#ginger Achilles

[smorkulon]

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[deadbaguette]

Oh god, the ginger is my favourite hair design… what have I done

[galaxbees]

ares & penthesileia sketch insp. by quintus' fall of troy

[notacluedo]

When my classics teacher said that Achilles could’ve been blond OR ginger and the entire class was horrified

based on The birth of Venus by Adolph Hirémy-Hirschl

[may-be-made-of-arsenic]

a chilly Achilles in a Chili’s

[kindred-spirit-93]

apparently 'there are other fish in the sea' was not the right answer

@maruyaaya come get ur man pls. he wont stop telling me about his grey eyed potato (?) and looking dramatically off into the distance

look i love potatoes just as much as the next mediterranean, but i need to study my guy, im extremely overdue *glares at reflection*

@please-be-nice-im-sensitive forgive me for being so late on my promised au art :') pls accept this offering till i get to it <3

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

I love Uncle Rick. He's a great dude (I think lol). But I will NEVER forgive him for how he wrote Achilles in The Last Olympian. If you know, you know.

[streets-in-paradise]

Stupid jokes Luna has to stand from me when two fixations are rotating in my mind at the same time

[alwaysanundertone]

Day 23: praise kink | poly! marauders + Lily

smut

TW: oral (fem receiving), nipple play, praise

It took your partners an embarrassing short amount of time to realize you had a praise kink, and they did before you.  

Two weeks after officialising your relationship, you just got your results after taking your finals; you aced them as usual. This time, though, there was someone to share the news with. Lily peaked over your shoulders, beaming at your results. “You’re so smart, good job honey”

It took you a bit to compose yourself, a strange feeling coiling in your stomach. You didn’t know if it was Lily’s sweet voice, or if it was her intense gaze, but something shifted inside of you. “Th-thank you, Lils”

She raised an eyebrow as you focused back on checking your test, her gaze not shifting from you for a while.

After that, she started testing the waters, throwing a “good girl” or a “good job, baby” every now and then, always receiving the same stunned expression, the same flushed cheeks and, most importantly, always noticing how your pupils dilated while you shifted your thighs.

She obviously had to share this with your other boyfriends, of course. After that, they all started praising you like crazy, so much so that it became almost unbearable, your thighs shifting at their every comment.

Now you were on James’s bed, the boys were chatting while Lily was tutoring you on your Achille’s heel: maths.

“Wait, so x is equal to the logarithm of two?”

She smiled at you, patting your head. “Exactly, honey, good girl” You grumbled; Lily looked at you feigning shock. “What, darling, don’t you like when I tell you how much of a good girl you are?” The guys quieted down, now you had four set of eyes locked on you, making you slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s not that, I just- I don’t know I get this feeling when you praise me”

She exchanged a look with your boyfriends. “Well, maybe the thing is that you like it too much?” You felt James’s calloused hand climbing up your thigh, you parted your legs. His hand went up, up, until it reached the fabric of your panties.

He exhaled sharply. “Jesus, you’re so wet darling” You whimpered, Sirius smirked down on you.

“Do you really get this wet from just us praising you, mh?”

You tried to cover your face with your hands to no avail, Remus caught your wrists just in time. “Huh-huh, love, no hiding. It’s not a bad thing, you know? We discovered a new kink of yours, it’s a good thing really. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’re gonna have so much fun now”

“It’s embarrassing” You mumbled.

“It’s not! It’s really fucking sexy if you ask me” Sirius voice dropped down, locking eyes with you. Lily suddenly was on you, her face inches away from yours, your faces covered by the curtain that was her copper hair.

“You’re always cute, but when you’re blushing like this? You make my heart melt baby”

“Lils stop it”

She grinned, dipping down to kiss you. You immediately softened at the soft press of her lips, her hands slowly making their way to yours, fingers intertwined. She bit down on your lower lip, making you gasp, her tongue swiping inside your mouth.

You felt a strong pair of hands prying your legs open, your knickers slowly making their way down to your ankles. You didn’t pay it much thought, though, all your thoughts hyper focused on the sexy ginger that was currently staking her claim on your mouth, her tits pressing against you softly.

You jolted as you felt your clit being sucked, moaning inside of Lily’s mouth. You could feel Sirius’s long hair against your thighs, his calloused fingers toying with your entrance, making you a whimpering mess.

“Look at her Remus, she’s soaked, our little angel” One of his fingers entered you easily, pumping at an easy pace.

Lily felt you whimpering, struggling to keep up with her kisses, but wouldn’t stop kissing you, wouldn’t let you catch your breath as you felt yourself getting sloppier.

“Good girl, baby, you’re doing so good. Do you like it when Sirius eats you out, hm? Yeah, I bet you do” Remus was massaging your thighs. “Hey, Lily, can we kiss her too or is she just yours?”

She grumbled, climbing off your lap, leaving you panting and moaning as Sirius didn’t let up, still eating you out like you were his last meal. James was quick to rip open your blouse, exposing your chest and then starting his assault, his mouth sucking and nipping at your nipples, as Remus started sucking on your neck. You could already feel the hickey that was slowly starting to form on your neck.

Suddenly you felt overwhelmed, all of their attention adding to your wetness, you felt like you were ready to orgasm. “Fuck, it’s too much, I think- oh, oh my God”

“Yeah, that’s it baby, let go for us, just like that” Remus was talking directly into your ear, your whole body erupting in goosebumps. You came, drenching Sirius face who was looking at you like a rare piece of art.

“Just like that, love, you’re safe” Remus was trailing circles on your belly with his fingertips, making you melt under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful, baby” James grinned at you from between your breasts, his chin to your sternum. You blushed under their complete focus on you.

“Well, guess we’ve learned something useful today, and I’m not talking about logarithms”

You hit Sirius head, groaning.

tags: @sxmnc @peterparkerspersonalplaything @riaaavm @iamawkwardandshy @eeviee4 @mysterialee @famouscrusadeluminary @el1smells @rishofkf @mooonyxoxo @happymaeday @yourfiendlyneighbourspiderman @whyshouldihaveanam3 @amazing-bobinsky @barnesandmetal @just-here-for-ff @remussbitch @sammyreid

[yandere-wishes]

‧ ₊˚✧ Do Not Weep Hydro Dragon ‧ ₊˚✧

Summary: There's a crack in Neuvillette's heart that bares your name. He sheds a tear for you each day. Yet once you return to Fontaine with your fiance. The cracks and tears begin to grow. 

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, arranged marriages, affairs. 

Author's note: I'm sorry 😭💔😭💔

There've been rumors circling around Fontaine. Ghostly whispers floating between coral-tainted lips and fervid ears. The rumors spoke a bittersweet name. One Neuvillate had long since buried. At first, the notion of your return had felt like a bad dream. like the roar of a tsunami before it crashes on shore. Terrifying yet, ultimately unreal. He'd summed the rumors up to some traveler who bore your mien. To an erroneous article by the steam bird. Anything. anything at all. 

Anything that wasn't you.

It wasn't until after a particularly grueling trial that he'd witnessed the truth behind these rumors. There you were in all you're glory. Gleaming akin to the finest pearls laying dormant in the primordial sea. Your expression, when he could catch it, was gleeful, delighted, A drastic contrast to his last unfortunate memory of you. His eyes follow the delicate movement of your gloved hand as it stifles a cheery giggle pouring from your cherry lips. It's only after noting your delight that he becomes conscious of the gentleman accompanying you. A ginger with bloodthirsty eyes and a soul that reeks of carnage.

A splash of heat rolls down Neuvillet's cheek. Right before a splash of cold splatters across his temples. his attention narrows on the sky, as the

clouds begin to weep. What once was a peaceful sunny day shatters like a wine glass on porcelain tiles. Humidity threads through the air robbing him of his breath. 

It's raining.

How fitting, Neuvillette thinks as he watches you and your companion run to find shelter. 

Neuvillette recalls your smile almost as clearly as he recalls your pulse under his teeth. The taste of your flesh as his teeth left bloody love bites in every wrong place. He remembers saying I love you, albeit there was more to it than that. It had started with I love you and ended with every truth he'd forgotten how to tell. He had shed his human masquerade, in the hope of finding true love. You had screamed that night. You had screamed every night since. 

Neuvillette thumbs through his memories. As the rain outside grows more ferocious. He remembers you standing by the sea, he remembers you telling him the phobias that ran deeper than blood. 

You hadn't been from Fontaine, not originally. A fallen gear from an ancient automaton whose kin resided across the sea.

You'd been raised in the ways of the hydro court. Even if 'raised; was too generous a word. Morphed or sculpted may have been more appropriate synonyms. You grew up clawing at your own skin, trying to find who was underneath the layers of mindless expectations. You'd been raised as a lady and grew into a harrowing beast that feasted on the stars. 

Yet even creatures of unparalleled strength had their weaknesses. Even ever-blessed vision wielders bore a certain Achilles heal. 

Yours so happened to be your incompatibility with your foster nation. Or rather with the water itself. 

When people asked, as some had tended to do. You'd weaved them tales about serrated Pisces and dorsal-finned leviathans with open maws awaiting their prey. You don't tell them about the vastness, the dark blue landscape that feels all too wide and all too endless. You don't tell them about the things you swore you've seen lurking beneath the infinite waters of Fontaine. And you most certainly leave out the parts about the creature who engraved fear upon your bones many moons ago before you even knew how to walk.  

Neuvillette remembers your eagerness to leave. That had, ultimately, been your bonding point. He'd been an outcast. The supreme justice was ever only relevant when he upheld the law. And whilst Supreme Justice Neuvillette was revered and adored by all. Plain Neuvillette was nothing more than a shadow of evaporated water that hunted the streets of Fontaine. You had never wanted to mingle with the people. Keeping everyone at arm's length. Maybe it was fate that had brought two lonely souls together all those moons ago. Maybe it was something else. 

He had loved you. He swears it on the Hydro archon ( or any other Archon who lacks Furina's fickleness) He'd tried to show you that the waters of Fontaine meant you no harm. He'd even shown you his true form, the utmost assurance. Maybe that's why you fled. Maybe that's why you'd left him heartbroken one morning when the sun didn't rise. 

It had rained that day. As well as the following days. Until the surrounding islands ceased to exist. 

You'd left him hollow and alone.

Yet your return made the cracks in his heart fester. 

 Neuvillette had taken it upon himself to cloak you in his watchful gaze.

He'd come to notice how you and that dreadful Fatui Harbinger you'd come to associate yourself with. Rather liked taking long walks

 where the sea kissed the shore. He'd also noticed a ring of Snezhnaya Alexandrite perpetually wrapped around your finger. 

Neuvillette's footsteps are heavy as they collide with the concrete. He's closer today. So close he can practically smell the scent of citrus and eucalyptus. If he reached out with his powers he could surely touch you, feel the warmth of your body bleeding into him, just like old times. He misses you, yet a part of him pities your return. Neuvillette's grey eyes follow your desolate gaze. It rips open one too many wistful wounds. 

"So then Teucer said...Hey darling are you listening?"

Childe's eyes follow your frozen glare, tracing your line of sight straight to the menacing waters that refuse to part from your side. You hear your lover mumble a faint 'right'. Before you feel his silk-clad fingers dance across the back of your neck. Flirting with the chilling fear that rolls off you in waves. You pin your body to him, finding comfort in the familiar scent of his cologne as you bury your head in his neck. 

"I'm truly sorry for this darling" Sincerity rolls off his tongue, percolating into the tender kiss he presses to your temple. "I've just been feeling...down lately. Like this inexhaustible sadness is going to swallow me whole. Fontaine was the only place I could convince the Tsaritsa to transfer me for a short while. I just, I need a break from it all." You answer him in a low melodic hum. You get it, truly you do. Sadness is a poison, acidic in nature. It engulfs one's soul. Melting away their purpose, their resolve. Eating away until it reaches their hearts, their desires. It leaves behind empty shells and broken pieces too fragile to ever fully mend. 

Who better than you to understand the pains of being soulless, bereft? A mere shell awaiting a miracle that had died long ago. 

There's a voice, carved from velvet and silk. It rolls across you like a tidal wave. Potent yet soft. It whispers your name and calls out in hopes of mending broken hearts. You turn to look behind you. All you see is the endless sea. 

It's only on the fourth day of your visit that Neuvillette permits you to see him. Actually, see him. It's no longer his ghost that haunts you nor the empty waves that he commands beckoning you by name. It's him, really him. His glare is relentless as he leaves a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. You're in the middle of a conversation with that dreaded harbinger. Something about his older sister wishing to take to shopping upon your return to Snezhnaya.

"My darling it's been all too long, how fare thee my-"

He's cut short, how rude. Yet far be it from him to expect proper mannerisms from the Fatui.

"Hey, I'm having a conversation with my betrothed. Don't interrupt." Childe's eyes morph into his own glare. One which promises blood and violence. The fates of those caught on the other end of said glare are never pleasant. 

"As the chief justice of Fontaine, I have to right to interrupt any conversation I see fit."

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. Choke the fear down with a cup of Fonta and ask Neuvillette to join the two of you. It's the nostalgia talking really. Some remnants of the past collide with the present causing your heart to adopt an unsteady rhythm. 

It's after that event that Neuvillet permits his presence to be seen by you and your "lover". He's always a mere breath away, following under the guise of being a gracious "tour guide". But tour guides do not wrap their arms around a lady's waist when her fiance isn't looking. Nor do they sneak kisses behind open parasols. You haven't protested about any of this. Maybe your fear of the hydro dragon has perished, replaced with a yearning for your former lover. He prays to every star in Tyvat for this to be true. 

It's on the day of your departure that you receive the bad news in the form of an army of Gardemeks. Childe is being arrested, something about a serial disappearance case. Something about a trial. It's a ruse you feel it in your bones. Neuvillette personally appears at the docks and holds you in his arms as you weep. He assures you this will all be cleared up soon. That you have nothing to fear. 

But you do, you have all so much to fear. Neuvillette permits you to stay at his house whilst the trial takes place. He traces the shimmering blue of your veins with his lips. He says he loves you, that he refuses to let you slip from between his fingers ever again. He'll keep you here. Keep you safe. Away from the Fatui. 

Away from Ajax. 

How he wishes he could tear the universe apart with his teeth. Part the oceans and bury the two of you under it. He dreams of keeping you by his side away from everyone else. Neuvillette is the chief justice of Fontaine, it's a prestigious role, one that demands trust. Yet maybe, just this once. He'll have to find the accused guilty regardless of the evidence. 

Tag list: @rebeccawinters @fangirl-katwithclaws @starshiningsirius

[maruyaaya]

hi everyone just wanted to drop by and show off the lego ninjago crochet dolls i made bc i think theyre very cutesie <3

the designs are based on the old designs bc i made these solely for my nostalgia's sake and i grew up with the og designs. more pics and my ramblings under the cut

lloyd garmadon!!

lloyd is my favourite so obvs he was the first one i made (you can tell by his unstuffed arms 💀). i was figuring things out with him but i am very attached to him. s4 is my favourite season and since lloyd is my fav ninja, i decided to give him the tournament of elements suit. what you'll notice is for a lot of these guys i just did random embroidery on their backs bc i couldnt be bothered to look for references of their backs.

jay walker!!

doing his eyebrow slit was so fun!! he's one of my favs for sure i think he turned out really good. sorry i'm a firm believer in light brown hair jay. he is not a ginger. he has light brown hair with ginger undertones.

nya!!

i struggled a lot with choosing which suit to do for nya bc i feel like her signature colour has changed sm but i wanted every doll to have their own distinct colour so i chose her grey one. it was probably a bad idea bc the embroidery was hell but i think she turned out cool!!

cole!!

he's def one of my favs of the dolls i think he turned out so cute. i love his thick eyebrows and his little smile i love him sm. honestly not much to say about him bc he was really easy to make (aside from the struggles of crocheting with black yarn)

zane!!

ZANES HAIR WAS AWFUL!! i had to try so many different techniques before i settled on this one and i do think it ended up looking okay. i mean, it at least looks how it looks in the show so i guess thats a win.

and finally kai!!

he is definitely my least favourite of the dolls. I JUST COULDN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET HIS HAIR RIGHT. i don't think i ever did get his hair right. i think it's about as close as i could possibly get without doing a much more complex hair style with pieces i'd have to crochet and then stitch together. i think he looks fine! i like his lil smirk.

i'm very proud of them all and they took me a very long time to make. i really wanna make an achilles doll so that's probs my next project. there's a few greek mythology figures i wanna make, but achilles is my #1 so always him first <3

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[deadbaguette]

Trying to make Achilles’ design.. keyword ‘trying’ because it is absolutely kicking me in the ass I give up I’m just going to design Diomedes and hope for a better outcome

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

happy wednesday, everyone! hope you're having a good one! i'm currently in Manchester, visiting a friend and christmas shopping.

thanks for tagging me @that-disabled-princess!

i've already written this entire post once, but tumblr ate it. but i'm nothing if not stubborn.

as well as a snippet from my post-troy wip, you can find below a discussion of ancient greek periods and pregnancies, ancient anatolian food, and a painting.

so first of all, here's a snippet of Hermione, talking about periods:

"Is this not a conversation we should have in private?"

Deidamia laughed, loud as always, but not cruelly. "Oh, they don't mind! Pyrrhus grew up with six aunts and countless girl cousins, he's heard this all before."

I looked at Pyrrhus in surprise, and he shrugged in agreement, expression perplexed, like he didn't see why I was making a fuss about his presence.

"And him?" I jabbed a finger at Helenus.

"I had fifty sisters." He replied, lifting a cup to his lips to unsuccessfully obscure a smirk. Smug bastard. "And I find ginger tea helps more, but apparently that doesn't grow on this forsaken continent." He sighed wistfully. "Gods, I miss rice."

i've spent a lot of time researching ancient greek periods and their attitudes to them. i also spent an inordinately long time looking up alternative names for it, because "period" sounds very modern to me. i landed on menses. there's a surprising amount of discussion of them in this story, because Briseis and Andromache both have pregnancies in their chapters (Andromache has 5 sons and a step daughter, because everyone wants to be descended from Achilles through her. Alexander the Great claimed to be descended from her through his mother, and her grandsons supposedly colonised not only Epirus and Macedonia, but France and Britain too.)

i also had to research what foods ancient anatolia had that ancient greece didn't, for that last line. eventually the only thing i could see was that there is evidence that Troy traded with Asia for rice, while the Greeks knew about it, but didn't bother.

finally, since i'm in Manchester, i can feel this painting of Andromache in the art gallery calling to me. i've seen it three times and it never fails to take my breath away. it's huge in real life, you can really appreciate the details. i could stare at it all day.

in the Iliad, Andromache begs her husband, Hector, to be careful on the battlefield, as he is the last family she has left, and if he dies there will be nobody to protect her and their baby son, Astyanax. Hector agrees, sharing his fears that if he dies and Troy falls, she will be enslaved and taken to Greece. they tactfully don't mention what would happen to Astyanax, and instead share a sweet moment where he doesn't recognise his father in his helmet, and they laugh through their tears.

this painting is set after that. Hector has died in battle, Troy has fallen, Astyanax was murdered. Andromache is a slave in a foreign land, dressed in mourning black, sent to collect water. around her, life goes on, people bustling about, some stopping to look at her and gossip about the sad fate of the princess of Troy. Andromache ignores them all, standing still at the centre... her gaze fixed on a happy young couple with a baby, lost in their own world.

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[notacluedo]

Achilles being the main character with his red hair and heterochromia

based off of Matheson Lang as Hamlet

the sword is not at all historically accurate