#Like I imagine Achilles asking him “How is the love of my life?”

[veggiesandwichpana]

#Like I imagine Achilles asking him “How is the love of my life?” #And Patroclus just goes “I don’t know I haven’t seen Deidamia recently” #I actually imagine Deidamia and Achilles to be friends#and I know some people like the Ship of Achilles and #but guys #realistically how many romantic teen relationships last into adulthood? #realistically

I have the headcanon that Achilles and Deidamia didn't love each other

They were simply horny teenagers with not enough parental supervision

Like I imagine, both Achilles and Deidamia being like 16 and saying "She's the love of my life, I want to marry her!!!" And "But Dad I love him!"

And then later when they're both 20, they cringe at the memory and realize that no, they were just teens and very horny

Bonus points if Patroclus makes fun of him for that lol

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.��

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[deadbaguette]

I don't want to be repetitive but I love how you make the characters so tender and loving,,, so here's a weird request, do you have any scars hc? I mean, do (insert character) hide them? Or let their lover kiss and caress them? Oh, which characters I mean you say? Your pick, have fun!

It’s not repetitive at all 🥹 I love LOVE LOVE it when people describe my art as tender and loving because that’s absolutely my favourite thing to draw. But omggg scar headcannons … you just spoke to a specific part of my brain bcs I love thinking about scars, beauty marks, etc. I don’t have the time to make a fully fleshed out scar map, BUT alongside a small doodle for the character I have a definitive scar map for (Diomedes) I can share all the scars I hc and how they’re treated :D AUUGSGDH thank you for giving me the excuse to do this I always have so answering your asks <3

Scar hcs:

Firstly I think the only character I have a set in stone scar hc for is Diomedes! I draw him more often than I would like to admit, so the ones on his face are: one across his left eyebrow, one by his lip/mouth, one across the nose, one on the right cheek, one on the shoulder, one on the foot. He is the most scarred character I draw, and this is largely due to the fact that I hc him (it’s probably also to an extent canon) as reckless in battle. He’s not a pristine clean warrior, he’s all too familiar with blood and war. He carries the reckless scars he gained in Thebes with the other Epogoni throughout his adulthood, and for so long they served as a reminder of where he came from. Death and violence that’s haunted him throughout his entire life, and these scars are symbols of that. So, what’s a few more to gain in Troy? It’s not like it’ll make him look any less battle scarred if he gains a few more. He hasn’t had a good reason to care about his life until now, scars not only remind him of that but also make him feel like he can’t change it. But… I like to imagine the people that care for him (whether this be Odysseus, Sthenelus, or in an AU Penelope) treat them with such delicacy and care that it almost creates an entire other association for them. Sthenelus gently tending to a wound that will surely scar, so that when it does heal it no longer carries the association of a mistake in battle but instead a tender moment shared between them and them only. Odysseus and Penelope kissing the scars on Diomedes’ face is their favourite pasttime, because if he won’t love them (he feels indifferent to them), they absolutely will. A tender kiss to the cheek, a gentle kiss to just above his eye, a quick peck against the side of his mouth, a loving press against his nose that they would have to tiptoe to reach. Diomedes never felt any love, hatred, or feelings in general towards his scars. He never made any more to hide them, he wore what was convenient. If his new scars weren’t covered by the clothes he would wear, so be it. But in a way he’s grown to love them, or at least the memories and feelings they hold.

Will be more hcs below the cut!

Achilles is very unscarred. Like the only scar on his body by the time he was dead was the one on his heel. Patroclus is also relatively unscarred, but he has a few. There is one on his hand that Achilles loves to kiss, but like in a very specific way. I hc Patroclus to almost always the one to initiate the physical contact, and he tends to cradle Achilles’ face with his hand (literally one of my fav form of physical touch) and Achilles always leans into it and kisses the scar on his hand. Patroclus never really liked his scars, so he tends to cover them up. But I think I believe Achilles loved wholeheartedly every part of Patroclus and movements he’s spent with him and vice versa. Every scar he’s gained will have a story to tell, so even if Patroclus doesn’t show it to others, there is a story that Achilles will hear. It would be something as dramatic as gaining it in battle or something as small as “you got this when you fell from a tree? I love it.” They’re as much friends as they are lovers, and they actively choose to continue to be in each other’s lives. If this means sitting together recounting the tales of how Patroclus nicked himself carving wood a few years ago and scarred, so be it.

Hector… I need to talk about this one!!! So normal and sane about him. He’s undoubtedly scarred, what with him fighting at the front but he’s no Achilles. Hector hides his scars but not because he’s ashamed of them, it’s quite the contrary because he in a strange way enjoys looking at them, but rather that he knows it causes his family worry. Hector loves his family so much, and he sees the worry and sadness in their eyes when he comes back with new scars to Andromache. How she’ll stare at them like it’s another piece of him lost, and it won’t be long until he is wholly gone too. He hides them so she can focus on the him that’s there now, and comforts her saying that he will come back to her. When Kassandra looks at the new scars on his chest and she can’t help but sigh. She told him to be more careful, but truly in the end they’re both fighting a fruitless fight against the fates. Kassandra knows this, and she keeps count of how many her brother has until he gains his last lethal one. He’s hiding them so as to not cause his sister distress. She knows he will never believe her if she tells him what will happen to him, but she cannot help but mourn for the living man.

Agamemnon has quite a few scars. He’s the lord of men, the shepard of the people, and wealthy beyond what he needs. The scars don’t mean much to him, and if anything they’re even more a testament to his power. He’s no Achilles who can come out of battle unscarred, but perhaps that’s the difference in what makes him the leader of the Achaeans. The scars he bears are a symbol of his humanity and but don’t take away from his power and image. He SURVIVED these scars. But deep down? I do think it’s a little more complicated than this. I don’t think I’ve discussed Agamemnon that much, but I do find his character really interesting. His family name is uhh tarnished to say the least, but throughout all of it he’s had his brother with him. Agamemnon cares a lot about Menelaus, he goes to war for him, he sacrifices his daughter for him, and they endure 10 years of war together. Agamemnon maybe doesn’t care about his own, but he remembers every scar Menelaus has. Like that one scene in book 3 yk where he just starts doing all the dramatics of MENELAUS I WILL AVENGE YOU MY DEAR BROTHER and Menelaus is just sitting there… ever so slightly wounded… being like brother it’s fine and Agamemnon still goes like MACHAON DROP EVERYTHING AND TEND TO HIS WOUND IMMEDIATELY I WILL SLAUGHTER THESE DISHONOURABLE TROJANS FOR DARING TO LOOK IN YOUR DIRECTION MENELAUS. It’s just kinda silly and sweet how much he cares about his little brother. Ever scrape Menelaus got growing up I imagine it was Agamemnon tending to it, and remembers them all to prevent him getting hurt further. As an older brother, he made it his sworn duty to make sure Menelaus grew up strong and out of harms way.

[burnin0akleaves]

Here's the draw six fanarts meme I decided to participate in 4 years late

In true burnin0akleaves spirit I didn't ask anyone for requests and just went ahead with all of the characters that have been the most impactful/important to me, so there is a high chance you've seen me draw these guys before.

By the way, unlike the rest of the blorbos here Siyra is an original character and belongs to @nineteen-rats!

Close-ups and rambles under the cut because it's my blog

Ohh the Dark Urge. My latest obsession. I love his design so much, I'm a slut for white/red color schemes, but I feel like it's a double edged sword that takes you out of the horrors he's commiting at the same time?

Durge is supposed to be murder incarnate, someone that does every fucked up thing related to death imaginable; but when you see a giant lizard eating babies or humping corpses, it dulls the effect a bit since you automatically view it as an animalistic act. Dragonborns are obviously a fully sentient humanoid race in-universe; but when the violence you're seeing is already toeing the line between horrifying and hilarious, seeing a scalie doing it just pushes it over the line. I still think it works really well most of the time and I'm very glad that this is the default durge we get! It's just funny to me that when you choose to play as the giant lizard, the dark and disgusting horror story turns into the hilariously edgy bloodfest.

Reminding everyone again that Siyra belongs to @nineteen-rats! I love this man so so so much. I am the Siyra fandom. I am the number one Siyra fanartist. He did nothing wrong and I will defend his every decision. I also hope terrible horrors befall him and that his actions keep him awake for the rest of his life. Pookie bear xoxo

COMING IN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR IT'S WILL TREATY

He is on my mind, always. I don't talk about him as much but he's probably still the fictional character who had the most impact on me as a person.

PATROCLUS! PATROCLUS!!! SIR I'M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN!!

I got into patrochilles and the Illiad in general thanks to "The Song of Achilles". It was one of the first queer books I got to have in real life and the prose captivated me instantly, I still have it on my shelf. After reading the Illiad itself however, I hate that book so much. I'm sorry it's genuinely beautiful and I get why people like it but I can never forgive that horrible Patroclus characterization after seeing what he was originally like. Achilles too for that matter.

Hades swooped me up into its arms like I was a sick baby bird and nursed me back to health with its portrayal of the two though and for that I am forever grateful. I can't wait for Hades 2, death to Chronos.

God Half-Life is such an important series for me. My dad would let me play through a few levels since I was a child, he grew up with the games, but I REALLY played through the entire series one summer shortly before dad moved out. He was there watching me play most of it and getting to enjoy someone actually translate the game's dialogue for him for the first time.

Gordon may not speak once but I like the hints of his personality we get throughout the games, most importantly from the way Alyx talks to/about him. I have my own characterization of him obviously but I do really think you can get a good understanding of the kind of man he is meant to be in-universe just by paying attention to his surroundings. Also another reason the games were so immersive for me is that I'm just as in love with Alyx as Gordon is. I must have let her get hit only once or twice the entire time just out of how protective I was over her. I'd topple the entire Combine empire just for her hand in marriage. I rewatched the ending of Half Life Alyx recently and cried.

I read the entirety of LOTR in one week in 11th grade, carrying that damn brick of a book everyday to school and back. I'm so glad I did honestly. Frodo and Sam are my important little guys and I find myself going back to them when I need something to calm me down in a way no other series except LOTR can. I've read most of Tolkien's work at this point, but nothing captivated me like those two little hobbits. Everytime I read a bad take about their relationship I sketch them making out.

People liked seeing my drawing process before so here's the original sketch and the little notes I wrote to myself trying to set the mood. I followed like half of them.

[streets-in-paradise]

Third Fate - Achilles x Fiancee!Reader

Requested by Anon

" Hey, I found your tumblr and I'm loving what you do here, mostly troy. I don't know if you're getting requests, but if you are, you can make one for Achilles based on that scene where he's told he can go and win glory in battle and have his name spoken for centuries or he can stay and be loved, have children, wife? I would love to see Achilles receive more love, with a wife and children. Feel free to make any changes you want, thank you very much in advance."

Hi, anon! I got this way sooner than what i expected because I was really in the mood to write it. The bittersweet mix of angst and fluff was exactly what I wanted to get into this week. Hope you will enjoy it :)

For a lenght concern i kept it in a pre war, pre marriage discussion of the prophecy. If once you read it you happen to like what i wrote here let me know and I can post a continuation showing what happens next ( i originally planned to do so, but it became too long so i prefer to save that for a second part)

Word Count 3.200

Warnings: Standard Achilles sexyness ( no smut, but if you watched the film you understand what I mean with this.) Some aspects of both, the canon of the film and the source material it is based on, were changed to fit the request in my envision of the story.

Summary: Terrible news disrupt the eve of your engagement to Achilles. He is called to fight in Troy and the spectacular war that the gossip foretells seems to be the destiny of greatness he had always dreamed with, but the price he has to pay for it is his happiness with you. The three days ultimatum Odysseus gave him is his moment to decide, but he won't do it without you.

Note: Inspired by two prompts by @creativepromptsforwriting

Prompt 1014 - " Well, the prophecy was a bit unclear about this part."

Prompt 1010 - " Let's not worry about the future. Let's just take this one kiss at a time."

"I like how that sounds."

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @helie-brain

There was no easy way for him to explain to you what he had just found out. After Odysseus arrived bringing the news of the war in Asia you were already sad thinking of the distance that would keep your fiancé far away from you for an uncertain amount of time, but the real hardships surpassed your expectations. The whispers of fame claimed the conflict escalated enough to become the greatest war your world had ever seen, but you still imagined it as one war like many others he fought before. No matter the challenges found in battle, Achilles would always return to you. 

Except that he wouldn’t,not from Troy. His mother told him of an old prophecy announced before his birth assuring that war would be the peak of his consecration as a hero, but the price for this glorification was his death. From this fact fate allowed him only two options of choice. He could either stay in Greece and be loved during his lifetime knowing history would forget him, or go to Troy to make his name immortal facing his doom. 

To the end of his tale all you could do was cry, convinced that you were losing him forever. All your plans faded in just one instant, the life you dreamed together was gone. 

“ I’m not dead yet, look at me.” He sweetly mocked you. “ How can you be so sure already that I’m here to tell you I’m abandoning you to get myself killed?” 

You could tell he was trying, but that wasn’t making it any better. 

“ If you don’t go, you will regret it. “ Was your dry comeback. “I know you, Achilles. You live to fight, staying away from the battlefield feels to you like a punishment. I can never keep you for long, not even when war calls you to fight other greeks. Why would it be different this time? You were born for this war, not to labrate the fields and raise goats. If Troy is the fate of greatness that you deserve, I can’t ask you to abandon this life purpose for the sake of our wedding.” 

Despite how much he loved to see people worshiping as a hero, he was very aware to be a man in your eyes. Your approach was realistic and showed how well you knew him, much better than some of the men bleeding with him in war. If you fell for him, you did it knowing what to expect. Begging him to change his nature to fit the requirements of peaceful domesticity was never in your plans and you wouldn’t try it even if you were desperate. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to surprise you on occasions, exactly as he did when he proposed to you freshly arrived from the victory against King Triopas and his giant Boagrius. 

“ Do you think I wouldn’t give it all away for you? Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you claim. “ He teased you with insistence. “ I can do well raising horses, I have some magnificent ones already. Do you know that horses are one of the most remarkable exportations of the trojans? If their city gets sacked by greeks and I manage to buy a few of theirs to mix with mine we would get an excellent rare breed. “ 

You cleaned your face and warned him against the mockery. 

“ Don’t play with me! With the memories of your proposal still fresh, fate demands me to let you go. Being your wife is my dream, but I can’t have you knowing I would be destroying everything you worked so hard for. The immortality of your name is a cause bigger than me, the happy marriage we could have had or the children I could have given you. It can’t be a coincidence that this war gets unleashed precisely now, just as we are taking the first step to formalize our union.” 

“ They are pressuring me to choose, it’s true, but the load of this decision lies in the fact that I want both more than anything.” 

Achilles interrupted himself to take your hand, inviting you to abandon the distance you were forcing ever since he began to explain the situation. 

“ I need you by my side, it’s the only vulnerability I have ever allowed myself. A glorifying death doesn’t scare me, but surviving far enough without you would be torture.” 

Your lips parted in sincere amazement for that confession, so unusual of him. 

“ A slow agony. If the war doesn’t kill me first, lovesickness will.” He continued. “ The comfort of lonely men fighting in foreign lands is dreaming with their distant wives at night, the hope of returning to them makes life bearable. I would not have this, from the moment I would board my ship I will be aware you are lost to me. All I would have is the wound of my pierced heart still bleeding love for you and plenty of time to wonder how wonderful it would have been to make you mine… Sooner or later I would lose my mind. Knowing glorious death would be the only comfort already promised to me, I would roam the battlefield searching for it. It’s most likely I would perform incredible acts worthy of being remembered, but I would do it as the insane man who is desperately looking for the warrior meant to kill him. The poets would write for centuries about the madness of Achilles.” 

“ Aren’t they singing that already? Many people have described you as a madman.” You teased him, unsure of how to comfort him. “ Not that I mind, but that is a fact.” 

“ They have no idea, unfulfilled passion would consume me in such an incredible way that Paris would feel a reasonable man hearing about me.” 

He dragged you even closer so he could hold you in his arms and you fell for his touch chuckling sweetly. 

“ Would you be competing against both princes at once while fighting the trojans?” 

“ The warrior prince and the lover boy wish they could compare to me, I win in each one of their expertise areas. “ He followed your provocation, then whispered at you. “ I fight as fiercely as I love. “ 

You bit your bottom lip to avoid an audible response, but your flustered face was speaking for you. For an instant you felt as if nothing had changed between you and you have never heard the terrible omens. 

“... Maybe that’s why no woman is meant to have you, the great goddesses would be jealous. “ You theorized out loud while caressing his cheek. “ It’s too much, like Icharus flying too close to the sun… Although I would be lying if I deny I would gladly burn and fall for you.” 

Achilles stopped the flow of words taking your breath away with kisses that numb your senses, but not your mind. He had the habit of expressing important things in short, ambiguous phrases or not saying anything at all. When the hungry kissing began to escalate and you felt his hands roaming the sides of your body you understood that was his answer. If he would be saying goodbye, he would at least try to keep himself distant to make it easier for both of you. Given that his involvement on the war would ruin your chances to formalize, he would be encouraging you to find someone else. 

 He was pulling up your skirt slowly, evidently searching for the heat underneath. The opposite of what you would need from him if he would be about to leave you, so you stopped him right away because you realized what that meant. 

" This isn't the time to act impulsively. I know you love me as strongly as i love you, but you have to choose what truly matters the most to you. If you decide to stay, others will be making history and maybe the pleasures of the thalamus will not be enough to cure the resentment for what you will be missing. Think carefully, hearts can change and the future wife you adore now can one day become the load that brought you down. " 

Although a sensical objection, that didn't seem to preoccupy him much. 

" Never, you were made for me. The omens were very clear, staying grants me a blissful life with you for the price of letting my name fade. I have only two options: be loved and forgotten or waste my life following the fool's orders until death will reward me with immortal glory. Between spending the rest of my life with you or with Agamemnon, I think it's clear where I would rather be. "

The sacrifice was too great, ultimate proof of his love for you. Behind that relaxed phrasing Achilles attempted to de-dramatize giving up his biggest personal dream for the one you shared, what you still considered wasn’t fair. 

Responding with an equal offer was not only what your heart began to crave, but an alternative solution neither of you had considered. 

“ There has to be another way, your mother never said what I must do in all of this.” 

He wasn’t sure of where you wanted to point, but began to suspect it. 

“ Well, the prophecy was a bit unclear about this part.” 

The mischievous happiness renewed in your eyes let him know you had just found hope in the most insane of places. 

“ Don’t give me that look, this is what happens for leaving you a while alone with Odysseus! Now you think you can outsmart destiny and find me a third end.” 

You smirked with pride before presenting your idea. 

“ I can’t interfere with yours, only my own. If no part is clearly stated for me in this sacred command sent to you, then nothing stops me from choosing one. Instead of having you abandon your dream to stay with me, I’ll follow it with you.” 

His eyes were wide open staring at you, disbelief making him feel you were then playing with him. 

“ Are you telling me we could just get married and board the ship to Troy the morning after our wedding night? What kind of honorable nuptials would that be? When all the wives of the country would be giving their farewell to their husbands, would you follow me like slaves are meant to? War holds no virtuous position for a woman to occupy, it would be a stain to your reputation your parents would curse me for. “ 

“ If your baby cousin can go, so can I.” You justified yourself.” To stop me you will have to stop Patroclus and we know that is not going to happen.” 

The exactitude of your threat made him feel frustrated. Not because he wouldn’t love having you with him, but since he was refusing to publicly humiliate you like that. All Greece would know you were going to be the only wife following her husband to Troy for unexplainable reasons and they could judge your morals. Decent wives were meant to wait for their husbands and take care of their homes, not let passion distract them from their social duties. War camps were masculine places meant to be despised by the women, since their only female presence was typically in a state of degradation. Besides, Helen had already caused a moral breach shaming the greek concept of marriage and that was the reason pushing the fight. People would be judgemental of your relationship, they would question you for immorality and him for lacking authority to make you stay like a normal wife should. 

He wasn’t thinking about him anymore, of protecting his name and the weight of his masculine prestige. He was extremely worried about you and the consequences it could bring when he wouldn’t be there to protect you. 

“ Do you sincerely want to go to Troy and watch me die?” 

“ It’s still better than watching you sail knowing you will never come back.” You terminated in response . “ I have heard the city is built to withstand a ten year siege, enough time for us to have a life together before destiny will reclaim you.” 

Arguing with you was hard, even if the idea was insane you would find ways to make it sound logical. 

“ A camp on the trojan beach is no place to start a family. “ He replicated softly, just letting you know he was trying to make you understand you couldn’t ask that. “ What are we going to do when the children come? Because they will, eventually. If you become my wife no omen of death is going to stop me from making love to you.” 

You smirked innocently, ready to deliver a justification. 

“ I'm not naive, Achilles! Do you think I don’t know what happens in those camps? Captives get pregnant all the time, so it's not impossible to go through it there. It may not be ideal, but I can make it. If you would leave me here and break our relationship to protect me from your fate, you could still put a baby inside your finest war trophy girl.” 

“ And who said I’m leaving?” He questioned you. “ I’m not doing it and I am not breaking up with you. Now stop with this nonsense, my wife can’t be giving birth surrounded by death.” 

“ But trojan women can? Because births aren’t going to stop there. “ You insisted, sitting near and acting as if you were two civil parts on a trial. “ Hector has a baby boy, if he can be a father in this mess so can you.” 

The provocation made him hold a groan, but he turned back and kicked the nearest surface as a frustration release outlet. 

“ It’s different for him, his wife is a princess and they have a city to defend. “ He tried to articulate in fast speaking, doing all he could to not show signs of anger growing because of your stubbornness. “ I don’t want you to have the life of a war captive, to denigrate yourself for me.” 

It was very sweet, you were feeling his pain but he had to understand yours too. 

“ As long as you are still breathing I will not accept a life without you. When the time comes I will embrace grief, but I’ll cry for you as your widow. In the meantime I don't want no one else, I’ll have the ground of your tent as thalamus and I’ll have your children.” 

He gave a few steps towards you, presenting one more solid concern. 

“ What will be of all of you when I'm gone?” 

That should have been a strong preoccupation making you desist, but it didn’t. 

“ We will be alright. They will inherit your share of the sacking, we know your death is linked to the fall of Troy so I can assume we will win something. Given that the House of Aeacus would possess fresh new heirs to renew the bloodline, I may even be able to bargain with Agamemnon the throne of Phthia for one of them. He hates you, but he would not be politically capable to refuse if you become the maximum fallen hero of the war he just won.” 

At that point he felt true powerlessness because he just couldn’t convince you out of it for your own good. 

“ They can’t grow in a warzone, think of the ruthless people they will become.  Those kids would not know any better until it would be too late for them. I don’t want a soulless soldier as heir, people saying Achilles’ son has surpassed the brutality of the father.” 

“ Let our little monsters run free through the camp, they will turn out fine if we guide them right. “ You imagined out loud, not scared at all by the dark warning. “ I can’t wait to see them messing around, you will be in tears the first time one of them will grab a wooden sword trying to copy their father.” 

Illusion was starting to make his negative stance harder to maintain, he loved what you were saying. It sounded so wonderful that he couldn’t help find some sensical feeling in it. There was only one detail you haven’t solved for his resistance to fall completely. 

“ How would I fight the enemy worried for you? You will be the only married woman around thousands of men and although I'm terrifying to most of them, I can’t keep control at all times. Some of those men will not be myrmidons, they will not know who you are.” 

“ That’s the best part: I’ll keep Patroclus bussy.” You announced with excitement, knowing well he wouldn’t resist it. “ I know you don’t trust him in an open battleground yet, but he would not accept being left behind so you have to take him or he would never forgive you. With me on board you have a safe mission to give him that would keep him away from combat but still make him feel a hero. By the time you will judge him ready to charge into battle my presence will be naturalized and his vigilant eye won’t be needed anymore.” 

Hope was truly hitting him because he started to feel as if the crazy plan could work if you all would make it work out. Most of the persons he loved the most could be with him for the rest of his lifetime, making the surviving gap before the consecration worth living. His little cousin, his best friend and his wife along with his future children all gathered like some warrior family. 

A taste of happiness before the end, walk the two roads simultaneously into a third fate. 

“ Blessed be your stubbornness, you wonderful woman! “ He praised you, surprise making his attitude switch as he rushed towards you. “ How can you be in every detail? You are insane, but I love you. I don’t deserve you, I can’t believe this.” 

He made you smile and by that point you knew you were about to win. 

“What exactly? My incredible ingeniousness, my gorgeous looks?” 

“ That you love me so much, '' He admitted, then picked you up bridal style. “ That you will be my wife and I will brag about having you to both greeks and trojans. I will not rest until you will be the most honored person in that camp alongside me, your sacrifice will be part of my legend and maybe that will be my start to repay you. “ 

His immense gratitude was making you chuckle due to the unusual intensity, but he wouldn’t stop. 

“ I’ll love you to my last breath, I promise you that.” 

You were all smiles while caressing the strands of hair falling at the sides of his face. 

“That’s all I want. No other payment you can offer matters to me because my will for sacrifice comes from love, just like yours.” You purred blissfully. “ Let’s not worry about the future, let’s just take this one kiss at a time.” 

Mesmerized as he was, he replied against your lips. 

“ I like how that sounds.” 

[kupidachillea]

More Patroclus headcannons in a relationship‼️‼️

Patroclus x You (HCs or Imagines)

Author note: I can’t lie I was really excited to do this one because I freaking love Patroclus. He is seriously underrated!😭 I wish I knew more people to share my love of Patroclus with

Trigger warning ⚠️ : None, this is fluffy fluff.

Content warning ⚠️: Nothing much. This is set in the modern era, something along the lines of reincarnation au or immortality au.

🌿- Patroclus, Patroclus, Patroclus. One of the sweetest men you know. You’re not sure how you got so lucky.

🍵- This strong, well built man is actually somewhat of a softy. He’s just so gentle with you and cares about your needs. He tries not to overstep boundaries despite the era he came from.

🌿- Patroclus took the time to understand what is acceptable nowadays and what isn’t. It was quite a cultural shock to him but he doesn’t complain.

🍵- He seems to love just caressing and kissing your cheeks softly. Just allowing his calloused and scarred hands to rest on the softness of your cheeks.

🌿- He just loves to feel the difference of his rough body compared to your own softer one. He also just loves to cuddle it seems. Just him holding you in his arms makes him calm.

🍵- Patroclus also lights up when you ask him to tell you about his life back in ancient times. He would go on and rant about his years as a boy up until the war and all that. He talked about his brothers in arms and his old companion, Achilles.

🌿- Besides that, Patroclus also took a liking to modern games. At first he was highly confused but he eventually got the hang of it and before you knew it he’d have occasionally crash-outs when playing.

🍵- It was actually pretty funny seeing a former warrior/war medic get heated at a video game he was playing online. But it’s also nice to see him finding some joys in the modern world

🌿- Speaking of medics, he hasn’t ignored that side of him..in fact, he mixed his past knowledge of ancient remedies with that of modern medicine. Sometimes you think he might want to open his own apothecary. You wouldn’t put it past him. He was quite knowledgeable.

🍵- Patroclus actually took the time to teach you some basic techniques and remedies too. Such as the use of hyssops and yarrow and their medicinal properties.

🌿- One thing you love about Patroclus is his love for dogs..or maybe canines in general. Patroclus seems to be a dog person, often telling you about his pets he use to have…he had nine…nine freaking dogs. And he misses them very much.

🍵- And being the caring partner you were you bought him a dog plushie. At first he wasn’t sure what to make of it but he quickly grew attached to the small fluffy thing. Maybe soon you both might be able to get an actual dog.

🌿- I’d like to say that his voice is deep but not unkind. Like a soft rumble that could lull you to sleep. It’s soothing to listen to when you both cuddle in bed and he rambles on softly while he holds you close to his chest..not exactly baritone but maybe a bit lower..

🍵- He’s just a big sweetheart when he’s not under stress. Doting on you and worrying when you get hurt. Making sure you’re fine and healthy. What’s there not to love about this man?

🌿- His skin bronze and his hair ebony..his grey eyes soft despite holding the same colour of a stormy clouds gathering. The stubble on his jaw that leaves a slight scratching sensation against your cheek when he nuzzles you.

🍵- He’s just so lovely. He’s protective of you too..not too much to be overbearing, but enough. Holding your hand in the store or anywhere in public. Wanting to make it known that you were his and he was yours, showing without telling. He didn’t need to verbalise it- anyone with eyes could see just how much he loved you and that he had no intentions of leaving you ever.

🌿- He doesn’t mind cooking..he actually loves it. He makes sure you’re eating well and provides only the best for his beloved. How did you get so lucky. Every time you appear in the kitchen when he’s cooking. He’ll take a small break from what he’s doing, kiss you in the forehead then go straight back to it. But he does have a little habit of going overboard. Oh well.

🍵- But you don’t mind, do you? After all..he’s doing this all for you..his dearly beloved..

Author note: Sorry, it’s a bit short. But I hope you like it. I’m trying to get around to everyone’s request.🙏💕 but enjoy.

[johaerys-writes]

Height difference among your patrochilles AUs? How tall are they? Who's the taller one?

Thank you😄

Omggg I love this question so much and I've been thinking about it a lot since you sent it 🙏 As a rule of thumb, I always imagine Patroclus as slightly taller and broader than Achilles no matter the universe, but I feel like he keeps getting progressively taller in my AUs whereas Achilles is more or less the same height haha, so I'm going to rank the AUs from shortest to tallest:

- Disasters: they're more or less the same height here, Patroclus is maybe half a head taller or so, but there was a period during their teens when he gained a lot of height abruptly over the course of a summer and was basically a scarecrow LOL just really tall and lanky, and Achilles kept teasing him about it (secretly he was jealous because he ended up being the shortest in the family, but also 😳 tol Pat omg 😳)

- BBB: Patroclus is also taller here but not by much, but during the Break UpTM he had also been hitting the company gym almost every day so he's broader than Achilles and more fit than Disasters!Pat (can we blame Achilles for going a little insane the moment he saw him 🫠)

- Nameless: Patroclus is a few years older than Achilles in this one, and he also works hard at the ranch every day, so he's both taller (about a head) and more jacked than Achilles (which teenage Achilles is coming to appreciate more and more each day haha!)

- Twin Flames: Patroclus is a hottie in every universe, but he’s especially hot in this one 🔥 Achilles is also tall and athletic, but Patroclus is both taller and stronger, so they make a really impressive pair ahaha. No wonder Achilles lost his mind when he saw him again after all those years 😩

- Fates: I think it comes as no surprise to anyone that alpha!Patroclus takes the cake. He is a BEAST in this one: tall, jacked and very strong, and adept at all kinds of combat. He has been training rigorously all his life, and those alpha genes... they don't lie 😏 Achilles is by no means small, but he DOES look small compared to him (Pat's biceps are basically the size of Achilles' head LMAO and let's not talk about those thighs.... 😳)

Thank you so much for this ask!! 💕

[themackenziemachine]

Played In Stars and Time recently and immediately started making a Sif playlist. Check below the read more for an annotated tracklist! Will you get a favorite lyric? A game quote? Incoherent rambling? Only one way to find out. (Also if you have a favorite song, or thoughts or songs you like for them that I don't have let me know! I don't bite)

Breathing Underwater Metric

(You breathe in, and out.)

Time Will Change You The Crane Wives

Something hurts, something aches/ Something bends until it breaks/ It’s only time that tortures you

(A neat song to explore the themes of change vs stagnation)

Achey Bones The Happy Fits

I see, I see it’s too true to believe/ You were just lying next to me/ Hear it all and by the hour forget

And equally good

What you sayin’? What you sayin’/ That I can’t move on?

No Need for Dreaming MisterWives

No halt on the days that we spent wasting away/ You let me in/ Without ever seeking praise/ You overflowed my soul/ And made all good things grow

rock bottom MisterWives

To see how far I could go/ Underneath the lowest low/ To feel anything at all/ Runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ from my life/ I’m playing hide and seek with the light

You’re Not Alone The Mowgli’s

(In this moment, you are loved.)

Numb Little Bug Em Beihold

Like your body’s in the room but you’re not really there/ Like you have empathy inside but you don’t really care

Also, also, ALSO

A little bit tired of quick repairs to cope/ A little tired of sinking, there’s water in my boat/ I’m barely breathing, trying to stay afloat

Weight Of Living, Pt. 1 Bastille

All the things you’ve said/ And things  you’ve done/ Can you carry it with no regrets?/  Can you stand the person you’ve become?

Monster Imagine Dragons

[Memory of SADNESSESS] They’re scared of you.

Out of Breath Frank Turner

Insert “start again” screen montage here

Sympathy The Goo Goo Dolls

And I wished for things that I don’t need (all I wanted)/ And what I chased won’t set me free (It’s all I wanted)

Six Feet Patent Pending

Loop voice: Welcome to the real world kid/ You didn't ask to be here, but this is where you are/ And this is all you will know and this is all you will do, follow me

Gotta grind through the slow times/ 'Cause thinking about the clock don't make the time fly/ When you're counting down the minutes, adding up the hours given/ Remember the fact the fight ain't over just because you think you're finished

This Is Home Cavetown

Get a load of this trainwreck/ His hair’s a mess and he doesn’t know who he is yet/ But little do we know the stars/ Welcome him with open arms

Achilles Come Down Gang of Youths

Just, uh…. Just go ahead and imagine that violin in the background of the end of Act 5 fight for a minute. Cool. Thanks

The Scientist Coldplay

Nobody said it was easy/ Oh, it’s such a shame for us to part/ Nobody said it was easy/ No one ever said it would be this hard/ I’m going back to the start

It’s Alright Mother Mother

It’s alright, it’s okay, it’s alright, it’s okay/ You’re not a monster, just a human/ And you made a few mistakes

Best Imitation of Myself Ben Folds Five

(Get back to the stage.) (Follow the script.)

[dootznbootz]

You mentioned Telemachus having sharp Naiad teeth. Imagine if he used those teeth to take out all the suitors. With Odysseus’ help of course.

Sadly, would probably leave him open and vulnerable to attacks :'D So he probably wouldn't unless really desperate.

Sharp naiad teeth are more for "I can rip through any fish scale and bone and be fine." as an adaptation for water life than for battles between mortals. Odysseus watches so lovingly seeing his Water wife and Water son devour whole fish.

Telemachus is around 37.5% Naiad and he'd probably be using water from the canals to trip suitors. Even then, he can only work with a certain amount of water. Penelope has MUCH more control and she's kind of there as well. Imagining Odysseus seeing a bunch of dudes drowning, only to realize it's not Telemachus, itches my brain. He starts cackling and gets a special bloodlust when he realizes she's "there". It's another reason why he's so hurt when she firsts rejects him as "We were basically flirting during our dinner, you drowned some suitors. You KNOW it's me! WHY?!" but uh...He doesn't know that Athena had to tell Penelope not to drown the "stranger". She was mostly trying to make sure Telemachus stays safe and along with you know, killing the suitors now that she has "permission". There's more to it but yeah lkasjdf sounds nuts but I think it'll work.

Penelope looked him in the eye during that dinner, tears still damp on her cheeks, and says "You say all these things but My Odysseus, who fidgets with his clothing and who bounces his knees in time with my own, would never leave me weeping while he sits. He would throw his arms around me!" "...He would if he could." Then he goes to sleep outside and she's pissed and he's a mess. :D The "Beggar" looks nothing like her husband but he moves and talks just like her love, his voice unsteady as he praises her. What the fuck is going on? Basically she knows it's him but also is like "Why would he keep himself from me?" Like how Odysseus tells HER during the treebed scene

And Athena is editing her fanfiction document for these two as "You little fucks weren't supposed to be doing this! I kept your tears from falling, Odysseus, why do you have to be such a sap?! Shit! Back to the storyboard."

Anyways!!! :D

Naiads usually don't bite people unless they feel they have no other option. Odysseus is an exception as he does have ONE "special bite" from his special wife because he's a little freak who wanted it rdtfygufgh. Penelope bit Palamedes on his forearm as he held her back as he took Telemachus from Anticlea and Penelope rushed after him. Odysseus is haunted by the image of both his wife and son sobbing while her teeth are stained with blood. He gets sick pleasure seeing that scar on Palamedes' arm before he gets him killed.

And as a whole, there are actually a couple "rules" Naiad born soldiers have to follow that are very important within war.

With battle, even if you ARE naiad born, you have to ask the river god "Hey, this is getting really bad. Can we work together for this?" As River gods are usually like "I am here for your consumption, bathing, and healing. You will not use my water for violence." (Why Achilles gets his ass kicked and why Naiad born soldiers don't just "drown people")

If someone/something is attacking your river or YOU, like an animal wreaking havoc (like the big catfish! :D ) or a person trying to kill a single naiadborn, then self defense is fine. Daphne got turned into a tree because Apollo outranks nymphs and the river gods. River gods don't fuck with Olympians but he still wanted to protect her.

Though once you have your own water source (canals, vase full, etc.) you're technically free to do whatever you want with it. (Penelope loves this loophole 😈 The Palace waters are hers. and Telemachus' too but you know.)

With the war aspect, however, there are so many wounds that are like "wow, you probably have an extreme infection or should've killed you eventually". BUT it's convenient when you have Naiad born soldiers that can "heal you up" (Penelope's brothers are part of Menelaus' army btw!!! :D )

It's kind of why it's become a "If a man is still alive when they're picked up and rescued, that doesn't mean shit. A naiad born person will fix it before they even bleed out. If they don't die instantly, they just come back."

Same with fighting among nymphs btw.

Even if you're naiad born, you can't just act like how you do at home with a foreign river. Feel free to jump and swim and wet your scales but stay out of their business. If the naiads of Athens decided to punish people by poisoning the waters, you, as a Spartan naiadborn, do not meddle! Can't start purifying it to give to the citizens. Maybe for your OWN people who came with you on the foreign expedition if you ask but don't meddle with foreign river problems. Each culture is different.

Took a while for Penelope to adjust and improve relations with Ithaca naiads because of this. And when Tyndareus and Icarius were exiled, it was a culture shock for them as they're 50% naiad. Even with non-naiadborn, it's a shock. Menelaus and Agamemnon were in Sparta during their own exile had to adjust too, though Menelaus definitely fit right in. (I'm so excited to write about 18-20 year old Agamemnon's first interaction with 9 year old Penelope. It's a misunderstanding at first but it's wholesome. Spoiler: Have you ever been in a place and then a random little kid starts talking to you and then they give you a leaf or something? YEAH >:D It's that but sillier. It's cute.)

Honestly, I'm playing around a lot with the whole "Sparta being very military-focused" thing as it's really kind of fun to think of people having children with naiads/naiadborn as somewhat of a strategy. If you can't have demigods, nymph born children are still better than fully mortal ones. It's why there ARE so many naiad born and why interactions are basically informal in Sparta in my fics compared to other places. Like Ithaca.

I got really offtrack but in conclusion: There are special rules and customs of each freshwater source. And how battles are affected by it. Telemachus doesn't bite any of the suitors but probably uses water to help him and to heal his and Eumeaus' wounds.

[hakusins]

Very important question from someone you may or may not know:

Are you interested in Greek Mythology? If so, do you have any favourite gods, goddesses, creatures, and myths? Can we also know why you like them? 🎤

yeah i like greek mythology a normal amount. bjhEBRJHFBHJERBFJJEBRHF

BUT IN ALL HONESTY, anon - this ask had me running around clawing at my walls screeching and IT DEFINITELY WOKE UP A LOT OF DEMONS THAT WERE SLEEPING IN MY HEAD HJERBFBJHERF i actually had to take the whole day to just calm myself down.

no i don't like greek mythology i LOVE IT. I ALSO LOVE EGYPTIAN MYTHOLOGY, NORSE MYTHOLOGY, RIGHT NOW DABBLING INTO EAST ASIAN MYTHOLOGY LIKE KOREAN, JAPANESE AND CHINESE BUT IM GETTING THERE !!!!!! BHJTGBHJRHJHERFHBERFJ GRRRRRGRGGRHETGGRER. !!!!!!!!! IM SUCH A NERD, I LOVE LEARNING ABOUT MYTHS, I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT MYTHS !!!!!!!!!! its why I love the BL series ENNEAD and I LOVE LOVE LOVE xianxia danmei novels because ANYTHING WITH MYTHS WILL HAVE MY HEART!!!!!!

okay now onto your questions! In all honesty, from my very very deep and in depth knowledge of all of them, it is safe to say I can't say i think of any of them as cool or anything. i think they're all assholes one way or another. but i do quite like {oseidon because myths involving him are always the funniest to me JBHREFBJHREF but for goddesses... hm, there's not much but i quite like athena :DDD I honestly don't really have favourite goddesses/gods, but I do have favourite creatures!!!

THE MINOTAUR, ASTERION, IS DEFINITELY MY FAVOURITE !!!! HIS STORY TO ME IS SO TRAGIC, like he was always destined to be a monster - there was no moment since his conception that he could be anything BUT a monster and its just so utterly heartbreaking because this perversion of nature was created just by the gods, so by that principle, shouldn't he be something to be revered? something to be respected? or is it because his mom fucked the sacred bull gifted by Poseidon in order to conceive him that dictates that he is nothing more than a stain on his family, that he was an abomination that shouldn't have been born? bUT NOT ONLY THAT, his creation is the results of the gods' intending to punish King Minos for his arrogance and greed, but they made Queen Pasiphae, his wife, to bear the brunt of the humiliation? Like she's an innocent party in this matter, but she's the one who is forced to bear a half bull child and her husband just gets humiliation? I DONT KNOW ITS JUST, the creature of the Minotaur just fascinates me deeply that I want to nitpick the author or just the person who begun this myth because what was the cultural environment that inspired this myth? Was there a real life event that inspired this? Or was this just a cruel and sick imagination of how mortals think the gods dole out their punishments?

I CAN HONESTLY YAP THE SAME WITH MEDUSA, but Medusa had so many chances to not BECOME the gorgon Medusa. Like there could be timelines where Medusa was not a priestess in Athena's temple, where her tragedy began. Medusa could've chosen to be something or someone else and there's a chance she could've escaped her fate. THE MINOTAUR NEVER GOT THAT CHANCE, hell if you asked anyone with a mild knowledge of Greek mythology, no one would know that the Minotaur's name is Asterion! They only know him as the Minotaur, the beast of the Labyrinth.

but for myths, I honestly can't choose - Helen of Troy? Odysseus? Arachne? King Midas? Ixion? Sisyphus? Tantalus? Lycaon? Europa? The foundation of Athens? The birth of Peresphone? Hades and Persephone? Eros and Psyche? Adonis? Narcissus? Jason and the Argonauts? Perseus? Theseus? Heracles? The Titanomachy? The birth of Aphrodite? The Gigantomachy? Atalante? Typhon and Echidna? The birth of Dionysus? The several renditions of the birth of Zagreus? The birth of Hermes? Achilles and Patroclus? The women of the Amazon? The Titans? Pandora's Box? I CAN GO ON BUT THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH FOR ME TO TALK ABOUT !!! I HONESTLY HAVE SO MUCH FUN AND IM LOVING SO MUCH BERJFJBHERJBFEJHRF URHGRGHT please come back to talk to me about greek mythology anon please please please please, i swear i'm normal.

[yanderefarm]

right?? Achilles is probably gonna be the main breadwinner so it's gonna be very stressful on him. I think reader would want to work to lessen his own stress caused by 3 yanderes in the house. I laughed at the statement that ares isn't jealous bcs he's not a masochist LMAO.

Idk what you think but i personally think a slightly controlling darling might go well with the brothers, especially ares. I think if reader went like "im going to keep watch of every single one of you, and make sure you don't do anything that will make me upset, got it? Don't go thinking of doing things, especially hurting others or killing, without my specific permission." With a dangerous vibe and like giving them each a tracker.

Im not thinking of a yandere reader but a slightly possessive one which is how i think they'd be a bit calmer since they have tve security that reader DO want them and WILL hunt them down. And punishment of disappointment and silence ofc

ooooh yeah i definitely see that with the possessive/controlling darling. not even because of jealousy but because you're unwilling to risk a blood thirsty ares ruining your life. it doesn't matter how good achilles and the family are at hiding bodies, no murder means no risk.

i can imagine ares sometimes doing things he isn't supposed to (like going to locations that you didn't approve of) because he wants to see if you're actually watching him. unfortunately it's not worth your silent treatment.

ajax would maybe sneak off occasionally to go to parties or something and he doesn't care to ask your permission. especially if he thinks you and ares are gonna shame him and say he doesn't love you as much. you'd have to get a little more creative with punishing him because he silent treatment and disappointment would just piss him off and he'd give you silent treatment in return.

achilles would give you a detailed list of every location he intends to go to and a good amount of his activities (some of them he explains they're illegal so it's best if you don't know everything) and if he has to go somewhere new he'll text you the location and his explanation. and then you're like "oh this is great... but i wasn't worried about you running off to do crazy shit at all"

he still does it because he likes the way it makes him feel to get your permission to go about his life.

[smallraindrops-blog]

I can't remember if this was brought up in WMFTD, but I like how in the aus it's implied (and sometimes shown) that Y/n has some form of artist talent.

I love the idea of WMFTD! Y/n having a small stash of art he did of the residents of the house(Dusa, Zagreus, Hades even, etc) and a few of his parents. Of course, he also has a good pile of Hypnos doodles and portraits.

I also like to imagine him when he was still with Patroclus, drawing whenever he wasn't fighting others or talking with his pa. Something to keep him distracted from his thoughts and memories.

Maybe at some point in the future, he does a family portrait of him, Hypnos, and their children.

I dunno something about making art of your loved ones just makes me giddy.

(anon, sorry for the wait. I love this ask so much, i kept rereading it.)

Since Y/N is a reader insert, i try to keep his artist talents/levels up to the reader. So Yeah, it kinda has not been explored in WMFTD.

Gonna put my rambling response under.

But yeah, Hypnos would be his main subject, his muse.

he got so many of Hypnos just sleeping. I like to think he would get would tons of good poses, hypnos usually pick one position and doesn’t move around like some people do in their sleep.

I like to think y/n’s favorites are the ones where Hypnos looks utterly content, a little smile on his face, his limbs loose. There are also some private ones, brief moments that Y/N immortalized just for his eyes alone.

But yeah, he had some of everyone. (Skelly was an interesting subject for him, he was also fond of trying to get Dusa’s speediness on paper)

He definitely got some of his parents, more of his Pa since they spent so much time together. ( achilles accidentally found one of Patroclus once, just a simple one where Pat was smiling faintly at something, not completely facing the viewer. It was clear Achilles loved it and Y/N oftered it to him. It is one of Achilles’ most prized possessions.)

and yeah, when he and hypnos began their family, he have actually draws the kids the most. Beside Hypnos.

There are tons of Hypnos just holding one of the kids ( those might be his favorites. There was just something about those moments that melt his heart). Some with Hypnos smiling down at the baby, others time with both hypnos and baby napping.

He also got tons of them playing. He also spent a lot time making sure to get the fat rolls, little pouty lips and their darling cubby cheeks were like they were in real life.

When they are older, He always try to get Morpheus’ wings and cheerful grin just right.

The power of Icelos’ proud baring and her big eyes. Phantasos’ careful, gentle hands on his newest possession.

Phobetor’s watchful eyes, his polite smile and the way he lean in when someone is speaking to him.

Y/n get better at expressing his love and showing his affection but this was another way for him to do it.

And he loves them all so much that that sometimes that he can’t speak.

[writingbecauserealitysucks]

The Song of Achilles rant

Spoiler's

Okay, so I have to say this because I think it's literally brilliant. I saw someone ask this question on Goodreads, so I thought I might go more in-depth here and explain my perspective of the author's choice of POV.

Someone asked on Goodreads why The Song of Achilles was told from Patroclus's perspective instead of Achilles. Oh god, I have wanted to talk about the author's brilliance for this ending and the answer to this question since I read the book.

Basically, Patroclus was always going to die. If you are familiar with Greek mythology or Achilles story before reading the book, then you know that there was a tremendous amount of foreshadowing for this fact. So, as I also knew this from the start, I wondered why it's his POV, if Patroclus was going to die first, how would the story continue? How would it end? Well, I figured out quite early on that Patroclus was probably going to narrate even after death, whatever that entailed I was still unsure.

I didn't understand why he was narrating until the last few lines of the story when everything leading up to that point clicked.

It's the scene when Achilles has died and gone on to the underworld, but Patroclus is stuck in an in-between-like state. (Page 366.) Patroclus is trying to explain that Achilles shouldn't be remembered for something he did in grief, he should be remembered for everything he did during his life. He wanted him to be remembered for who he was and not who had become.

Thetis says, "Have you no more memories?"

"I am made of memories." Patroclus responds.

Then she says, "Speak then."

The entire story is Patroclus telling the story of Achilles to Thetis, Achilles's mother, who never understood him like most in his life didn't. It's a last-ditch effort for Patroclus to get it out there in hopes of mending his love's name/reputation and what he is remembered for after death. (The tombstone is also another way the author showed us just how this is true). Patroclus was the only one who truly loved him because he was the only one who truly knew him.

The narration is Patroclus's perspective of Achilles and he's telling Thetis the story she should remember him by. He's helping her understand her son. But the story itself also has a double meaning. I have a hard time believing that all of the scenes in the book were told to Achillies's mother with the two of them. I mean the cave scene was not something I imagine Patroclus told Thetis about. So, this leads me to come to my second conclusion.

The author of the book is also telling we the audience, the story of Achilles. Many things in the book are amazingly accurate. The author paid close attention to accuracy in the story and even foreshadowed so much that it was painful -in the heartrending way- to read. This means that not only is Patroclus helping Thetis understand Achilles, but the Author is also trying to get her audience to understand the character historically and personally as well, she wants us to understand him past the stories we knew before.

It was all for Achilles, and I think after ten years of writing this story, and ten years in the Trojan War Patroclus and the author Madeline Miller are one and the same in a sense. Their reasons for telling the story of Achilles are scarily similar. If I am right, about what I said the story is about Patroclus's love for Achillies in simplest form, and the book is about Madeline's love for Greek mythology as well as Achillies and his story.

Something about this book will always stick and I'm sure if I reread it then I would be able to find even more things about the story I didn't notice before.

Brilliant is the only way I can describe this book.

[henke-penke]

Me: Damn this project is taking much longer than I thought it was. Taking a detour to play epic mickey didn't help. At least, I'll have some time after my fall exams.

Life: (breaks my fence)

Me: Goddammit fucking damn it

Sigh... Unfortunately, I keep getting sent curve balls my way, but I promise you I will finish this, it just might take a little while.

In other news: HOLY SHIT! Chappy 15! Gotta say, I thought we'd see Noah poverty, but the fact we don't makes it's SO interesting! Like damn someone, please go make sure he's still alive. After reading this chappy and relisting to Achilles Come Down, I can so totally see what you were talking about with Owen and Eva (if I had to say specifics, maybe verse 2, the pre-chorus, and the bridge, though I'd love to hear your thoughts). Like how did I miss that? Now prepare for some rambling.

Speaking of the bridge, I'd like to raise a thought I had about it: So in the bridge, it's presented as two contrasting voices talking to Achilles while he's on the roof, each either encouraging or discouraging him to jump. With the fic in mind, I can see Owen as the positive voice trying to tell Noah to get off the (metaphorical) roof. While at first, the straightforward thought would be for Eva as the negative voice, that didn't feel right since Eva, while justified in her reaction with the knowledge she knows, does feel bad about actually physically hurting Noah. Then, I had a different idea: the negative voice could be seen as the rest of the cast in how they feel about Noah (again metaphorically since I'd imagine they would actually want him dead. I think)

Anyways, as you can tell, I really like this fic, and I can't wait to finally post my project on here(if ya really wanna know, it's an animatic ;] ). I do have a Tumblr, I'm just a little nervous to send asks outside of anonymous (thanks a lot anxiety).

Until then!

-✒️🌙

That's alright ! Art takes time and honestly, just knowing that you're making an animatic for my fic (holy shit) is making me really fucking happy. However long it takes doesn't matter, I know it's going to be awesome !

Some day I'm not going to become so ridiculously and childishly giddy whenever someone says they like my fics, but that day is not today AAAAAA <3<3<3

I was really tempted to add a quick Noah pov, but the chapter ultimately works better if he remains unseen. Something to be kept in the back of the reader's mind and which subtly changes how the unfolding story is perceived.

Those are EXACTLY the parts I was thinking of !!

oooooo I love that ! Especially since Owen was actively trying to reach out to Noah. And yeah, it's easy to say Eva is the negative voice, but it makes more sense for it to be the rest of the cast while Eva remains a silent observer. Angry at Noah but not really siding with the people who are against him, instead going to Owen to be there for him and to hopefully make sense of her own thoughts.

[johaerys-writes]

A Helping Hand

Patrochilles | Modern AU | E | PWP | 4.5k

Patroclus isn’t horny for his best friend. He really isn't. It's just that the hoodie Achilles lent him a few days ago smells so good...

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Patroclus is not horny for his best friend. He absolutely isn’t.  

He has always liked girls. The few relationships he’s had, however brief, were for the most part positive experiences that ended on a more or less mutual and friendly understanding. Any interest he has ever felt for men has always been fleeting, easily forgotten or ignored. Patroclus just isn’t into guys all that much.

But Achilles is hot. He is unarguably, undoubtedly, overwhelmingly hot, perhaps the hottest man Patroclus has ever met, a truth universally acknowledged and that has remained uncontested since they became friends some twenty years back. His hair is the richest of golds and his eyes the most fetching of greens, and the fact that whenever they go to the gym together he can easily squat 100kg without breaking a sweat while wearing the sluttiest, tightest sports shorts known to man doesn’t help matters. 

Perhaps that is why Patroclus finds himself on his bed one evening, half dressed, jerking off like his life depends on it while pressing Achilles’ hoodie to his nose.

It isn’t entirely Patroclus’ fault. That should be noted somewhere, for posterity’s sake. Not to get weird on his homie of twenty years, but as good as Achilles’ looks, he smells even better. It doesn’t even have to do with his shampoo or his body wash or his deodorant or his after shave, as pleasant as those are. It is the smell of his body, his skin itself, that drives Patroclus crazy. It’s warm and musky and sweet, just a little spicy; even his sweat has a fresh, vibrant note to it, like taking a stroll through a spring garden. Patroclus can never help but linger a little too long when they hug, or secretly press his nose to his hair whenever Achilles falls asleep on his shoulder when they watch movies together. Achilles smells like heaven, and Patroclus could get drunk on that scent every day if he let himself. 

And he’s also just… such a great guy. Achilles is amazing. He’s Patroclus’ best friend and his foster brother and Patroclus loves him more than anyone he knows. He’s smart as hell, kind and generous and quirky, and Patroclus could listen to him talk for hours and never get bored. No one Patroclus knows has a bond like theirs, and it’s been quite exclusive for all the years they’ve known each other. No one knows Patroclus like Achilles knows him, and Patroclus is honoured that he can say the same for him. His smile could light up Patroclus’ entire day no matter how shitty it’s been—some days, all that keeps him sane is knowing that he’ll finish work and go back to his flat and find Achilles there, waiting for him. 

God, Achilles. Achilles. 

Patroclus squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath of the fabric that’s pressed to his face as he strokes himself faster, imagining it’s Achilles’ hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. 

He’s so lost in the fantasy that he barely even hears Achilles’ bedroom door opening, and his footsteps down the hall. 

“Pat, did you take my phone charger again? I told you I needed it for—”

Patroclus’ door is flung open and then there’s Achilles’ standing at the doorway, staring at Patroclus wide-eyed.

Staring at Patroclus’ dick, which is currently hard and leaking and in full view between them.  

Words would not be able to describe Patroclus’ mortification. He hurriedly shoves the hoodie under his pillow and tucks himself in, but he can do nothing about the giant fucking hard-on that’s still visible through the fabric, nor the way he’s panting as if he’s run a mile.

“What,” he asks breathlessly, “what is it?”

Achilles’ eyes snap up to his face. They’re still wide and startled, but there’s a sort of hunger there Patroclus has never seen before. “Was that… my hoodie?” 

“No. I mean, yes. Um.” Patroclus pushes the hoodie a little deeper under the pillow, a pathetic attempt at hiding what they both very clearly see. “Sorry, I was just… I’ve been meaning to return it to you since I borrowed it a few days ago, but, uh…” 

He swallows thickly. His face is on fire. Patroclus hopes Achilles will get the message and walk away, leaving Patroclus to his miserable and shameful business, but instead Achilles closes the door and leans against it with the smuggest of smiles on his lips. 

“Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Patroclus gapes at him. Achilles' words don’t make sense to his brain, but they do make sense to his dick, apparently, as it gives a little jolt of interest. “Wh—what?”

“Keep going. Or do you need help with that?” He glances down at Patroclus and wets his lips. 

No, his brain screams at him. “Sure,” his treacherous mouth replies. 

Read the rest on AO3

[baejax-the-great]

Agua Caliente

Chapter 5 | Achilles x Patroclus | Modern AU | E

They sit by a snack stand at wired metal picnic table with a green umbrella over it. Both of them lean toward the shade, meaning they are not quite across from each other and not quite next to each other, the ocean at their backs. Patroclus already had his smoothie, but he bought them both waters, presumably just to make up for the table space they are taking. It’s not a busy day. It’s unlikely they’ll get shooed out for being cheap.

It is unbearably awkward. Achilles never thought he would see him again. He still doesn’t feel like this is real. He has no idea what to ask, and Patroclus does not owe him the details of his life. Achilles watches Pat’s smoothie melt, the drops of water gathering on the surface of the plastic cup forming rivulets and dripping through the table to the concrete below. Patroclus hasn’t drunk any of it. This is bothering Achilles more than it should. Achilles worries at the label on his plastic water of bottle, already loosened by the condensation and coming off in little paper bits in his hand.

“How did you end up playing volleyball with college students?” Achilles asks, and then grimaces, because it sounds more accusatory than he meant it. It is also, perhaps, the least important question between the two of them.

Patroclus tilts his head, and Achilles quickly looks back down at his water bottle. “They’re not college students. I think most of them are grad students.” Had Achilles already known that? He frowns. It feels like he did. “But I take your point. I think I am the oldest one there. No one has given me a hard time about it, presumably because I am also a grad student.”

“You are?” Patroclus dropped this new piece of information about himself knowing that Achilles would pounce, and Achilles took the bait, the question coming out startled as he peers into Patroclus’s face as if maybe that, too, has changed about him.

Patroclus smiles a little as he confirms it, which tugs at Achilles’ heart in a way that is almost wholly unfamiliar these days. Patroclus is happy with himself when he says, “I wanted to do something new. I never really cared about my work before. Now I study ocean conservancy.”

Achilles racks his brain for anything he knows about ocean conservancy. Nothing, almost nothing. He does not like that in all of his imaginings of where Patroclus might have gone and what he might be doing, he never came up with this. Patroclus always liked school, he’d always been good at it, but him going to grad school had never even crossed Achilles' mind as a possible path. Being wrong about him in this way—being unable to predict how Patroclus would want to spend his life—Achilles hates it. But that doesn’t compare to the warm feeling of knowing that Patroclus is doing something he cares about, something that makes him light up at the barest mention of it.

“And you love it.”

It’s not really a question, but Patroclus answers softly, “I do. For now.”

Achilles tries to reconfigure his understanding of him in his mind: Patroclus the academic giving talks on kelp. Patroclus on boats doing sea lion rescue. Patroclus at the aquarium teaching children about the importance of coral reefs. Does his research favor tweed jackets or wet suits, Achilles wonders.

Read the rest here | Or start from the beginning