing): @iam93percentstardust

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

December

Swiping Right: @s-horne

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

set your flight path home (to me): @starklysteve 

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”

“Last night,” Tony grins.

---------------

Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.

I Want A Man With A Slow Hand: @thefourofswords

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked on their way to a crime scene, because no time like the present, and Danny believed in ripping off band-aids.

“Why not?” Steve replied, eyes on the road. “You’re gonna even if I say no.”

“What do you like in bed?”

*

Danny undertakes a very important mission to get Steve laid. For his health. Ahem.

same time next year: @omg-just-peachy

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile): @starklysteve

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

[audaciiaearchive]

"Because I wanted to live, Ajax! Even with Athena at my side, tomorrow was never promised to me. I didn't have prophecies to assure me of my survival or to warn me of my death. I wanted to live. I am..a decent fighter, but I am not you or Achilles or Diomedes. I am better at fighting with my words than with a sword. I always have been. I thought that Achilles' armor would give me a fighting chance to go home. It still doesn't make it right, but that is why. And that is the truth."

Odysseus almost looks deflated as he says all of this. Where is the man he was twenty years ago now? None of that famed charm, or wit, or mischief is with him now. He just looks weathered, downtrodden, a man who's been beaten down until there's scarcely anything left. Any other man may have accepted their fate that they may not see home ever again, but not Odysseus. It's the one thing keeping him going: that he vows to see Ithaka before he dies, that he will see Penelope and Telemachus again, even if it's the last thing he does.

At Ajax's words, he sighs and lets out a little laugh, even if it seems forced. "Well, you wouldn't be wrong. I suppose I am those things..and there are plenty of men better than I. You're one of them. I know you still would've protected me, and I don't--I don't know what to say. I hurt you, betrayed you, made you look like a fool. There's nothing I can do to change it now, but I should've never done it in the first place. You were always good to me, a great friend and ally, and all I did in return was hurt you."

“ If you didn't even want to be there then why did you have to take it?! ” AJAX felt the anger well up in him again, like a river without a dam in the down-pouring of rain. “ Why must you fight with m – ”

He stopped, halting in his own track at the sight of Odysseus wiping the tears out of his eyes. — Was he ... crying? The anger drained out of Ajax before he knew it. He stopped his feet again from going toward the broken king.

“ Don't – ... Cease that. What if your men can see you? ” Ajax grumbled, looking around as if there may be shades or living men spying on them in the mist. He rolled his shoulders, straightening his back as if he could shake off both the tension and discomfort.

“ For the record, I did mean what I said. You were a coward and a cheat. Greater men should be wary to turn their backs to you. ” He wished his words would be vehement, cutting like poison daggers, so Odysseus may feel the pain that he did. But he was already softened. He looked at Odysseus and his shield arm twitched.

“ ... But I would've protected you still. Every time. ”