#how would achilles have reacted???

[purple--queen]

Just wondering what would have happend if Patroclus had gotten sick doing Apollos plague.

[tleeaves]

”this book is a reimagining of hades and persephone as-” it’s the final month of 2023 as a society we need to move on and fast.

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★part one, part two,

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ part one word count 6k+

ᯓ★a/n: junie’s first post— so please show some love— i hope you like!! my inbox is always open to chat! (minor edits on jan 27)

ᯓ★ summary: you and bucky strike an unlikely friendship during sleepless nights, and shared cigarettes. when crisis strikes the team is surprises by your hidden bond (i wrote this bc of a little fantasy of being in a secret situationship with bucky and the team finding out when bucky goes feral after reader goes missing during a mission)

ᯓ★ warnings/ tags/ tropes for the whole series: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication, Mentions of torture off screen (to be added and expanded as i post part two) NOT BETA READ

These are the hands of fate/ You're my Achilles heel/ This is the golden age of something good and right and real

It started with a cigarette.

It started when he had lent you a lighter. He did not smoke, and you didn’t ask him why he had one.  

For him, it started months before then.

Bucky was barely coping when you joined the team. His days muddled by an eternal haze of anger and frustration…His life had been stolen from him, along with his memories from before. He did not feel like he deserved redemption. He had done terrible things, had had terrible things done to him.

He found himself disassociating whenever he wasn’t on a mission. He did not feel real; he couldn’t joke around and feel good without betraying his past. Yet, his past was real, it happened. But Bucky couldn’t just move on, couldn’t just exist without the churning in his gut telling him he was dirty, he was dripping in sin, tarnished by the red in his ledger, filthy to the point of no return.

When he was told about you, his body turned taut with trepidation. Two sides of the same coin. You were injected with serum just like him. Made to do things and had things done to you just like him. And he had heard of you. They had called you serpiente, the serpent, the snake. You were deadly, never made a mistake. No one knew any identifying details about you, not even your gender. 

And it was his mistake, thinking you were a man. He yearned to be understood; maybe he would find companionship in you.

But then, you were not a man. The first time he beheld you, he had just finished a mission for Fury. Secret and dirty, he felt right at home doing SHIELD’s grunt work.

You were walking down the compound, side to side with Black Widow. He had assumed you were one of her brethren, maybe you had trained with her, a black widow yourself. Tony Stark pranced a few paces before you.

“Soldier, good you’re here! Come meet our newest recruit!”

Your smile was disarmingly bright. Pretty. He felt himself grow cold with fury. It was a smile that came easily to you. And your eyes, frustratingly  soft. You seemed at peace with yourself, and he hated that.  

He just stared at you in response. Eyes hard. Waiting for you to react to his lack of reciprocity. You didn’t bite his hook, just slightly pursed your lips and took his glare in stride. 

“Nice to meet you, Stark was telling me about you, all good things, don’t worry. But I had heard about you from before—you know—we do have in common h-”

“We have nothing in common.” He snarled before walking away, fuming. How dare you? How dare you make chit-chat about the thing that haunted his life. Every waking hour, every nightmare he was haunted by his past. And you wanted to…what? Talk about it over jokes? No. He decided you had nothing in common.

Maybe your body count was higher than his, and he chose to ignore the elephant in the room. The fact that you were a beautiful woman and that that could be a weapon as much as it could be a vulnerability.

He hated you a bit more each time he saw you get along with the rest of the team. How dare you? 

He had thought, had been so sure, that the reason he was disliked was because of his past. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because you and the black widow seemed to do just fine. Maybe he was just broken, and maybe you had been too, but you had fixed yourself just fine. Parallel wounds, yours had healed, while his had festered like a virus. How dare you?

His despise grew with each smile, each laugh, each time you were slapped on the back.

Everything came to a head when he found you on the balcony. He had thought it was his balcony. His.

It wasn’t a balcony, more of a ledge. A floor that had been destroyed during a hulk mishap, had not been fixed, and did not look like it would be anytime soon. 

The wind was strong. You stood at the edge, facing the precipice. You seemed so peaceful. 

He stared at your profile, illuminated by the city lights. Your expression was sad. He had never seen it like that. Your lips tight, eyes fluttered shut. Were you about to jump?

He walked toward you, deliberately moving his limbs so that you heard his footsteps.

You turned unhurriedly, your eyes opening slowly. There was a small moment where he saw you, your unguarded face. He was too involved in his stupor he had not considered the possibility of it all being a facade. But months had passed, and your mask hadn’t slipped. Until now.

It was only a fraction of a vulnerable moment before you schooled your features. And it angered him for some reason. Seeing you so easily slip into the practiced mask. It made him just like the rest of them, taking you at face value, not digging deeper past your pretty face, sparkling eyes, and gleaming smile. But then he was angry at both himself for not looking past and you for pretending. 

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, words were coming out of his mouth faster than he processed them. 

“Do not do that, don’t do that.”

You sighed, your mask falling to one of disdain. You looked disappointed in him, exasperated. It was a look of derision, he felt scorned, and yet it was better than the fake platitudes. 

“Do what? Now, what am I doing that deserves your anger?”

“Pretending,” Bucky grunted.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “So what am I supposed to do according to you, huh?” You walked away from the ledge toward him. He towered over you, head lowered to meet your defiant gaze. “Am I supposed to growl, frown, and hate myself for things I can’t control? Well, guess what, been there, done that! And, hey—guess again what happened. I hated it. So what if I am faking it? Maybe if I fake it hard enough, it’ll come true.”

“What’ll come true?” Bucky asked beside himself, snarling.

“Wanting to live, not letting them win. Because if I hate myself, then they win.” Your angry gaze wavered, turning sad. You looked away from him towards the city skyline. “I’ll go now, leave you alone to your self-hatred and whatever….” You started making your way to the battered elevator doors.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

You had stopped walking away, your footsteps silent, but some sixth sense told him you had in fact paused.

He turned toward you. “I’m sorry.” He echoed.

You nodded, moving towards the ledge and sitting on it.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“Careful there, doll face.” His voice was gruff. “Don’t want you to fall off.”

You stiffened slightly, taken off guard, not for the first time tonight. The sweet nickname coupled with his harsh voice made heat rise to your cheeks. You decided to appear as if you took it in stride. Not wanting him to know just how much his words meant to you. Wanting to hear him call you that forever.

Because as much as you told yourself otherwise, it had hurt when he brushed you off. You had looked up to him. 

You didn’t have any memories of your past before the experiments or the training, so maybe it was different for him. He had a life that was taken away from him — and you were just now learning to have one.

You heard about him, heard him even.  Heard his screams sometimes. Your handlers wanted to teach you a lesson of what would happen when you didn’t behave.

It was clear he did not remember you. Why would he? When you passed each other in the hydra bases, he didn’t know who you were; that was part of your deal. No one expected a pretty girl to have a body count as high as yours. 

Bucky had killed about 20-something people, important ones. You knew that Natasha had a count of about six hundred and had shared the fact with you. Bucky had been Hydra’s tool, he was used in important missions only. While you…were a gun for hire basically. A knife for hire. You used your charms on men and women alike to disarm them enough. Your kills were always up close and personal. Sometimes you have to put yourself in compromised positions to do so. Bucky never had to. 

You knew that he had to be put under a lot, had to have his brainwashed again and again, and conditioned an inhumane amount of times. His brain rebelled, he had a life. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he had memories or faint encodings of a life outside.

But you were awake all of the time. You did things because there was no other option. You had to survive. You didn’t know otherwise.

You pondered in silence. And when it became too much for you, you fumbled into one of the multiple pockets on your jacket for your cigarettes. You stiffened when you remembered you had left the lighter on your bedside counter. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, doll.” His voice was curious, less rough. He was standing somewhere behind you. You could feel the weight of his stare.

You wanted to comment on the pet names— but you didn’t want him to stop, so you swallowed a snarky remark. “I forgot my lighter.”

He made his way toward you, movements swift as he sat next to you, feet dangling on the edge. You understood him now, didn’t want him to fall. 

He slid his hand onto the pockets of his cargo pants and came out with a lighter.

You smiled at him. His eyes never strayed from yours as he placed the lighter in your hand. 

His eyes were beautiful, darker than usual under the low light.

You tore away from his gaze. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you cupped the lighter and flicked it on.

You took a drag of the cigarette, enjoying the burn. Enjoying the strong scent, stronger than other cigarettes. It made your head light.

Banner had made them for you after you expressed sadness about not being able to enjoy any substances.

You heard a sniff. He had noticed it too.

You waited a second, leaving the smoke in your lungs, before exhaling. “It’s enhanced with something, Banner made it for me.”

He hummed. 

“You want one?” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes, not wanting to turn your face fully.

“Thanks for offering doll, but I don’t smoke.”

You hummed, taking another drag. “Not even before?” your question was tentative, you wanted to see if he would open up to you.

He hummed softly. “I did yes, once or twice. But Steve couldn’t handle the secondhand smoke, so I stopped. Little asthmatic punk…”

Silence stretched out as you enjoyed the lightheaded sensation. Your limbs loosened, and you felt free. 

“D’ya miss him?” You turned fully toward him.

His eyes never strayed from the skyline as he answered,“I do. It’s different, we’ve both changed a lot. You know how it is, losing the past.”

“I don’t know, not really…” your voice was soft and resigned. 

His eyes flashed to yours. You didn’t know what to do with the full weight of his stare. “What do you mean by that doll?” His brows were furrowed. 

You sighed, not wanting to get into it. “It’s late…” You took out your AVENGER-sanctioned phone to check the time, 2:15 A.M.

“I’m going to sleep.” You lied. And you couldn’t stop more words from tumbling out of your mouth. Clumsy and rushed. “Same time tomorrow?”

A ghost of a smile pulled slightly at the corner of his lips. “See you doll face. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams Jamie.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie….

He had been too quick to judge, and now he couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. His sleep was fitful, but he was granted a reprieve from his nightmares. Dreaming instead of the multitudes in your eyes. 

It was a slow day in the compound. He had a routine during slow days, he would go to his favorite training room and lose himself. The training room itself didn’t lack anything, but he had marked his territory with his glares at anyone who entered. He had achieved an unspoken ownership of that particular room.

After having you torment his dreams, however, he had to see you in person. He tried to contain himself, he started his routine in the training room. 

It lasted 42 minutes. 

No amount of dagger throws could get him to calm down. 

He found you on the tower’s common floor.

You hunched over a table, Banner at your side. Coming down was worth it.

“Well, good morning there Sarge, nice of you to come out of your room and join the land of the living.”

And he immediately regretted it.

“Stark!” Two voices proclaimed in tandem. You and Steve jumped to defend him, Steve’s voice was sharp, and yours was a playful whine.

“What? I’m just saying, he’s acting like a teenager!” Stark’s voice was a defensive grumble. He tinkered with the toaster in the kitchen area. 

“Oh as opposed to you, who behaves so maturely?” The tone of your voice was playful but had a hidden bite to it. Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate it.

You turned to smile at him, Steve turned to bicker with Tony. Bucky rolled his lips and moved to grab a mug, he poured himself a cup before walking away. 

He barely heard Stark’s remark on his parting, mentally berating himself for caring about the hurt look that soured your face when he did not return your smile. He shouldn’t care, caring was dangerous. It made him vulnerable and put him in a position where he could be easily hurt again.

He had to be careful, He did not want to break down the walls he had put up protecting himself and others from himself.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You almost didn’t show up. Hurt but not surprised by his attitude.

You paced the room you had on Natasha’s floor. She was not home, leaving you to pace away your conflicting thoughts.

Your heart had skipped a beat when he showed up. He never showed up, he was a ghostly presence in the compound. Part of the team, but never there for ‘team building exercises’…

It was 2:14 when you rushed to the elevator, a pounding of indecision in your chest. You told yourself it was curiosity. You needed to know more about him, needed to figure him out - maybe then you would be able to understand why he made you want…-

The silent elevator ride left you time to think

He is hurt, just projecting/ This could end badly/ This could end with a friendship/ He was an asshole/ He just needs a friend/ At the cost of your sanity?/

Two inner voices argued with each other in the back of your mind. You let them.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open and there he was. The voices went quiet as soon as your eyes fell on him.

He leaned against a thick construction support post, overlooking the city skyline, his back to you.

“Nice of you to join me doll.”

DOLL?! Asshole, he dared to call you doll- yet acted coldly toward you in public?! You grunted angrily, mimicking his usual blasé attitude and walking to stand beside him, not looking at him.

A storm of anger raged inside you as you stared at the beautiful Manhattan skyline.

“Is everything alright doll?” His voice was softer, and you weren’t as angry anymore.

Yes he hadn’t smiled at you, but what exactly had made you expect that from him? Yes, he called you doll, but he was from the forties. Plus he hadn’t smiled at you before. And-what?  You had one conversation and suddenly you expected him to smile at you? You were delusional! This man was set in his ways, and maybe he was bored, but it meant nothing. He was bored and lonely, and you were overthinking everything. You were new at this, at socialization. Genuine socializing. You socialized a lot for your HYDRA days, but this was new. You were used to having the upper hand, being the one in control.

You sighed out your exasperation, letting your tense shoulders loosen.

“Mhm…” your eyes never strayed from the city.

You stood in comfortable silence. You were an expert at working yourself into a stupor. But honestly, you were about… twenty, twenty-one (you lost time during HYDRA). Yet you felt emotionally stunted- of course you did. You never had the chance to actually develop skills people your age did.

“This feels like a dream. Like I am hallucinating being free, and I will wake up from passing out due to torture and be back in my cell…” Words tumbled out of your mouth. You were also bored and lonely. Faking your way with the others made you exhausted.

He made no response, but you could tell he understood. And that was enough.  You fumbled for your cigarettes. He slid a lighter from his pocket, handing it to you wordlessly.

You took it from his hand, inhaling to light your smoke. 

“You know? it’s dumb… but I sometimes feel like screaming at them… like something deep inside of me yearns to scream and kick and throw whatever is around- to get out all my pent-up energy, maybe then I can pass out from exhaustion and sleep. And yea- the novelty of being free, and being in the fucking Avengers is slowly wearing off, and I just-” you sighed, you were talking and maybe he wasn’t even interested in hearing you whine. “And whatever, I should be grateful… it’s dumb…” You stopped yourself. Letting in the chilly New York air into your lungs. 

“No, doll, it’s not dumb.” He turned to look at you, forcing you to face the full weight of his gaze. He was devastatingly beautiful. Your inhale was sharp. “Don’t feel bad about being angry, it’s valid feeling this way.”

You smiled then, “look at you, giving emotional advice. Who knew you were a big softy underneath that grouchy, grumbling exterior.”

He scoffed, but you could tell there was no real meaning behind it. Your smile grew.

His eyes lowered to your lips for a charged moment, before looking back to the city. “Those who can’t do, teach-”  His lips tugged slightly upwards, a glimpse of a smile.

You took a drag of your cigarette, staring unashamedly at his profile. “What do you do, when you are not brooding? Like what does one do for fun around here?”

“At two am in the morning doll, those who aren’t sleeping…” he trailed off, a soft pink brightening his cheeks

“Are what?” your grin was teasing.

“Are on a mission or something.” His voice came out slightly strangled. 

“Or something…” you murmured, a yawn escaping you.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, you really liked big band music? Kind of… classy for a guy who threw himself off buildings.”

 “Hey, a man can appreciate good music and bad decisions.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Stark’s fine, sometimes… but his ego’s bigger than his bank account.”

 “If I had his money, I’d buy a planet and avoid people altogether.” You sighed, 

 “Doll, you’d get bored in two days.”

 “True. I’d need at least one grump to frown at me” 

He couldn’t hide his soft grin.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Paris. You think it’s as romantic as everyone says?”

“Probably less if I was there...”

 “You’re right. You’d make it a lot more broody.”

“And you’d make it a lot more… sneaky. You’d blend into the shadows and pickpocket tourists.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I could live off this forever.” Your spoke around a mouthful of pizza

Bucky grimaced “Takeout pizza? You call that food?”

 “Says the man who probably ate spam for dinner in the ‘40s.”

“Now doll, it was a delicacy back then.”

 “Spam’s not a delicacy in any era, Barnes.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever thought about getting a pet? Like a dog or something?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow “Me, with a dog? Not sure I’d be a good influence.”

“Nah, they’d see through you.”

“I’m more of a cat person.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I like the quiet moments just before dawn. No one’s around to bother you.”

“Night’s better. Everyone’s already asleep. Feels like you’re the only one left.”

 “Until you realize there’s still someone like me lurking in the dark.”

 “Yeah, lucky me.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, any weird phobias? Mine’s spiders. Too many legs.”

Bucky shrugged “Needles. After Hydra? No thanks.”

You nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. But hey, at least you could crush a spider for me. And I can catch all your bulk when you pass out at the sight of a needle.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Someday, you’d get a real laugh out of him

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “If you weren’t a super soldier, what would you be doing?”

“Maybe a mechanic. Fixing cars, quiet life. You?”

 “Bartender. People tell you their secrets. It’s like espionage, but with cocktails.”

 “Sounds dangerous doll. What’s in the drink?”

You grinned “Depends on who’s asking.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“I keep getting these flashes… Steve dragging me to Coney Island, insisting I’d love it. Turns out, I hate roller coasters.”

You rolled your lips, deciding on what to say “I don’t have any memories before hydra, but I dream about falling. Maybe I would love roller coasters.”

“I’ll take your word for it, doll. I prefer solid ground now.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever feel like the idea of ‘freedom’ is just another way to trap us? Like, what do we even do with it?”

“I dunno. Still figuring that out. But it beats following orders like a puppet.”

“Yeah. I just wish freedom came with an instruction manual.”

“If it did, doll, I’d probably ignore it. I don’t need another piece of paper dictating my life..”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You were late, and Bucky was ready to leave when he heard the elevator doors open. You held a full white plastic bag.

“Honey, I’m home, and I brought dinner!” you had a slight spring in your step, he turned toward you, a smile of pleasure and relief made its way into his expression without his consent. Your steps faltered slightly, your brows furrowing for a moment before a beaming smile took over, your eyes twinkling.  It was real, not a sarcastic grin, a smile! Your response only made his smile more pronounced -slightly, but still-.

“It’s good that you don’t smile, if you did people would pass out on the spot.”

He couldn’t stop the small laugh making its way out of his mouth. “Not you?”

“Not me, I’m made of stronger stuff.” You sat next to him, a bit farther from the ledge than usual. 

He followed suit, crouching in front of you. He took note of the way you eyed his legs, of your inhale, of the way you had to force yourself to look away.

“I wonder what would make you pass out.” His mouth ran away from his brain.

“Maybe take me to a fancy restaurant then you can try and find out.”

The thought made his heart race, he stopped himself from thinking about it. You were joking, it was friendly— you weren’t serious.

“I could, we could go on a few dates, and you would end it when you realize I’m too old and bitter for you doll. Maybe it’s best we stay here at 2:15 am where I can lend you a light.”

Your face soured to a pout. “Well I like my men a little bit older. But if you are telling me I’m not your type and you like old ladies, well then I can handle rejection, not the worst thing I’ve lived through.” Your smile was sarcastic, yet he could tell there was hurt behind your eyes.

“No doll, I don’t think anyone could reject you even if they tried.” 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your heart raced at his words, caught off guard by their raw sincerity. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, not ones that felt real anyway. A flippant remark was on the tip of your tongue, ready to deflect the tension, but it got stuck.

“You ever think about it? You know… dating?”

He snorted softly, “Who would date me? I’ve got more shit to deal with than anyone would want to deal with.”

You grinned “Hey, at least you’re mysterious. I’m more… ‘potential assassin.’”

 “Ah, the classic ‘will she kill me on the first date’ dilemma. I can hide the metal arm, but you can’t hide the serial killer smile.”

You laughed loudly, shoving him playfully.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

It was a few weeks after the initial meeting, and meeting had become a habit, a tradition of sorts. 

You gave him a shy smile when others were present, and he reciprocated with a soft look in his eyes. 

He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn’t help himself from looking at you.

He leaned on the counter, eyes flicking to and from you. He beheld as you smiled and laughed with the rest. He had a bit of jealousy that you weren’t bestowing a smile upon him, but he held none of the contempt from before.

He sensed an annoying presence beside him.

“Hey creep, why don’t you join us for drinks tonight? As luck would have it, even your star-spangled ass is joining us.”

Said star-spangled ass turned to glare at Tony, his expression turning into a smile as his eyes shifted toward Bucky.

“Yeah, come with us, you’ll have fun, we promise.” 

A myriad of yeahs chorused from the rest of the team, including you. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he looked at the ceiling. “Whatever.” He muttered.

“Well that wasn’t a no!” you grinned, acknowledging him.” Your smile was so bright he couldn’t take it. 

He sighed, and grumbled incoherently before turning to hide his blush and walking away.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You smiled to yourself as he retreaded. 

Natasha bumped your shoulders together. “He stares at you so much, I have no clue if he hates you or wants you. Maybe both!” 

“Nat, don’t be rude, it’s probably because I’m new.”

She smirked, “Sure.” You hadn’t been new for a while.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

He was anxious. It took him forty minutes to place where the tight feeling in his chest was coming from. But it came down to you. It always came down to you as of late.

Steve had an arm around his shoulders, and he was babbling on about how much fun these rare night outs were, where everyone was present.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t you talking to some guy. Enthusiastic hand gestures and a dazzling smile on your face as some random guy looked at you with an entranced smile.

He felt bile rising in his throat. 

He wanted to turn around and walk away, but that would have been too obvious. So he walked in with his stomach dropping with anguish.

He was out of it, sipping a drink that Steve had handed him. His taste buds not even processing the taste of his drink.

“Yo! Joe Goldberg, knock it out with the serial killer stare.” 

He felt a smack on his shoulder. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from you.

“What are you talking about?” he grumbled. Smooth. Real smooth.

Even though she was shorter than him, Natasha towered over Bucky. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to check it. It’s getting really weird.”

He felt a hand fist in his heart, tight. He downed the drink and sighed. Think Bucky. Think. “It’s not like that.” He was quiet for a few moments, formulating a response.

“Well then explain why you keep staring at her like you want to strangle her.”

“I don’t want to— fuck.” He placed the empty glass on the table. “She’s also from Hydra.” He stated.

“Yeah, duh.” Natasha looked at him with contempt.

He needed to fix the fact that she thought he was some sort of obsessed weirdo…. He wasn’t!

“She’s so normal, happy. And she…” he trailed off. 

Natasha’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked to Steve, who tried to seem like he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

“Bucky, you’re-” Natasha placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to get another drink.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You could tell something was wrong when you stepped out of the elevator. He was quiet, not the usual kind, brooding. You acted like you always did, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Bucky, is everything alright?” your voice was soft.

His reply was an irritated huff. You waited for a few moments, letting him have his space.

The night was cold, you had worn thick cotton clothing. He wore a hoodie and pants, they looked comfortable, but the man in them did not.

You hummed, and moved closer toward him, he leaned on a pillar,

“Big mission tomorrow huh?” You shifted tactics. It wasn’t odd for him to have a quiet night, where you just sat in companionable silence. This was different though… he was angry about something. Some insecure part of you told you he was mad at you. But there wasn’t any foundation to that, was there? 

He grunted in response. He was making you anxious. You sighed loudly, deciding on either having a smoke or going to bed. The stilted silence made you anxious, a pressure hard on your chest. You tried to exhale it out, but it wouldn’t budge.

You let him wallow next to you for a few minutes before giving up and turning to face him. You placed a soft hand on his forearm, about to say goodnight. He flinched harshly and your heart twisted. He grimaced, eyes shifting to you before flitting away. 

“Bucky, if you need, I-” your voice had a nervous tinge to it, and you hated it. You were glad when he interrupted you.

“Go to sleep, doll.” His voice was sad, his face resigned. 

You furrowed your brows, studying his expression. You had the urge to kiss him on the cheek for good luck but knew that you would break if he flinched away.

“Goodnight Jamie…”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You walked away, turning your head twice to smile at him sadly. He held your gaze as the elevator doors closed, removing you from his field of vision. Taking you away from him. 

“Fuck.” His voice was soft and defeated. He looked at the city skyline. His eyes glossed over. He wanted to get the self-hatred out, to hit the wall, break his knuckles, and kick at the litter on the floor. But he let it sit, let it fester in his chest. A leech that grew bigger as it fed on the churning,  loathsome thoughts overwhelming his brain.

He crumpled with the ease of a paper, falling to the ground,

His limbs splayed as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t take it. Any of it. He always told himself he was strong. He was The Winter Soldier, for fuck’s sake! And here he was, crying over a girl. But that wasn’t it. Or it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that he was too soft for all of it. And he was still somewhat human at the end of the day. He still had emotions, and he was starved for comfort. He lacked connection. And he was okay without it, having gone so so long without it, he had grown used to the lack. But then you had come into his sanctuary and ruined everything, and he let you. He felt a kinship with you. You had gone through hell and back, had walked the same road as him, and you smiled so big, your eyes twinkled so bright. He couldn’t help but fall into your orbit. Admiring you from afar. 

Maybe it was better when he hated you, it was something he was used to, it was comfortable. He did not know what to do with all these feelings, hadn’t felt them before, not even in the 40’s. He was happy then, it was normal for him to smile. He didn’t know how to appreciate it. Yes, there was war, but there was hope, and there was also Captain America there to save him, but then Steve wasn’t there anymore. And any sliver of hope was quickly crushed under gleaming leather Hydra boots. He was going to die someday on a Hydra mission, he had made his peace with that. But Steve did save him, a little too late. He wasn’t Bucky anymore and did not feel like he had any right to the mantle of Captain America’s best friend. And some parts of him did want that still, but all of him yearned to be your Jamie.

And now bitter and traumatized, he held a flower in his calloused hands, and he didn’t know if he was worthy of it. He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to die here, and he couldn’t go in peace because he wanted to see you one more time. He couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t move, He keeped in pain like a puppy. 

Pathetic, get up. Voices from Hydra spewed venom, wracking through his psyche. He clenched his jaw and groaned from deep in his throat.

Broken…unworthy…killer…tainted…

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The mission was successful. The team had divided in two, his group had finished earlier.

He felt better, exhausted. It had been a long mission, he was covered in grime and blood. 

It was rare for him to get to the point of exhaustion, but he had dived head first into hand-to-hand combat, not letting up, ignoring black widow’s knowing looks. 

Freshly showered and changed into sweats, Bucky let himself fall face-first into his too-soft bed. Days of restless sleep coupled with today’s exertion weighed his body down, and pulled his mind into sweet sweet oblivion.

He awoke with a start, looked at the clock, and sat up. 3:22 A.M. 

He had stood you up. He rushed to the elevator and up to the floor. His thoughts raced with self criticism and hatred. He breathed out a frustrated sigh, you weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t there, he had been over an hour late.

He grumbled to himself all the way down to the common floor. His footsteps skidded to a stop when he found all the lights on and a flurry of activity.

Hawkeye typing furiously into a computer, Black Widow pacing the floor on the floor, her hands fiddling with some tech stuff. Steve was curled over a tablet, his hands clenched around the edge of a countertop.

Bucky stopped. The other team hadn’t come back.

“What’s wrong… where is she?” His chest felt tight.

Steve motioned at him to come near while the other two ignored him.

“Look, Bucky, I know you have some fondness for her, but I need you to calm down. She’s — uh— she’s missing…”

His ears started ringing; he didn’t hear anything after that. He took deep breaths, running his hands through his hair. It was longer, he needed a haircut, maybe you could cut his hair. Yeah, that sounded nice. 

He stilled. Breathing in deep, “give me the details, I’ll have her back with me within the hour.”

He didn’t recognize his voice. Black Widow and Hawkeye had turned their heads to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Bucky, calm down, she’s alive from what we can tell, we can’t deal with y- we have to focus on finding her right now.”

“I am focused. I will find her.” His voice, it was gruffer, the language wasn’t english. He was reverting back…

Iron Man decided it was the best moment to walk in.

Bucky, The Winter Soldier turned around with intent. He had some inkling of what he must have  looked like, a menace— because as Iron Man was opening his mouth to make some snarky remark, his jaw clenching shut, hands rising in surrender. 

“Где она, где моя кукла?” Where is she, where is my doll?. 

His voice had a deadly cadence, he spoke and meant death.

“She’s okay, Wanda has her.” Black Widow had placed the radio on a table. She walked toward The Soldier slowly.

Wanda, the deadly witch saved from Sokovia. He remembered her. She was strong. Not strong enough. 

He leveled his eyes on her. “скажи мне где, или ты умрешь.” tell me where, or die.

Her eyes grew hard. “Calm down soldier, there is no need to threaten anyone.” 

The tension was palpable then, rising… rising-

The Doors opened to you limping… being supported by the witch and the doctor. 

His shoulders slumped. He shifted toward you, but something blocked his path,  he looked down to see Steve’s arm pushing against his chest. The enemies' stance was on the offence, about to attack, to keep her from him. He was about to threaten his best friend  The Captain to move when-

“Jamie…”  

His gaze flashed toward you. You pushed away from them, limping— stumbling toward him.

He met no resistance this time as he rushed softly toward you.

Your knees buckled as he wrapped his arms around you. You collapsed against him. 

You sobbed softly- and he broke. His arms were strong and soft as he held you close.

He didn’t care about anything, he didn’t care how the scene looked, he didn’t care that they all knew for certain now. He loved you.

He just needed to know you were okay.

He held you as you shook, “I thought, I was back there Jamie, I- thought I wasn’t going to- to see you again. I thought, he would get lonely, and- and- I was going to miss you- they- they- I didn’t care about any of it. I just thought about you….” You sobbed, trying to get words out. “I got out- I killed them all, I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face not- I killed…” For you. 

“kukla…” Doll.“you’re here, you’re ok, let’s get you to the infirmary. You are hurt, and bleeding…”

His voice was so, so soft —dense with remnants of russian. His arms holding you together.

He ignored it all, ignored the dropped jaws and furrowed brows, you came first. He had shown you as his vulnerability, but he first had to be sure his Achilles heel would be okay.

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments, and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading be back with part two soon!!!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! A bit of a request for the batboys (Jason, Tim, Dick, and Damian), just something silly.

I recently saw a video of a girl saying her boyfriend's entire name as if he was in trouble only for her to tell him she loved him. It was funny to me at the time, it was also late at night lol.

Soo... How would the boys react to reader suddenly saying their full name out of the blue as if they were in trouble as a prank? 👀👀🤭

Dick is thinking to death about what he might done to earn you saying his full name, so much so the poor man was sweating bullets which each step he took in your direction

Did he miss an anniversary?

Date night?

Hayley’s vet appointment?

He wanted to know badly so that he could think up a way to make it up to you however you wanted. Steal his clothes because they smell like him, he didn’t care, he just didn’t like you using his full name.

So as he looked you deep in the eyes, mentally preparing for whatever left your mouth, only for you to relax your face and kiss his cheek much to his surprise.

‘I love you.’ You told him sweetly as you smiled at him.

‘What?’ Dick said.

‘I love you.’ You repeated, still smiling.

‘That’s…that’s all you’ve called my full, legal government name for, to tell me you love me?’ Dick asked as though he was waiting for a joke that was never going to come.

‘Yep.’ You said.

‘No catch.’

‘None.’

‘Can you stop calling me Richard now and go back to calling me baby, cutie, dickie bird or -preferable- handsome now?’ Dick again asks as he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and was finally able to breathe again now that his questions could finally be laid to sleep.

You chuckled as you kissed his lip. ‘Sure, whatever you say, handsome.’

Damian is unfazed.

He’s use to his full name being used and he doesn’t exactly feel anything but annoyance that he has to leave the piece he has spent the better half of a week working on, just to answer your call.

Damian loved you without a doubt but he’s not exactly fond of whenever you try to follow along these tasteless ‘trends.’ Though he knows himself well enough to know that he would never stay upset or mad at you for long, you were his weak spot, his treasure forever and always even if this is the things they kept you entertained.

‘I know you’re not saying my full name for any particular reason my treasure.’ He told you rather plainly.

‘And how would you know there isn’t a reason I called for you?’ You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. Damian copied.

‘Because I have a good memory and I haven’t missed any important date, that’s not until next week, that and the fact that I can see the muscles in your face struggling to keep the smile at bay.’ Damian said as he pointed out your biggest sign that you were lying about something.

You always involuntarily smiled when telling a lie the title made it far easier for Damian to know that what you were saying was far from the truth. It was your Achilles heel and Damian knew how to use it to his advantage.

‘I’m not.’ You said, struggling to stop the smile.

‘You are and you’re doing a bad job at it my sweet.’ He replied as he was now the one cockily smiling, knowing he’s got you where he wants you that you couldn’t do anything but crack under his stare.

‘Fine you loser, I only called you in here to say I love you, there happy?’ You asked as you pouted.

Damian walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘All you had to do is say my treasure.’ Was all he said as he spent the rest of the day with you and Titus.

Jason is immediately in front of you within a heartbeat.

He, much like dick, didn’t like it when you use his full name.

You’re his partner! USE THE CUTE NICKNAMES YOU CHOSE FOR HIM INSTEAD! Who’s this Jason Todd? He only responds to Jaybird, jay jay, or baby with the occasional sweetheart from time to time.

‘Chipmunk, can you please tell me want I did wrong?’ Jason asked as he walked into the kitchen where you called him from.

You furrowed your brows. ‘Wrong? I only called you in here to tell you I love you.’ You replied as Jason started at you for a bit before he pinched your side, making you squeal.

‘You’re a little shit, you know that sweetheart.’ Jason asked as he kept pinching your sides, making you giggle and squeal in his hold. ‘Had me all worked up and everything.’ He adds as he starts biting your neck playfully.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Have mercy!’ You cried, trying to push yourself away from Jason but it was proven nearly impossible when your man was a literal wall of muscle.

‘’All I can hear as the squeaks of a cheeky little mouse.’ Is all Jason said as he continued to tickle, pinch at your sides. He hates it when you call him his full name, it reminded him of lesser then ideal times, sure it sounded far sweeter and loved when it was coming from you rather than theirs, but he’d much rather you call him anything it his full name.

Tim knows what you’re up to the very moment you use his full name.

His detective brain kicks into hyperdrive and goes into the logical explanation as to why the sudden change.

You’ve never used it before, so why now did you use it unless you had seen a cute trend or something that you thought was hilarious on TikTok, or on another social media platform and wanted to try it out for the sake of following whatever was the thing to do.

That or you were genuinely mad and he should at least go talk to you in hopes of de escalating the situation, should it come to it.

‘I love you.’ You said.

‘You’ve said my full name, lured me out of my room, just to say I love you?’ Tim asked with a raised brow as though his heart wasn’t going nuts once again with how much your words easily affected him.

You paused for a brief moment before smiling. ‘Yeah sounds about right.’

Tim sighs but he couldn’t help but feel a smile creep up on his lips. ‘You’re ridiculous sometimes I swear.’ He says under his breath, ‘you almost had me second guessing myself there but I’m glad this is what you called me out for instead.’ He finished as he pressed his forehead against your own, feeling relaxed and clear minded once more.

‘You may say I’m ridiculous but you love it when I keep you on your toes, it’s like a brain exercise in a way.’ You cheekily told him as you kissed his cheek.

‘You call that a brain exercise?’ Tim said. ‘That was barely a brain activity but more like a brain fart if anything.’ He said as you pouted and smacked his bicep, causing him to smile.

‘We can’t all be smart asses like you drake.’ You said and Tim shrugged as he tugged you close.

‘True but you certainly are a pain in the ass.’ Tim replied, which only made you slap his bicep again as he chuckled and you bury your head into his neck.

[ticklishraspberries]

Stubborn (Achilles/Patroclus)

Summary: Achilles has always been stubborn and prideful. Patroclus sees an opportunity to make the best of the Greeks give in, and takes it happily. (I just re-read this book the other day and was struck with the urge to write a fic for it. I know I haven't written in a while, and I haven't written for this fandom in years, so please be gentle, lmfao. I hope you enjoy!!)

Achilles is stubborn.

Patroclus knows this, has always known this, because he has never known Achilles to be anything but stubborn. For a child with such a weight on his shoulders, a prophecy on his head, the blood of the gods running through his veins — well, who can blame him?

If Achilles sets his mind to something, he will do it. Whether that be mastering the use of a spear, juggling figs, playing the lyre, or breaking through all of Patroclus’s walls, Achilles will do it, can do it.

It’s normally a positive trait, that determination. But in a young boy, it can get annoying quite fast. And Patroclus never usually finds Achilles annoying: He’s in awe of him, smitten by him, happily attached to his hip. But Patroclus is only human, after all, and there is only so much teasing one boy can take before he has to seek some sort of revenge.

Achilles has known that Patroclus is ticklish for years, one of the early discoveries that had brought them closer together. However, in all that time, Patroclus has never gotten the upper hand on Achilles, which is just entirely unfair.

“I’m not ticklish,” Achilles had said. It was a sunny afternoon on the grounds of his father’s palace. “I never have been, even when I was small.”

Patroclus bites back the urge to argue that he is still quite small. “Everyone says they aren’t ticklish, to stop others from trying.”

“You didn’t lie,” Achilles replied with a smirk.

Patroclus felt his face flush. “I knew you would try anyway. Lying would have done me no good.”

“I guess that’s true. Well, you don’t have to bother trying. I’ll just get you back twice as bad.”

What should have been a threat had not deterred him in the slightest, though, and Patroclus had tears of mirth streaked down his face within minutes.

It didn’t stop him from trying again, but Achilles was always one step ahead. He always saw it coming, and always grabbed at the offending hands before they even made contact, and smirked before pinning Patroclus to the grass or the mattress and tickling him half to tears for daring to try and tickle the best of the Greeks.

However, here, in Chiron’s cave, the morning is quiet and still. The centaur is off fetching something to fix a meal, and Achilles is asleep beside Patroclus, unclothed and lying in a particularly vulnerable position, one arm tucked beneath his head of golden hair. Patroclus isn’t sure what compels him to do it then, to ruin the peaceful moment, or why tickling Achilles is even at the forefront of his mind: They’re older now, and this is surely something childish, but the chance to startle a laugh from the other boy has never felt stronger.

Patroclus cuddles close to his side, stroking the hair from his face. Achilles barely stirs, only gives a pleasant hum in his sleep. It’s probably cruel to pull him from such a peaceful slumber, but he doesn’t care. How many mornings had Achilles jumped onto his bed at sunrise, pushing bony knees into his sides and shaking his shoulders, pressing their faces close and loudly announcing the break of a new day?

Maybe Achilles deserves a morning of ruined rest, too.

Patroclus doesn’t quite know where to start. In the past, he’s always tried the obvious places: Stomach, sides, feet. Achilles has never reacted in the expected ways, never cracking a smile or squirming away. Perhaps there’s another spot he can try?

His hand still lingers by Achilles’ face, and he brings it slowly towards his collarbone, his touch featherlight as it traces the curve there before moving up to stroke the side of his neck.

He’s surprised when Achilles twitches in his sleep, his brow furrowing and his shoulder shrugging upwards. This only encourages him further, bringing his other hand to Achilles’ ribs and repeating the same motion.

Achilles makes a noise somewhere between a giggle and a groan as he seems to slowly awaken, his arms lazily moving to push at Patroclus. He rolls over onto his side and tugs the sheet, trying to cover his body, but Patroclus pushes it away and scoots closer, throwing an arm over his waist and pulling his back flush against his own chest.

“I thought you said you weren’t ticklish,” he mutters in Achilles’ ear, making sure his lips brush against the shell of it.

Achilles shivers. “No one but you has ever really tried.”

“So, you admit it then? You are ticklish?” Patroclus asks, grinning. He’s tickling his belly with both hands now, hugging him around his middle so he can’t squirm away. Even with all his strength and stamina, Achilles is still tired and caught off guard, and his body is weak to resist as the soft laughter comes in waves.

Still, he says, “I don’t admit anything.” The sentence carries much less weight when it’s said between laughs, though.

Patroclus shouldn’t be surprised by this. Like he’s said, Achilles is stubborn. For someone who says he hates to lie, he omits the truth and dances around topics like this, to uphold both his integrity and his dignity. It’s quite endearing to watch, honestly.

Patroclus chuckles. “Of course you don’t,” he says.

In an obvious attempt to distract him from the tickling, Achilles flips over and presses their lips together, and Patroclus can’t help but kiss back. However, he’s not going to give in so easily.

He runs his fingers along Achilles’ lower back, up his spine, over his shoulder blades, the touch light and teasing, and he feels goosebumps rising over the skin. While soft touches like this usually tickle Patroclus, he knows Achilles will find them soothing, even sensual. Luring him into a false sense of security will help him regain that element of surprise.

It’s funny, how strategically Patroclus is thinking about something so obsolete. He plans like a war general whose enemy is the ego of his lover, and his attack is to send a fleet of tickling fingers to his weakest spots.

As they kiss, Patroclus grabs onto Achilles’ sides and squeezes them roughly, and a startled laugh falls from the half-god’s lips, his body shrinking away.

“Admit that you’re ticklish,” Patroclus says in a voice so unlike his usual tone, deeper and more commanding. There’s still plenty of mischief dancing behind it, though.

“Never,” Achilles grits out.

“Then I’ll never stop,” he replies. He figures there are worse things to fill his days with. Touching Achilles, hearing his laughter. It would be a quite fulfilling existence if you asked him.

He explores bits of sensitive flesh, but no spot seems to get a greater reaction than the crease where his thighs meet the sacred place between his legs. Pressing the pads of his fingers there actually makes Achilles whimper, and the sound is dizzying.

“Okay, okay,” he finally pants. “I’m ticklish!”

Patroclus stops instantly, rewarding Achilles for his good behavior. He presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, pushes back that golden hair once again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Breathless but smiling helplessly, Achilles nudges him in the ribs with his elbow. It’s rare to see him admit defeat, but it’s a beautiful sight. His flushed skin, his laughter lines.

Stubborn is an accurate way to describe Achilles, yes, but Patroclus will always mention his beauty first. Heroes are usually remembered for their fatal flaw, but Patroclus will always know him for the good things: The golden hair that cascades down his back like a waterfall. His determination, his resilience, his kindness. His laughter. The fact that even with godly blood in his veins, Achilles is just a boy, who juggles figs and is ticklish.

This, and this, and this. The good, the beautiful things.

[lace-coffin]

hello! Could you do something about Asa after he spends like, a good your looking for his newest member of the collection, and when he finds them, their just, surrounded by diff bugs?

Theres like, crickets in their hair, moths and butterfly all over their arms a few spiders crawling around their legs and their holding a praying mantis in their hands and staring at in awe. Their also babying talking it and cooing at it, when they look up and realize Asa is staring at them, they raise their cupped hands a show him the giant mantis resting their, saying with a cherry yet soft voice and smile "I named her Apple!"

I would appreciate it very much if you wrote something about this :)

But you don't have to, for any reason really.

Have a lovely night/day! Be sure to drink water and eat 💕

How would Asa Emory react to finding his new pet coddling his bugs?

Asa Emory/gn!Reader

Tw for bugs and power dynamics

Requests are open!

Asa moved through the halls of the hotel with efficiency, he knew them like the back of his hand, however that apparently wasn’t helping since he’d managed to...misplace his new pet.

You were supposed to be in your room, you were lucky you had even been granted the luxury of not just being crumpled into one of the boxes, but here Asa is, speeding down the halls and jumping/swerving around his traps like some kind of sick ballet in order to find you. You absolutely won’t be getting out of this without some serious punishment.

Asa curses at himself under his breath for making his place of operations so huge, it seemed like a good idea when he set up here and it was but damn if it wasn’t his Achilles heel in this situation.

Fifteen minutes of searching later his heart is picking up in an unfamiliar way, usually he’s not one to care about others or a stray victim but something in him can’t help but worry about loosing his newest subject already. Whether it’s because he cares for you or because he hates not being in control is anyone’s guess. (He’s soft for you and won’t admit it)

Finally as he’s cracking open a door at the end of the hallway he hears a sweet laugh echoing from further along. Bingo. You’re so dead when he finds you. As he’s about to slam the door open he realises this is infact where he keeps his enclosures for his specimens, he sighs and opts to open the door slowly and quietly as not to startle the bugs.

You don’t even notice Asa enter the room, currently too enthralled in cooing sweet words to the giant mantis in your hands.

Before Asa can demand to know where you’ve been and why, his breath hitches in his throat. There you are, sat on your knees next to the enclosure cases, covered from head to toe in his beloved bugs. The calm careful way you handle them and talk to them like they can understand tugs at his heart, his face softens at the sight, anger long forgotten and replaced by a feeling of fondness, the same one he felt when he was originally scouting you to join his collection.

The crickets cling to your stands of hair, a little messy since you had left your room before Asa got to around to brushing it but he’ll fix that later, sitting contently like they’d never been disturbed in the first place.

Moths and butterflies tap their tiny feet along your arms, fluttering their delicate wings, taking off and landing back with you when they please.

Asa takes in the scene breathlessly, if he hadn’t already been weak for you then he definitely is now. As he approaches by a few steps some thick hairy legs come into view, creeping slowly over your thighs and onto your lap. Tarantulas, two of them, using you as a lap cushion without a care in the world. You really are something special. In the back of his mind Asa makes another note to keep approaching slowly, despite you needing a punishment he’s not exactly wanting his eight legged pets to kick hairs at you in fright.

After a few minutes of blissfully observing one of the tarantulas unhurriedly totters off your leg and begins to move across the room. “Oh, where are you off to little guy? I need you over here with me, I’m already probably in big trouble with sir” you sigh. “I don’t want to loose you and make it worse, besides, I don’t think I could forgive myself if something happened to you under my watch”

In a strange way you suppose you understood Asa’s need to keep you under wraps right now, not wanting this beautiful specimen to disappear from your sight, much like Asa with you.

You swivel on your knees to coax the spider back into your palms, nudging its abdomen for encouragement and letting it waddle back into your hands. From your new position you catch a glimpse of heavy black boots in your peripheral. Oh.

You turn your attention fully to the man above you, heart racing at the idea of what’s about to come, however as you reach his eyes they aren’t filled with the rage or disappointment you were expecting. The black orbs are filled with softness, fondness, almost something sweet you can’t decipher.

Without thinking you present the giant mantis to Asa, still on your knees. “I named her apple!” A beat passes and an array of emotions flutter through Asa’s steely heart, his blank face still giving nothing away. After what feels like an eternity he crouches down in front of you, cupping his hands under your own, assisting in holding the mantis. “A fine name for her, pet. Do you know what species Apple is by chance?” He says in his firm but calm, leading voice, slipping into the tone he uses when teaching his lectures without even realising it.

“Uh-no, no I don’t sir…tell me?” You say, wincing a little at the stumble at the beginning, hoping asking him to tell you didn’t come off as rude or undermining his authority. Asa smiles, not letting anything on.

“She is a Giant Asian Mantis, or Hierodula membranacea, If you want to get technical. These are the most commonly kept mantis as house pets and come in an array of colours, but as you can see, apple is mostly light green. I think your name fits her nicely.” Asa explains matter of factly, hands still cupped under yours for Apple to totter onto.

“Woah” you say without thinking, watching Apple move to Asa’s palms and taking in the information. Asa exhales from his nose in a small chuckle. “Woah indeed, however I think it’s time we get you and Apple back to your respective rooms” Asa says with a quirked eyebrow, giving away that your not going to get away with this unpunished just because he finds you endearing.

Asa helps you round up the specimens and places them back in their individual tanks. After making sure you both wash your hands thoroughly he takes your now clean hand and walks you back to your room, letting you ask him more bug questions as you walk.

Despite how lovely this has been you’ll still be given a stern talking to once you return, Asa can’t bring himself to punish you for your little adventure and entomology lesson but isn’t one to let you off the hook without some kind of consequence, after all he expects your complete submission and obedience and won’t settle for any less. But for now that convocation can wait, and Asa can get you comfy on your knees infront of him, manoeuvring your head via the ring on your collar and finally working the comb through the snags in your hair with care.

I hope you enjoy this! Your rq was super fun to do and the idea was really cool! Thank you so much and feel free to send me more < 3

[nonbinarylocalcryptid]

This is how I think Astyanax would know react to being told what happened at Troy.

Context: Odysseus and Astyanax are trapped in Calypso's island. Unfortunetely, Zeus is bored, so he sends a message (maybe a letter? Maybe he just sends Hermes and call it a day?) to fuck things up a bit and mess with Odysseus. It works wonders. Nine years old Astyanax reacts poorly.

Here's what happens when Odysseus finds him after receiving the message.

The sun was about to set, filling the silence with the sound of the waves hitting the beach. Only Odysseus had the audacity to talk.

"My son..."

That wasn't welcome, not anymore.

"Am I?" Asked the boy. He was trembling, but not from the breeze. "Your son?"

For once, Calypso didn't try to insert herself in the conversation, even the chatty goddess was speechless.

"I always wondered, why we don't look alike at all? I was adopted, I knew, but I thought I was your nephew, even a cousin".

"Son..."

Odysseus was interrupted

"How can you call me that? My family, my whole country... it's gone, and it's your fault".

The man took a short breath.

"I'm not going to ask for forgiveness..."

"Good", Astyanax was done, "because there's no forgiving you. Tell me everything that happened, tell me about what went down that night".

He stared at the older man while he shook his head.

"Astyanax, save yourself that pain, the endless pain of the war shouldn't be a child's warden".

"But it is!" Bursted out the kid. "You decided to spare me on a whim!"

"That's not what happened."

"Then what?" A desperate question. "Am I a warprize?"

"Don't call yourself that." It was soft spoken, like a prayer.

Astyanax was no god.

"What am I supposed to think?"

Trying to descalate the situation, Calypso spoke.

"Maybe what your father is trying to say..."

Any other day, the goddess' inside was welcome, as she was Astyanax's friend. Today he was having none of it.

"SHUT UP NOBODY ASKED YOU-"

"HEY", Odysseus stopped him, "don't yell at her. You want to know what happened? Put your emotions aside, and sit with me by the fire".

They did so, and Odysseus told him. About the Trojan war, about ten years of slow killing, about the ressiliance of Troy. He told him about Achilles and Patroclus, about Paris and Helen.

He told the story of the wooden horse.

About longing to go home.

Diomedes led the charge. Agamemnon flanked the guards. Menelaus let the men through the gates. They took the whole city at large. Teucer will shot every ambush attack. And Little Ajax stayed back. Nestor secured Helen and protected her. Neo, avenged his father, killing the brothers of Hector.

About a mission, to kill someone's son, someone who wouldn't run, someone who could only be dealt with right there and then. About a baby in a cradle. About Zeus' prophecy. About him.

About someone who was just a man.

Troy fell.

The Ithacan fleet sailed, hoping to reach home.

They never did.

When he was done remembering the past, he looked at the boy, who was sitting at the other side of the flame, hands covering his face.

It took a long time for Astyanax to even look at him, let alone spoke up, but he finally did it.

"I don't know what to say." He confessed, bathed in the fire's light. "I hate you, I do, I'm so full of rage right now...but I love you, and I hate you so much. You should have killed me when you had the chance, why didn't you?"

The answer came easyly to Odysseus's lips.

"Mercy". He dared to say, the blasphemy of it haunting them, with only the fire and the waves as witnesses. "You haven't done anything, you were a child who had only known love. What was the point?"

"Zeus told you to do it. One should not defy the gods".

A dark laugh came from Odysseus, startling the kid

"That's all we have ever done since we met." Odysseus spoke the truth, and Astyanax hated him for it. "A god ordered a child's death. Where's my free will? Your right to a peaceful life? They're supposed to protect us...and look where we are now because of them."

Astyanax looked at him, right in the eyes, before saying his part.

"I hate you."

Odysseus sighed, tired, defeated.

"I know." Resigned.

"I have one more question."

Just one question? Odysseus would have give him anything he asked for. A question he could do.

"Go ahead."

Like a dreadful night, so many years ago, he thought he was ready. He wasn't ready.

"Do you even love me?"

Tears came to his eyes when the boy asked that question. How many times can a heart break until there's nothing left?

"How couldn't I? To love my children it's the easiest thing I've ever done."

Whatever was the veredict, he would take it, he owed Astyanax that much.

And then Astyanax got up. There was no emotions in his voice when he talked

"You are without doubt, a cruel man, Odysseus of Ithaca."

He walked away, letting a crying man behind.

[delulustateofmind]

oof This is Love, Right is so AMAZING, i loved it a bit too much. my heart broke for the reader when she was soooo close to escaping them, but it all came crashing down - so sad, seriously.

i wonder if they have a preference for boy or girl and also if the kid is satoru, how does geto react and the vice-versa

❤ and thank you for sharing such masterpiece with us

TW: Toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of pregnancy/children, mentions of breeding/lactation kinks. MDNI

I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much! 🩷

Ahhh...in terms of children, those freaks wouldn't care. Geto would surely want girls or twins again. Gojo is well...happy to be there. However, the higher-ups would pressure for at least one of your children to look like Gojo. As for themselves, Gojo and Geto love each other so much that they would love each other's kids.

Now obviously when you have kids that leads to other issues.

Like Geto's breeding kink, oh, his poor breeding kink would go into overdrive. He would absolutely adore seeing you pregnant—he’d be thrilled by the sight of you swollen with their child. It’s not just a visual thing; he loves doting on you during that time, thriving on the closeness and the proof that you need him. For Geto, your pregnancy solidifies his control and affection. (I fear he wouldn't let any of the maids touch you, so uh good luck spending nine months would him)

Gojo has unfortunately a lot of deeply ingrained issues, like being taken away from his parents way too young, which would lead to mommy issues. So when you're lactating. He'd develop a sort of fixation on it, barely saving enough for the kids, and once your milk starts drying up, he'd be ready to give you another one.

You're probably going to (unfortunately) end up with a lot of children. Producing more powerful sorcerers for the world and if there's an occasional non-sorcerer they'd be fine with that.

Now to add onto this how do the kids react to your situation:

Geto is extremely good at manipulation. As soon as your children are old enough to understand and remember things, he’d start planting the idea that you’re “sick.” That’s why you can’t leave, and that’s why you sometimes get “delusional” or lash out at him and Gojo. However, after one escape, Geto did snip your Achilles tendon, so good luck running after that.

So how do the children react, Naturally, they just believe him. Why would their dads lie to them? Their dads are heroes, the strongest, and honored. Who takes care of their sick mother who lashes out due to an illness. So, unfortunately, anytime you try to plead with them or tell them the truth, they'd think you're just "sick" and would probably cuddle you, tell you how much they love you, trying to make you feel better until your "meds" kick in. They'd likely pick up yandere tendencies themselves, thanks to the lovely example their fathers are setting. <3

Sorry for the ramble! I just know others commented about certain situations so I figured I'd just yap about it now.

[achilles-rage]

achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day six: underneath the tree (ft. donovan rocker)

summary: after planning a game of secret santa at work, you desperately try to find out who has your name, and rocker, your secret santa, is determined to have you not find out.

word count: 3.2k

series masterlist

a/n: twelve days of christmas is half over??? i just started it??? i’m gonna miss this series, christmas is my absolute most favourite time of year, and these fics make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside lol. anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

“Everyone take one! Limit is $20, and we’ll be exchanging the week before Christmas!” you say loudly as you walk around S.W.A.T headquarters. You hold out the large bowl you’re holding to everyone you pass, making sure they pick out a name for secret Santa.

You love Christmas, and since you started working as a tech analyst for S.W.A.T, you decided to pool everyone’s names together rather than each team doing their own secret Santa. Not only does it make sure everyone knows each other at headquarters, it’s also a little fun to see everyone’s stress when they get the name of someone they don’t know that well.

You know everyone at work; you sort of have to when you’re helping with every team in the building, and it helps that you do extremely good work, so everyone seeks you out when they need something on the tech end of their cases.

The only downside to your plan to bring holiday cheer: you hate surprises.

Your last two Chriastmases at S.W.A.T consisted of you tracking down the person who got your name to make sure you knew what sort of thing they would get you and how exactly to react when you opened it. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, and you’d never want to react poorly to a gift someone got just for you.

This year, however, the person who picked your name out of the bowl is set on you not finding out.

Rocker had seen firsthand how you managed to sweet talk your way into finding out who your secret Santa was, and he’s determined to make sure your gift was a complete surprise to you when he sees you open it.

“I can’t believe you set up a secret Santa, just to turn around and ruin the fun.” was what he said when he first saw you track down Chris as your secret Santa. He was met with a shrug, and a simple “it’s the thought that counts.”

You’ve been close with Rocker ever since you started as a tech analyst, growing close as Rocker kept coming to you for help on cases and you kept helping him track down his suspects.

What you never seem to realize is that Rocker always comes to you because he likes you. You’re gorgeous, obviously, and smart, but you’re also funny, and kind, and he loves every little quirk that he finds out about as time goes on. Except this one, sort of.

It’s cute that you want to figure out who your secret Santa is, cute in a backwards sort of way because you’re only thinking about the other person’s feelings. But this year, since it’s only his feelings that could be hurt, and he’s sure he wouldn’t give you that horrible of a present anyway, he’s going to have fun watching you stress about not knowing who your secret Santa is.

“So, who did you get?” you ask Rocker when he pulls the scrap of paper from the bowl. He smirks when he reads it, then looks up at you with a raised brow, shaking his head immediately.

“I’m absolutely not doing this with you again. You’re relentless. I’m gonna make sure no one tells you who they got.” he replies, and you huff loudly, rolling your eyes.

“Come on, you know you wanna tell me.” you try to persuade him, raising your brows as you step closer to him.

He can smell your perfume; it invades his senses and sends a chill down his spine. If he weren’t so used to hiding his feelings for you at work everyday, he’s sure your close proximity to him would have him spilling his guts in a heartbeat.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out.” you tell him before you continue on handing out names.

But you won’t. He’s sure of that.

Once all your papers are handed out, and you’ve already gotten the names out of some officers that were especially easy to persuade from merely asking them as soon as they pulled the name out, you started your mission.

You started with 50 squad, just in case Rocker was serious about his threat earlier. You start with Cabrera, who has Deacon, and then you continue on, making sure you see every person’s paper to make sure they’re not lying.

You continue around headquarters, making your way in a loop. You go to Deacon, who has Becker, who has Hondo, who has Powell, who has Luca, who has Hicks, and the list goes on.

You’re glad that it seems most criminals around LA have decided to take the day off, leaving your schedule mostly open to make small talk with these people before you unveil your ulterior motive.

You’ve finally narrowed it down to your last two suspects; Street and Fowler. Street is easy, all you have to do is compliment the new modifications on his bike before he’s telling you that he has Stevens, and then it’s on to Fowler.

It takes some convincing, but she finally tells you that she has Chris. She even shows you the paper. You send a quick thanks her way before you’re on your way back to your desk, a wide grin on your face.

Rocker has your name. He has to. You’ve seen literally every other piece of paper except for the one with your name written on it.

You’re glad that you asked 50 squad first, because soon after that, they were called out, and still aren’t back.

You decide to get some work done while you wait for them to get back, helping various officers with questions about their cases every now and then. When it’s almost time for you to head home, you’re beginning to get anxious. You have to see Rocker today, if not to tell him what to get you – in a lowkey way, of course – then at least to rub it in his face that you know.

You jump slightly when you hear Rocker’s booming voice from down the hall, but your surprise quickly turns to excitement, and you jump out of your chair and go out to where 50 squad is standing near the boxing ring with some of 20 squad.

You listen as Rocker explains to Hondo about the call; a hostage situation at a bank that turned out to be a teenager desperately trying to get attention from his parents, and when he’s done with the story, most officers clear out.

When Rocker’s eyes land on you, you smile widely, and he raises a brow, unsure of the mischievous expression on your face.

“What?” he asks, and you shrug, feigning indifference as you cross your arms over your chest. Rocker tries to keep his eyes off the way the action pushes your chest up ever so slightly, and instead keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“Nothing, just wanna make sure everyone knows that gifts are being exchanged in two weeks.” you say, looking around at the others. You catch Street’s eyes, and you see his small smirk before you look around at Chris, Cabrera, and Luca.

“Yes, we know. Your favourite time of the year. And we heard you the first 500 times.” Luca teases from beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You laugh softly, looking up at him.

“I’m just saying.” you begin before you look out at the group. “And if my secret Santa were listening, I’d tell them to get me a new desk mug warmer, since Chris broke my last one, or maybe a cool desk trinket. Something to make every officer that comes up to my desk stop touching all the important things I have.” you continue, your eyes moving directly to Rocker.

His brows furrow, and when he sees that you’re only staring at him, his jaw drops.

“How did you find out? I didn’t tell anyone!” he exclaims, and you laugh, shrugging. He didn’t need to know just how hard you had to work to find this piece of information out.

He’s more than a little upset that you found out, having already started thinking about the perfect gift to get you. He even asked Cabrera on the way back to headquarters. You two had grown close since she started working here, and he thought she’d be helpful to get some ideas of your perfect gift from.

“I’m just thinking out loud. I didn’t say anything about you.” you reply, feigning ignorance. You can hear Luca and Cabrera’s chuckles around you, but you keep your eyes on Rocker as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Oh, I’m gonna buy you the worst secret Santa gift humanly possible. You won’t be able to hide your hatred for it.” he tells you, and you narrow your eyes right back at him.

“Bring it.” you tell him, and he smirks, letting his eyes trail down your plush figure just once.

“Oh, I will.” he replies before he walks away, ready to get out of his gear and go home.

He’s half serious about his threat, but he also doesn’t actually want to give you a bad gift. He’s liked you for so long, and it seems that his flirting goes right over your head. Granted, he has to turn it way down at work, not wanting to make things weird, but sometimes, he just can’t help it.

A week later, he only has a week left to think of the perfect gift for you, and he’s beginning to stress about it. He still has his backup gift that Cabrera helped him come up with, but he wants to get something special, something that you’d never think to ask for but want badly.

He’s kept up with his teasing, though, going on and on to you about how much you’ll hate your gift when you open it, but all you do is roll your eyes and laugh softly.

He’s boxing with Street during a slower day at work, and when he stops to take a break; his dilemma with your Christmas present clouding his brain and making it impossible to focus, Street slowly takes off his gloves with worry on his face.

“What’s up?” Street asks, raising a brow. Rocker huffs, waving a hand toward him as he leans against the ropes.

When Rocker explains that he can’t figure out what to get you for Christmas, Street scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“How about a date?” Street says in a slight mocking tone. He’s seen the way you two dance around your feelings for each other, and he’s a little sick of having to stay out of it, at Chris’s insistence, of course.

As soon as he realizes what slipped from his mouth, he freezes, his eyes wide as he looks at Rocker’s brows; knit together in confusion.

“A date?” Rocker repeats. He holds back from feeling excited, at least until he figures out where the hell that came from. Street can sometimes be unreliable when it comes to gossip, he’s learned that the hard way.

Street sighs. The cat’s out of the bag now, there’s no point in hiding it anymore.

“Yeah, man, a date. Think about it. I think she’d really love that.” Street says, raising his shoulders as he holds his arms out beside him. He backs up slowly as he watches the cogs in Rocker’s brain moving, and when he sees Rocker’s eyes go unfocused in thought, he ducks out of the ring.

When he gets home that night, he’s still thinking about Street’s words, and the more he thinks about it, it could be a good idea.

When he turns the TV on, he sees that there’s a special tree lighting ceremony at Citadel Outlets on Christmas eve; the largest Christmas tree in the United States, and tickets are going on sale tonight. When he sees this, a smile forms on his face, and he comes up with a plan. But first, he has to get tickets.

After 45 minutes of sitting at his laptop and trying desperately to figure out the ticket website; he wasn’t expecting the tickets to be so sought after, he starts to really plan out his idea.

He can frame it more open ended, just to see how you react at first, and then imply that it’s a date. Okay, maybe the plan’s not exactly foolproof, but he’s not sure what else to do. It has to be obvious enough for you to get it, but open-ended enough that he can play it off as definitely-not-a-date if you’re not into the idea.

It’s now Friday, and he’s been putting off giving you your gift all week, but he can’t any longer. It’s the last day of secret Santa, and he can tell how antsy you’re getting.

“Hey, sweetheart.” he says smoothly as he walks up to your desk, leaning against the back of your chair and smiling down at you as you raise your head.

You jump up from your seat quickly, standing a little too close to be normal as you cross your arms over your chest. Jesus Christ, he thinks, you’re definitely trying to kill him.

“It’s about time.” is all you say, and he chuckles. You notice that he’s holding something behind his back, and you narrow your eyes, trying to reach around his back for your gift.

He tuts softly, moving the gift out from behind his back and holding it out at his side.

“What do we say?” he teases, and you huff, eyeing the envelope.

He can see the desperation written all over your face; it’s practically radiating off of you, so before you can come up with a snarky remark, he holds the envelope out in front of him.

“Merry Christmas.” he says, a hint of a smile on his face despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s worried about how you’ll react, and if you’ll even understand that he’s trying to ask you out.

“No way! We’re going?” you exclaim when you rip the envelope open, seeing the two tickets for the tree lighting ceremony. You’d tried to get tickets yourself, but it was practically impossible, You’re not sure how he did it.

“Yeah, we’re going.” he says, feeling slightly relieved. You had said we, not you. Half of him was worried you’d assume that you could choose anyone you want to go with you. He would’ve let you, of course, as much as it would tear him apart. Anything to make sure you really enjoy your gift.

When you finally look up at him, a starstruck look on your face, you see the hopeful look on his face, and it finally clicks.

“Like, a date?” you ask quietly, worried that you’re completely misreading the situation.

“Yes.” he says after a short pause, a smirk breaking out on his face. He can’t believe how easy that was. He’s glad he didn’t have to push any further, and honestly, he wasn’t sure how he’d even do that.

Your smile widens, and when you get out a breathless “yeah?” he repeats himself.

“Yes, a date. I’m asking you on a date.”

“Thought you were gonna get me a bad present?” you tease, unable to do much else. You’re scared that if you keep talking, you’ll just embarrass yourself. You’re not sure what to even do right now. He just asked you out on a date in the middle of your workplace.

“It could be. Depends on who you ask. Cabrera would definitely call it a bad gift.” he teases right back. You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“I don’t think so. This is definitely the best gift you could’ve gotten me. Although, I’d love it if you were to wrap yourself up and put yourself under the tree. Really commit to the bit.” you say with a wide smile.

“Well, it’s not off the table.” he says with a straight face, shrugging. Then, after a moment, he smirks again.

Your whole body feels hot at the idea of actually going on a date with Rocker, and to a tree lighting ceremony, too. He knows you too well.

You’re suddenly so overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, that you take a quick look around, making sure the coast is clear before you do exactly that.

You raise onto your toes as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips in a passionate, two years in the making kiss. He’s shocked for a second, but then he responds, kissing you with equal fervor as he holds your hips and pulls you flush against him.

He has to fight the urge to sit you down on your table and rip your clothes off, but he has to, he’s still at work, after all. Maybe if the date goes well, he thinks.

You keep the kiss short, and when you both part from each other’s lips, you’re breathing heavily, chests heaving and pupils blown.

“Now I feel bad, all Chris got you was a karaoke microphone you can plug into your phone. To pay homage to your ‘My Heart Will Go On’ cover.” you tease softly, lowering back onto your feet and letting your hands glide down to his chest.

He chuckles, blushing at the memory of that day as he shakes his head.

“Come on, it was great.” he argues quietly, winking at you before finally pulling away, having heard some voices getting closer.

“Oh, I bet it was. I just wish I was there to hear it. And see it.” you tease, letting your hands fall back down to your sides as Stevens and Deacon walk into view.

“I’m sure there’s a video floating around somewhere.” Rocker says, although he hates the thought of you seeing that video.

“I’ve asked literally everyone, no one recorded it.” you say, frowning slightly. God, what you’d do to see that.

“Well, Merry Christmas to me.” he says, fighting the urge to pull you back in for a kiss. His gaze shoots over at Deacon and Stevens, and when he looks back at you, he raises a brow.

“I’ll pick you up at six?” he asks, and you nod, grinning.

“Perfect.” you tell him, and with one last glance down at your full figure, he’s gone, back to work.

You sit back down at your desk, tickets still held firmly between your fingers, and as you think about your date with Rocker, you can feel the swarm of butterflies swarming in your belly.

You just hope that Hicks won’t have a problem with it when he finds out; you’re not exactly sure about the rules of dating here if neither one of you are the other’s superior.

If you know you and Rocker, you know that your unplanned PDA at work will likely get you into trouble either way. Especially when you inevitably invite him into your apartment at the end of your date. It’ll be impossible to keep your hands off of each other while having to see each other at work everyday.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[katerinaaqu]

The Lament of a Life (Achilles and Antilochus short songfic)

If someone asks me how the lament of Achilles looks like my answer would be the amazing aria with music composed by Vivaldi:

The lyrics go on a repeat like this:

So today is a bit chilly and so I was inspired by this amazing song and made this! (Sorry itis a random inspiration I had this morning from this piece thus the title "song-fic")

***

His eyelids were heavy. He didn’t feel like getting up anymore. His bed seemed cold and inhospitable and yet he didn’t feel like moving out of it. His eyes opened slowly and looked to the side. It was empty. He looked outside his tent. Also empty. There was nothing left; he didn’t have the subject of his revenge anymore; he had given it back. Hector’s body was buried and celebrated. His revenge had come to an end. And yet, he felt empty. Nothing mattered. Achilles, the Best and Noblest of all the Greeks was no longer feeling anything mattered. What would it matter now that the subject of his vengeance was gone, if the subject of all the affections he could offer to a human being was also gone? His soul was in turmoil throughout the process. He thought on Briseis, the woman that he felt so strongly for; merely a slave and yet so important for him, had started this domino of reactions which led him to the strike; his refusal to fight. Then his refusal led to this terrible result; the death of his other half. The flame that flickered inside him was gone, the moment Patroclus’s eyes turned glassy from death and he wasn’t even there. During Patroclus’s last moments…he wasn’t there! He remembered his wife; a woman he barely knew and yet she gave him a son, a son he adored despite his young years, a son that he never knew and a son that never knew him back. He could be lamenting for them; they wouldn’t see him again possibly. Given the prophecy, he was to die in war. Possibly neither his wife nor his son, were included in the prophecy. He should be crying for them. He should be crying for the people that were around him and yet…he was feeling weak; unwilling to even get out of his bed and eat because of… He slowly forced himself to sit up and he looked at the magnificent urn with two handles that was always within eye gaze from him. The intricate patterns were cold; just like his bed that could not give him warmth.

“Come back…” he whispered in a voice chocked deep in his throat

Tears oozed out of his sea-blue eyes; his throat burning anew.

“I did what you asked…I offered you a burial…come back…! Please…come back to me!”

His hand was shaking as it was reaching for the cold, golden urn; his other fixing the covers upon his naked chest, in a vain attempt to generate some warmth within.

“Please…” he whispered again, “Come back…!”

“Achilles…”

The young and soft voice didn’t surprise him neither made him react. Antilochus was standing right behind him, undoubtedly had entered his tent a little while prior, enough to hear his foolish and childish lament.

“He won’t come back…” the young man said as a matter of fact, “You offered him a burial. He is in the land of Hades now… He will not come back”

More tears arose from Achilles’s eyes as he clasped desperately the covers against his chest; his face buried to the pocket created by them as if his own eyes wanted to confirm what hurt so much was indeed the organ that was pumping his blood, giving him life inside. Yes, he knew. His cut hair was also a proof of that but hearing it again was somehow destroying that foolish illusion that if he begged hard enough, goddess Persephone would have mercy and send back Patroclus to him; his soul to talk to or at least restore his body to hold one more time…

“Soul of my soul…” he mumbled in lament, “My dear as my own heart…”

“Shh…” Antilochus whispered in tears, hugging his shoulders affectionately, “I know… I know… Please don’t do this to yourself… I know it hurts but…he’s gone… No matter what you do…how much you melt…he won’t come back…”

“Heart of my heart…” Achilles lamented again, “I want him back…! I want him to come back…”

“I know…” Antilochus said again, caressing his golden locks with his hands

Achilles seemed almost aged at that point in his sorrow. Antilochus almost felt tempted to look for white hairs in his golden head.

“And I am sorry that I cannot offer you any consolation… Forgive me. I am not him; I cannot take your sorrow away…”

Antilochus softly raised Achilles’s head, cupping his cheeks and making him look deep in the eyes. He moped the tears from his cheekbones with his thumbs.

“I know I am young and foolish…but, please, take one bit of advice from me; stop looking at it! Stop looking at that urn! It will only hurt you more… You need to come back to us too…we need you…”

He looked away.

“I need you…” he whispered shyly, “You are my hero, my idol… I need you back, strong and healthy…maybe some of your previous happiness back… Please…please my dear…we all need you. Above all I do…”

Achilles looked at him and for one moment he looked like a hurt animal facing the peasant that had released him from the hunter’s trap. However then he laughed; it was a dry, humorless, lamenting laugh.

“Don’t be foolish!” he said self-pettily, “No one shall need me! I shall die! I know I will!”

“Don’t talk like that!”

“You can’t deny it, Antilochus! I know it to be true! It was predicted for me! I will die! I will die in this war! My mother told me someday I would die in this war if I decided to fight! I shall never go home! I shall never see my wife and son! I will die now! I know I will and I don’t care! Nothing matters anymore!”

“Don’t say that!” Antilochus retorted again

“I know the truth” Achilles insisted, “I decided it for myself. I know what my fate is! That urn Im staring is waiting for me! I am to die!”

Antilochus looked away. He seemed hesitant; his arm rubbing his upper arm as if he was about to make that confession no one has heard before.

“I’ll tell you a secret…” he whispered, “So am I…”

Achilles seemed surprised and shocked for the first time in that conversation. Suddenly the lament gone; now there was fear in his eyes. Fear for yet another loss.

“My father was hiding it…but I overheard him. An oracle once told him to beware of an Ethiopian. At first I didn’t know…but my father tried to hide it from me. I know now that I am to die somehow by someone from a foreign land… Maybe today maybe tomorrow maybe here maybe at home… I know though that I will die like this…and…”

He swallowed and looked back at Achilles. The elder man gasped seeing tears to Antilochus’s eyes.

“…And I am scared! I am scared, Achilles! I don’t want to tell my father that for he would be ashamed of me and my cowardice but…I am scared! How can you take it, Achilles? How can you live knowing that you will die…?”

“Antilochus…”

Antilochus quickly mopped his own tears, sniffing his nose, trying to find his composure.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, “I don’t know what came into me! I just…”

He sighed.

“We need you back” he finally repeated, “You are our strength and our courage. When you are out there we are afraid of nothing!”

“Antilochus!”

And Achilles did something the younger prince never expected; he embraced him.

“Antilochus, dear to my heart…don’t say such things please. Don’t you say that you will die! I will not let you! I…I will protect you!”

“You…you will…?”

“I will!”

Achilles kissed the top of his head and held him close. Maybe for the first time in weeks he didn’t think of death and burials. Right now he was lamenting a life; this young man who was there apparently sharing his pain and fate. No, he wouldn’t see yet another young person close to him die before him in battle!

“I will protect you! I will not let anything happen to you I promise!”

The two men remained there for quite some time, neither wanted to count the time. It was a shared lament for their short lives; a lament that was different than the one for the dead souls. Who would die first? If both of them were destined to die in the war against Troy, who would die first and who would watch the other die? Neither wanted to be the last. Neither wanted to see the other die. What weird and sad fate! Achilles was almost rocking the youth in his arms so worried of his upcoming death while he was almost welcoming his at that point; oftentimes kissing tenderly his temple. Antilochus was trying to evoke some of his warmth to Achilles for he was afraid for his upcoming death; his welcoming of it. He didn’t want to hear fate yet alone his willingness to accept it. It was a weird way to connect that autumn morning. And yet he felt that at least Achilles might have found a reason to postpone his will to die. Antilochus broke the embrace first, standing up.

“Look at us!” he chuckled softly, “Looking like children playing at the gymnasium like this! We have a war to fight! I am sorry…I took your personal time, my lord Achilles…”

“Wait!” Achilles’s voice made him stop, “Stay…please…”

It was a request; a pleading.

“Please stay with me longer…” he almost seemed worried, afraid

“Are you afraid of the dark and shadows?”

“Yes…” Achilles admitted, “More like those inside my heart… Please stay a bit longer…”

Antilochus smiled softly.

“Of course, my lord…” he whispered, “I would be delighted”

*

Outside the tents, the Greeks were already preparing for the events of the day. The kings were to negotiate their next step again given how the mourning period for Hector was over, how the killings would start anew. It was a sad prospect and they knew their own forces wouldn’t last long. The spies were also informing them on movement on Troy’s part to call upon more allies to arrive to the battlefield. Odysseus was thinking all this as he pranced about the camp. He blew some warm air to his freezing fingers. Autumn was in for good. Soon winter would arrive again.

“Yet another year to the foot of Troy…” he thought miserably, “Yet another year away from our homes…for the sakes of this war…”

He was also worried on Achilles. That last lament period shocked everyone. Achilles had just collapsed and then turned into blind rage. People were afraid on his sanity; that his mind would break. An out of control Achilles was much more dangerous than they would have thought. And their army needed their support. Before the Trojans had Hector to even the odds. Now their strongest warrior was gone. It would be their chance to have higher spirits and yet they didn’t. Achilles was a mess. Once more they seemed to square one… He could only hope he would snap out of his grief enough to fight. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when he saw old Nestor. Nestor was suffering more than the rest of them from the cold; he had a bear skin over his shoulders to keep his old bones warmer and yet he refused to stand back. Odysseus smiled.

“Good morning, my friend” he said

“Good morning” Nestor replied, “It turned chilly!”

“Yeah…” Odysseus agreed, “Sometimes I envy the young!”

“Speaking of which…my son left the tent earlier this morning. He said he wanted to check on Achilles and I didn’t hear from him since. Have you seen him?”

“No” Odysseus replied thoughtfully, “But I was heading there myself to check on things. Maybe he is still there”

As if on a queue they heard light laughter coming from the direction where the Myrdmidons had camped.  The distinct, clear laughter from Achilles made a small smile creep to Odysseus’s lips.

“It’s the first time I hear him laugh in weeks…” he sounded almost hopeful, “Your son is a miracle-worker!”

Nestor smiled back.

“He is…” he whispered thoughtfully, “He is…”

Odysseus’s smile dropped when he saw a shadow in Nestor’s eyes. He didn’t need to ask to know there was something ominous hanging over the two youths.

Yet another time he looked at the cloudy, gray sky and wondered to Athena how all that was even justified…if the youth were to perish and all the others would live…

***

So yeah...Achilles being depressed and Antilochus giving some consolation! TT_TT Achilles hoped to see Patroclus's ghost again (which is what inspired me from that amazing Aria as well!)

Also I wondered if Antilochus knew the warning Nestor got to "beware of an Ethiopian" if he would know or sense the warning was for himself instead of his father...what if he feared it all along...maybe that would be the connection with Achilles!

Set after the mourning period of Hector! As you can see I kept it a bit "homeric" in the essence that I love tenderness in his writing and then leave it unravel!

a small thanking thing in a way too for @smokey07 for honoring me with a mention! Anoher thankng for @h0bg0blin-meat for his sketch to one of my silly headcanons about Achilles and Patroclus! Still makes me giggle my friend!

Also I want you guys check out my brilliant friend's art and mentions on our characters trust me you won't regret it! Many parallels of the epic cycle were added unconsciously to our story! Hahahaha! @artsofmetamoor

My analysis on Achilles and Patroclus can be found here

Antilochus needed some love too there! Hehehe others write scary stories for October but I was like "nope I shall mention ghosts in angst!"

[hyacinthusmemorial]

is it only me, who goes like "Apollo must have flashback to hyacinth dying , when he saw Achilles and dead Patroclus,

Am I the only one who thinks of this? Okay

If that’s your personal head canon, go right ahead. Believe what you want to, nobody will stop you. 👍😉 I think its definitely a sweet sentiment, and a fun little brain worm.

But, I don’t think Apollo would react that way for for quite a few reasons. The first is mythology and the second is psychology and the third is genre.

The mythological reason is that Apollo is directly and purposefully responsible for Patroclus’s death, and he definitely hates Achilles. Like actually. The List of Top Ten People Apollo hates has Achilles twice on it. If he was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Achilles, and he had a gun with two bullets in it, he would shoot Achilles twice. He wants Achilles to suffer, and when Patroclus dies he tells Hector that he’s the third guy to kill him, but Apollo was the first to kill him. Because I think everyone in the Trojan war knows Apollo and Achilles hate each other. Apollo because Achilles murdered his sons (plural) and Achilles because he knows Apollo’s going to kill him. Reasons for their bitter rivalry can be found in this post here. There are more probably too.

As far as the psychological aspect, let’s assume Apollo’s psyche is like a human’s (which I do not think it totally is, but that’s another post). Trauma and Grief are two completely separate experiences. Grief is a normal human thing which we are given excellent coping skills to overcome by nature. People die. It’s a fact of life. But, HOW people die can be traumatic. For example, if your in a war and you watch your buddy die from a mine exploding and he doesn’t die right away, that’s traumatic. The grief is still separate from the trauma. Its closely aligned, but its separate. Trauma on the other hand is a situation that humans are not equipped to handle—its a situation outside the psychological norm. So our brain adapts normally to an abnormal situation.

I think the only true similarity between Patrochilles/Hyapollo deaths is that they were gay and one of them died before the other. If anything, Apollo was feeling a little vindictive when Patroclus died. He was the arm of fate that killed Patroclus, and Achilles absolutely deserved the death and destruction of everything he held dear in my POV. He was a serial assaulter and a war criminal.

Another reason why flashbacks just don’t work is because flashbacks are a trauma response. I think there’s a separate issue where one might live in the memories of a loved one’s passing, but that’s separate from a flashbacks. Flashbacks from PTSD are when the subconscious fear overwhelms the conscious. It requires a trigger, which can be anything and sinister—subtle and terrible. We know from the ancient authors that one of Apollo’s trigger is a westerly wind. @gingermintpepper had an excellent post providing several sources about Apollo’s approach to Hyacinthus and Asclepius’s deaths.

A flashback is a fear response in a situation that does not require this response based off of a trigger that puts the sub-conscious into a flight/fight mode and makes someone relive a previous traumatic experience. So for example Apollo might feel a western wind and relive Hyacinthus’s death or fear that Zephyrus is about to hurt him or the person he is with. This also depends on coping skills, and whether the person has developed grounding skills to put them back in the present.

I don’t believe that the situation with Patroclus/Achilles is triggering in the right way to elicit a flashback in Apollo. Patroclus and Achilles deaths are pretty different from Hyacinthus’s. So even if he had a grief response it would be minimal. At least from my perspective, one of my parents died when I was a child, and I had to take care of them while they were sick. I take care of a lot of sick people in my day to day, and I will say I rarely ever experience something that puts me back into the mode I was in when my parent died. I walk past the room my parent died in sometimes, cause I work in the hospital that they died in, and I am alright because I recognize the situation and I’m able to accept they died there. Alternatively, what does illicit a response in me is a certain smell my parent had when they were dying. I recognize it in patients sometimes, and I can have a visceral response to that, but again, I have learned how to appropriately deal with these sorts of things because “improve, adapt, overcome.”

Trauma is absolutely just a part of living in the world. Everyone has their own life story and troubles and triggers and struggles. But I don’t think Apollo/Hyacinthus connects to Patroclus/Achilles in any intense way.

Alternatively, I think perhaps something Apollo might have a more visceral response to is Hermes and Crocus, who are quite nearly the same dang story. That’s Apollo’s brother, and he loses someone the same way Apollo lost someone. That would open up gateways of intense suffering.

As far as genre goes, Apollo and Hyacinthus have a horror story parading as a romance story. Zephyrus is a sinister, invisible monster—he causes violence in a place where violence does not belong. On the other hand, Patroclus/Achilles is a war story—violence is expected. They both absolutely knew they were going to fie in that war, so their agony is expected from the beginning. Hyacinthus’s loss is unexpected and therefore, grievous. Not that losing your lover/cousin in a war is less horrific—it’s just prepared for, while losing your lover in a meadow while playing discus is…not.

I don’t mean that your personal view is wrong in anyway. Apollo is a divine character and anybody can have any view of him they would like. A lot of people view him as the antagonist of the Iliad and Achilles’ story, which to me, he just isn’t. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love perspectives and opinions. I like sharing mine, so I love it when people share theirs.

[superkooku]

Have you listened/watched epic? And if you have what’s your thoughts?

Personally I think it’s a good thing to show to a friend new to Greek mythology. I just finished watching the last saga and I have to say I loved it, beautiful. Sad it ended tho :(

It might not be very accurate but I love the hardwork the cast put into it and so I love it very much

My thoughts on Epic the musical

So yes, I know about Epic. I even participated in the secret santa thing and am what we may call 'a winion'.

I just finished watching the livestream too ! I especially loved seeing the cast members were reacting to the sagas (Luke Holt was so funny in this 🤣. Also, Jorge carrying Mico like a baby in 'Just a man' and Mason being extra the whole time... so many gems in that livestream)

Since Epic is finished AND I have animatics of the Ithaca saga, I'll use this opportunity to make a more in-depth review of the musical. Instead of separating it in "good" or "bad", I'm reviewing it criteria per criteria.

The cast

Like I previously said, I LOVE the cast chemistry. They're all so fun and lively. I follow some of them separately, like Janani or Troy Doherty, and they're just delightful. Especially Troy as Hermes, he always manages to make me laugh. Every single time 😂.

Also, he gives me a bit of Mettaton vibes since he's extravagant, always over the top and a bit self-absorbed (the Hermes persona, I mean, not Troy Doherty himself). Maybe that's why I like him so much :3

And of course, there's Jorge, mr. Jalapeño, the man with the plan. I love how both passionate and humble he is, how he takes the time to thank everyone and just how much of a bundle of positive energy he is. I know it's an internet persona, but what I can see from him is some hopefully really nice guy in real life too.

Anyways, awesome cast chemistry, everyone made me laugh and they're all having a good time.

The music

This music is so beautiful 🥰. All the motifs, the emotions, the instruments, the voices ! If I had to rate Epic from the music alone, it would be 5 stars. I'm not saying this in a professional angle or anything, it's my personal feeling.

Seriously, I don't really have that much to say about the music because, to me, it's just that good. I love the variety, how different instruments synch themselves and, yeah.

The characters

Annnnd that's where the blind positive praise stops, unfortunately 😂.

Don't get me wrong, it's not awful either and there are good points. My favorite Epic characters are Hermes and Athena.

The rest ? It's mixed. In order not to make this too long, I'll focus on only some of them.

The story is very character-driven so I won't really delve into it in detail.

Odysseus : he's a good protagonist, especially in the first act. His dilemma is interesting, he has a strong personality and I like that he is just a broken man and not some mighty overlord... except in the Thunder and Vengeance sagas. I feel Jorge exaggerated the monster message a bit too much, imo. Odysseus is supposed to be a witty liar, a warrior of the mind. Not someone like Achilles who solves problems by fighting or fights gods like Heracles, much less freaking Poseidon.

Poseidon : okay ! I liked him in the first act, because FINALLY Poseidon isn't a surfer dude. He's a terrifying force of nature that was angered by mortal hubris (though the hubris thing isn't explained by Epic). In Get in the water, he kept his intimidating side. Because he's, yk, the king of the oceans, one of the most powerful Olympian gods. But his defeat partially ruined him for me 😂. It just doesn't make sense. Why is Odysseus afraid of Scylla and even tip-toes around Hermes, who is friendly, when he can stabby-stab Poseidon ? Why didn't Poseidon counterattack? So many questions.

Zeus : my problem with Zeus is easier to explain. Again, he was awesome in the first act, less so in the second. What I loved initially is how regal he was. Powerful, intimidating, kingly, but not evil either. He warns Odysseus of the gods' will and of fate, which always realizes itself in mythology. In Thunder Bringer, he's fine. His lustful and flighty side is shown, but we could interpret his intervention as avenging Helios and punishing the ones who ate the cows, instead of "Zeus is evil". But in God Games ? He's so pettyyyyy and childish. Where is the kingly attitude ? This "Beast Zeus" should come against Kronos or Typhon, or maybe when Athena and the others threatened his position. Not after a freaking game ! He just strikes Athena with thunder because she won fair and square. At LEAST Luke Holt absolutely killed it, so it's cool to listen to.

Penelope : she's underdeveloped :( . Okay, her bond with Odysseus was respected, they're adorable together. On her own ? Eh, she's fine. Which is a shame because she simply didn't have enough room to exist outside of Odysseus. Also, the fact that she doesn't interact once with her son is criminal imo.

I do have some other issues with characters like Circe and Calypso (basically they're declawed compared to the Odyssey), whereas I'm completely fine with others like Eurylochus, Telemachus or every god except Zeus and Poseidon. Though they're not perfectly accurate either but I don't have problems with them.

The crew in general is also underdeveloped, so I didn't feel much for them (until discovering the scrapped Elpenor and Perimedes songs/lh). They played their roles correctly.

I hated the suitors (that's a positive in Epic) and laughed when Antinous died. Though I wished they were more pathetic and less threatening. Musically it'd be worse but story-wise more fitting.

The story

Overall, it's fine. Most of the best points come from the Odyssey itself, the one change I liked the most was having Odysseus and Poseidon meet (not the way it ended though).

Also, story-wise, I prefer act 1 over act 2, because it's less over the place and more grounded.

But emotion-wise and music-wise, forgetting about the Odyssey, act 2 wins the cake.

Those were my thoughts on Epic :3

I tried not to judge it too much according to the Odyssey and some of my friends are more demanding on that plan (for perfectly legitimate reasons btw). But it's hard to separate Epic from the wonderful work of Homer and it's lacking in some areas.

Still, this journey was very fun, I love all the passion Jorge, the singers and the animatic artists put in, there are a lot of good things about it (I can't mention everything). I don't want to rate it because it's too rigid of a system. I listen to the songs on loop and, ultimately, I'm thankful Epic exists :)

I may come back to this post and reblog stuff if I have new relevant thoughts to add. I'll probably rank the sagas in another post.

[hoover1st]

Work in progress I wrote for my durge and Astarion:

What makes me so special?

*M/F, no pronouns used, fingering, Astarion is manipulative, exploration of what Astarion might be like after all he’s gone through pre-tadpole*

Every nerve of mine is firing, or at least that seems like the most logical way to explain the effects of his cold fingers’ tireless ministrations

My minds a fuzzy haze; a different kind than I’m used to. I’m seeing stars, tensing up, when I feel a harsh icy finger press against my open, panting lips

“Shush now darling, it’s already painfully obvious to our companions that you need me, we needn’t illustrate the point any further”

Astarion’s smug grin peers down at me. It’s an effort to peel my eyes open, and I almost immediately regret doing so

My gut churns at his words and there’s the small, unrelenting voice that rings through my useless head. Yearning to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. Dig my nails into him and shout that he’s wrong, I don’t need him

I don’t do any of those things. I know that he’s right. I need him, and I’m not going to argue with the man whose ending my world with a couple digits

Astarion seems to know my body better than I ever could, or at least he does now. Maybe before all this, I could have done it by myself, knew how to tilt my fingers, what pace felt best. Yet I don’t, so I’ve resolved to letting myself be degraded by this pallid, sharp-toothed fiend

Against my better judgment, against the disgusting voice that grinds against the inside of my skull, I’m sucking that taut finger in with my tongue. I’m bobbing my head in agreement and holding in my whines as his grin widens at my compliance

He clicks his tongue, his amusement growing, “Yes that’s right dear, who else could possibly unravel you like this?”

I can feel the weight of his gaze as it rakes down my form, those sharp scrutinizing eyes devour me “You know that no one else could help you like I do, guide you with your condition, right?”

I don’t deign to respond, Im too focused on finding that sweet ending. he always does this anyways, asks these demeaning questions when I’m at my most vulnerable.

My blood boils as he picks up the pace, I know this dance by now. He quickens, works those magic fingers, then I feel the coil snap. Only this time, right as I’m about to burst, he rips his fingers out from my core with a sudden movement.

The hand that was once on my lips is digs into the side of my face, cradling my head up to his. My eyes snap open, a whine rips from my throat as my gaze finds his.

His face is cold and harsh, he’s a breadth away from me and his lips pull back into a snarl

Most would likely stiffen with fear at the sight of those mean crimson eyes or the threat promised in his glinting canines. Unfortunately for me, my body doesn’t seem to react to danger, another broken function of mine. Maybe if I were normal, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

His voice lacks the practiced sensuality. Instead it drips venom as he snarls “I asked a question my sweet. I don’t appreciate being ignored, especially not when I’m providing for you so kindly”

The voice is now screaming at me, scratching its claws at my forehead. It shouts at me to pay him pack for all his disrespect. For taking my lifeblood. It urges me with all its might to give him a taste of his own medicine, maybe see how his neck and blood tastes

Of course, I don’t listen. Astarion knows as well as I do that I’m weak. Every warrior has an Achilles Heel. Whatever the voice in me is, I know it hates Astarion. Hates the weakness I have for him, maybe that’s part of the draw I have to the vampire

I hold his gaze for a long moment. I pretend that I could hate him, pretend that I’m able to stand up to him, pretend that I’m making an exception just this once. I put on a good show. Baring my teeth, clenching my fists, meeting his gaze with my own, but we both know it’s a show.

With a heavy sigh I nod, “Fine Astarion, you’re right. I need you”

My voice is defiant and unconvincing but he accepts it. He pulls back, his sensual smug expression returning as his fingers trail back down my body, teasing my core, lightly circling my clit

This is good, this is worth the disrespect. I’ve forgotten all about it by the time his fingers stuff me, pumping in and out in rhythm to the song my body sings to him

Astarion’s back to whispering sugary sweet praises into my neck. This is our arrangement, as he makes me come undone, he gets his own payment. I’m on the edge when he sinks his teeth into my neck, groaning and lapping incessantly as he drinks my blood

The sensation always pushes me over the edge, and I cry as the coil in my stomach snaps. His fingers pump in me as I ride out my high, and for a brief sweet moment, we’re holding each other and shuddering, coming down from our highs.

It’s like clockwork. He helps clean me up, I offer to return the favor, he politely declines and claims “my blood is payment enough”, and he leaves me, sweaty and panting, alone in my tent.

I don’t believe him, but I dont understand why. This started slow, built to sex, and now has become this quick easy dance. I’ll take anything he will give me, but I desperately want to return the favor. I’ve lain here many nights, trying to figure out why he rejects my offers.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I suck at it. I wonder if I was once good and desirable, if the roles could’ve been reversed, and I could have Astarion begging me instead. My bodies primal instincts don’t tell me how to touch another gently, how to pleasure, so I’ve accepted that blood is a good exchange.

But sometimes I consider that it could be another part of whatever plot he has. Astarion likes to remind me I’m not the brightest, but the voice tells me not to trust him. Maybe one day he will remind me of how selfish I am, how my need for him isn’t fair and blood doesn’t equate to the way he makes me feel

Everyone has blood, what makes me so special?

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have been thinking about this for a while

Reader that got sucked into the portal came back, stanley is overjoyed and is slowly healing from the guilt, ford and the others are very happy for them...

If weirdmageddon still happen and stanley has to lose his memory to defeat bill, how would reader react?

You knew it needed to be done but that didn’t make it hurt less to see the man you loved, the man you had spend thirty unfair years away from, look at you like a stranger as you pulled away from the one sided hug.

‘Stanley.’ You whispered in hopes that it would elicit some familiarity within him, but nothing his eyes were still confused and dazed as they were five minutes ago, which only proved in breaking your heart further as a broken sob broke from your lips as you burrowed your face into his shoulder. Stanley didn’t know who you were or what you were to him but he couldn’t let someone as gorgeous/handsome as you cry into his shoulder without at least trying to give you comfort by awkwardly patting you on the back.

‘His mind has been completely wiped y/n.’ Ford began as he could feel his own heart break at the sight of two lovers who were separated unfairly, brought back together, only to be separated once again by means of memory wiping one of them to save an entire town. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through as you had only came back from the portal not even a couple of days ago, it wasn’t fair on you and he knew it but before making the deal with Bill, Stanley made Ford promise to look after you and the twins should anything happen to him during the whole ordeal.

‘He doesn’t remember us…’ he then trailed off as it seemed that his words only made you tighten your grasp on Stanley, who’s tightened in return as he glared as his twin brother, though that major fact was lost on him, as to Stanley he might as week be falling at his own mirrored reflection more so then an actual relative.

‘Hey! Stop making the pretty person cry harder than they already are!’ Stan barks as he rubs his hand up and down your back before his face softens as he whispers to you, ‘someone as pretty as you shouldn’t cry for no one.’ This only made you sob even harder as this was one of the very first things that Stanley ever said to you after your breakup with your douche of an ex. It was also the first time you knew that this man would become incredibly special to you, even if he did do stuff that annoyed you, but you couldn’t help but love Stanley for who he was; a loveable man with a big heart forced to mask it thanks in due to his crappy fathers influence.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get your Stanley back, the Stanley that whenever you were annoyed with him would kiss your face until you smiled, the Stanley that would swipe money form people with deep pockets just to spoil you with it later for an impromptu date night, the Stanley you loved even when he had a mullet and looking good with it too; However you were determined to get him back in any means possible, you didn’t want to go through the remainder of your life without him ever again, you already did that and it was the most horrible thing you’ve experienced.

Sure the portal and the multiverse you’ve traveled and became notoriously wanted in -Stanley would be proud- has hardened you but one thing remained true, Stanley was your weakness, your Achilles heel as he was your soulmate through and through. So if there was anyway to getting his memories back you’d do it no matter what, no matter how long it took because all you wanted was your Stanley back, and you will get him back.

[shotmrmiller]

quick question, how would any of the guys from 141 react to being friendzoned?

no.

my personal belief is that they'll just wheedle their way into your life. you'll like em eventually. that's it. you'd have an easier time getting rid of tar that clings to the bottom of your shoes. persistence = 141

-

honestly, price and simon would friendzone you.

price is an older man with a lot of responsibilities on those broad shoulders. he's practically atlas, literally carrying the world lmao

simon wants nothing to do with anyone. if you're name isn't that of a gun, make yourself scarce. vulnerability will get him killed. he will have no achilles heel.

kyle and johnny are on the same boat of being disappointed. obviously. no one enjoys being friendzoned. they'd take the leap of faith, get shot down kindly so expect some radio silence. just to reflect, process and heal.

[achillesisnotcomingdown]

Not, but,,,, listen,,,, hear me out,,,,,

Diomedes.

I once said that Diomedes is a child soldier and Achilles is a legendary child. They both are powerful, almost godlike on the battlefield. I'm sure they're the only 2 characters to have wounded a god(s) on the battlefield (in the iliad).

The main difference between them is that Diomedes is tamed.

Imagine if Achilles took a short break from a fight and was immediatly called unworthy of his parentage. Imagine if he was called names just for sleeping at night. How would the great Achilles react to all of that ?

Diomedes takes it. He get told his father was so much more than he will ever be, and he barely reacts. When he gets kicked awake, he immediatly stands up and then offer to go on the mission himself.

No matter how strong (wounded gods) or important (a king) he is, he is always treated as lesser by the other generals (maybe bc of the hierachy of age, maybe bc they know he has been taught (when he was a 14yo on his first expedition) to be loyal and to obey others no matter how they treat him.)