#leyswriting

[leynaeithnea]

Rest Another Night

After years of fighting the trojans, Odysseus' nights are never quiet.

1. There are Only Screams

Nights were never quiet.

Even when the bloodshed ceased with nightfall and the wounded were tended. Even when all had feasted and retired to sleep after celebrating the victories of the day and mourning the men who lost their lives to Trojan bronze. Even then, the gods never granted Odysseus the sweet release of silence. No moment of peace and quiet. Not even his sleep.

When he laid awake, the rest of the camp asleep, the taunts of the Trojan princes still rang in his ears. The war cries of Agamemnon and Diomedes were an echoing drum that kept him restless, his fingers closing around nothing, missing the comforting weight of his sword. 

When he closed his eyes Odysseus could hear his own voice barking commands through the heat and sweat of the battle plain, repeating the lines over and over. Watch out, Attack, Don’t fall back. His mind constantly scanning for the mistakes they had made. The lives lost due to it. Urging him to be more careful the next day. More valiant.

Whenever his body forced sleep upon him, the screams of the wounded and mourning found him. They drowned out the cries of his son, held close to the chest of Penelope, in his last memory of them. His son, too young to walk, had already picked up on the grief around him as his father had left for war, but he had been too young to understand it.

In Odysseus' dreams, Telemachus remained an infant, even as the years passed and his son grew old enough to hold his first wooden sword.

When Odysseus woke he heard the wailing of mourning wives. And he prayed to the gods that another day would pass where his wife would not become one of them.

The nights where never quiet. Rarely did Athena grant him a night of oblivion.

Sometimes, after he had pushed his body to the breaking point over days of relentless fighting and nights of sleeplessness that left his whole body aching, old and new wounds pounding with persistent presence, his throat hoarse, when he could barely keep standing, his limps trembling from exhaustion, his vision blurry, and his brilliant mind fogged by the lack of rest she would sometimes bless him with her god-sent sleep.

On those days Meneleaus or Diomedes would sent him to retire early with a frown of concern on their faces, calling Polites or Perimedes to their table to lay an arm around Odysseus in support and urged them to accompany him to their camp. Making sure he would lay down on his pillows and blankets before falling sleep and not collapse halfway there on the dusty paths. It wouldn’t be the first time that would happen. 

[leynaeithnea]

Smth smth inspiration ~

La Fermette Marbeuf is a renowned restaurant in Paris’ 8th district. Its Art Nouveau decor is listed as an historical monument, in particular its magnificent glass roof designed in 1898 by Hubert and Martineau. The latter crowns a romantic decor in springtime colours, adorned with mural paintings and a reproduction Botticelli.

Source

[leynaeithnea]

I wrote over 2k words today

2k for a new story (ogygia angst) and couple sentences for Rest another night

I haven't written so many words in one day in AGES (have i ever?)

[leynaeithnea]

I missed spending 20 minutes researching just to figure out what eye color to give the characters

[leynaeithnea]

Rest Another Night

Odysseus gets a special visit on another restless night that he didn't know he wanted, or needed.

2. The Comforting Weight Of Bronze

Torches lit the way to his tent as he retired from the evening feast. His men, those still awake, noted his presence with quiet reverence and friendly smiles. Odysseus could still hear the bards singing of the feats of the achaean kings in the distance, his own name creating a roar at every mention. There were many of those. His deeds and cunning getting the praise he deserved as their best tactician and one of their best fighters.

Tonight, the noises of the feast were no more than a murmur in the back of his head. Tonight, the pulsing drum of his own heartbeat was louder.

His hand closed around his sword, the metal lit up in the same shade as the skin at the edge of the blade. Not yet drawing blood but close to it. Tawny eyes met his frozen stare. Neither of them moved.

“Already trying to kill your comrades to get home faster?”

There was humor dancing on the edge of tension. Odysseus didn’t move, his fingers closing tighter around the leather,his breathing uneven. Diomedes reached up and closed his hand around the bronze, pushing it a few inches away from his throat, careful, as if scared to startle a boar in the forest.

“Try this again some other day, when the gods are not watching”, he said, his voice a low rumble, a contrast to the bellowing war cries that could be heard during the day over on the battlefield. It found its way through the drumming of his heartbeat and he took a step back from the king of Argos, lowering his weapon.

“I did not hear your approach.”

“Athena blessed me with quiet footsteps.”

“So she did.”

He could feel Tydeus’ son assessing him. Odysseus turned away before he could make another remark in earshot of his men.

“Join me inside?”, he asked as he folded back the tapestry and entered his tent.

A wave of stifling air greeted him and sent a shiver down his spine: the nights had become chilly lately, but  the tents held the dusty heat of Helios way into the hours of the dark. Before he could take another step forward he felt a warm breath against his neck. He blinked away an arrow barely passing by his helmet. A memory that felt too real for his own liking.

Odysseus shifted, facing Diomedes again as he took two more steps backwards into the tent, his hand closed around the hilt of his sword. The other man had gone right after him, his eyes following Odysseus’ movements. He knew how he could kill the king of Ithaca if he wanted. But Diomedes was too good of a man to consider it, he took too much liking to him. Odysseus forced his hand to relax the grip on his sword. Earning him a knowing smirk from Diomedes, who for once had come unarmed. The young king wore a chiton and cloak, fastened together by a pin in the shape of a lion’s head. His curls shone in the light of the torches, no doubt someone had rubbed oil into them, as well as his skin, clean like a maidens; any sign of blood and dirt that had dried on him just hours before was gone. Odysseus had seen him as Sthenelus had guided their chariot back to the camp, one of the last to return for the night. Now, cleaned up, he seemed like a different man, like a god. 

The achaean king was still smirking slightly. Terrifying. Enticing.

“Odysseus”

“The next meeting of the leaders is at dawn. Did someone send you or is there something you need from me? Perhaps seeking my council or company? ”

“Agamemnon sends his greetings and asks if you want to join him and his girls one of these nights”, Diomedes responded with a lazy gesture towards his bed. Odysseus blinked, a half hysteric laugh escaping his lips.

“What?”

Diomedes waved it off. 

“Something about growing bored of their curves and needing someone with a skillful tongue.” He held Odysseus’ gaze for a second, and Odysseus felt his cheeks heating. But Diomedes soon lost focus, his eyes darting behind him. Odysseus could see a speck of gold in his peripheral vision and knew what had caught Diomedes attention. The chest he had brought from Ithaca, crafted from olive wood and decorated with ornaments of gold: small ducks around the corners of the lid with a watchful owl adorning the top. The chest was filled with the clothes his wife had woven and packed for him as he had left for Troy: her parting gift, laced with the promises she made him on their last night together. The same promises he repeated as he kissed his son’s forehead and his wife’s lips before he turned away and followed Palamedes on to the ships heading after Agamemnon and Menelaus. The memory a familiar ache in his chest, a familiar weight on his shoulders. 

Odysseus’ legs were heavy from a day of fighting, exhaustion that started in his muscles and spread to his soul. He sank down on the kline behind him, shifting his sword to the side with one leg as he leaned against the armrest, inviting his comrade in arms to sit beside him with an incline of his head.

“If these women can’t satisfy Atreus’ son, I’m afraid nobody can. Though I’m sure he would delight in having a man willingly submit to his hands and commands, he would grow bored of it soon enough. We should've asked Palamedes, he would  have known. He always enjoyed spreading for our high chief. As he did when he grabbed my son and threw him in front of the plow so I would join the kings heading towards Troy to reclaim sweet Helen, the cousin of my wife. Palamedes was a dog who wagged his tail upon his owner's lashes, confusing chains with affection and turning the hate for his master against everyone else. His end came by my hand and yours and I do not mourn him. I am glad that you helped me avenge my son… as any father who loves their own child would. I relished in his struggle before his lungs failed him. But tell me, is there perhaps another purpose to your visit, Diomedes?”

“You talk a lot.” 

Odysseus laughed again. Diomedes’ gaze had found him once more, resting on the hand he had still closed around his sword.

“I may have just wanted to feel another blade against my throat tonight, to know if the gods are still on my side”, Diomedes said as he sat down beside him.

“Then you should’ve just said so, my friend. I’m sure Achilles would be delighted to test it, if you asked him nicely.” 

“He’s too proud.”

His posture was casual, almost lazy; befit for a king, but strange to see on this warrior prince, who wore armor like a second skin. Odysseus’ fingertips traced along leather, but feeling a heavy gaze upon him he stopped the movement, replying: “Too proud for his own good and ours. When the time comes I will try to talk to him. He has listened to my council before.”

“Any man who doesn’t listen to your words would either be deaf or a fool.”

“You flatter me.”

“Just now the bard was singing of how the war would already be lost without you at our side. I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“I heard his song.”

There was silence for a moment. Calloused skin touched his hand and he glanced down. Diomedes had reached out and had placed his hand on Odysseus’ still holding the hilt of the sword. 

“And yet you’re still avoiding your greatest chance for glory to fight Hector yourself. I would if I could with Athena at my side. Maybe I'll still get the chance to.” Fingers closed around his own and pried them away from the hilt. Odysseus resisted at first, but the hand was strong and unrelenting, so he let go. Leaving him unguarded and raw. 

“What use is glory when you’re dead, Diomedes? Are stories of your deeds enough to keep the heart of your beloved warm, when your body grows cold and Hermes guides your soul into the underworld? I will not be ashamed to be hesitant to join fights that I have no chance of winning. And I will not be sorry for it.”

“Such unusual honesty. At least someone would remember you, long after the men who knew you passed.”

“My son would not remember me. He wouldn’t remember my face or voice. Only stories that, he must assume, are more wishful memories than reality, because they would try to make his father sound more astounding than he was. What I would give to see him again. And my wife. My beloved Penelope.” 

“They would not need to invent much to speak highly of your glory in council and on the battlefield, Odysseus: the tales would hardly fall behind the truth. But even so in the end, the gods won't let us avoid our fates, or any battle they decide we have to fight”, Diomedes said, his voice carrying a layer of resignation. Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it was concern.

“You speak well, Diomedes. We can only hope the gods will still be on your side tomorrow.”

For a stretched out moment, neither of them spoke.

“I'm tired.”

“I know, so am I” 

/// Part 1

[leynaeithnea]

Me researching for hours what kind of gardens pharmacists had in the victorian area, followed by what kind of months exist and then forgetting what I was actually doing

I havent edited the shortstory since I started the research 🙃 One day I'll finish editing it

[leynaeithnea]

Smth smth consequences of living in a environment thats not meant for your body

Smth smth burn scars and impaired sight from too bright sunlight for Taín

Smth smth depression from a lack of sunlight for Aleius 💫

[leynaeithnea]

Something completely random you want to share?

I...just had Pizza? Ahem jkjkjk i mean i did but

Actually ur giving me an excuse so

I started working on a new writing project recently (literally three weeks ago, very new)

And im in love with the world

Its one where one side is always in endless night and the other in endless daylight and the story will mainly revolve around two kingdoms close to the border to the area between them (endless twilight/dusk/dawn) and the one place in between them, and I just love it so much because the aesthetics? The vibes?? Gjsjfjsjdjd So the day kingdom will probably have mediterran-ish weather and climate and the night kingdom more tropical-ish and the twilight more uhhh temperate climate and aaaaah its so coool

Two initial moodboards of them with pics from pinterest and the pinterest board: (the title might still change tho)

Thank you for this ask x)

[leynaeithnea]

News flash, we got ourselves a new character (he literally appeared out of nowhere in a scene)

His name is Alkaios

He is Taíns best friend

Hes a poet/court performer

He will be a victim of the narrative (he will probably survive

Reference/Inspiration Picture from Pinterest for now:

[leynaeithnea]

>:) guess i know how Night folks propose now

I am a little high but what if people proposed with beautiful, intricate knives. Ladies would gather around the table and be like “guess what finally happened!!” And pull this beautiful, intricate dagger out of her purse and all the other ladies would gasp and congratulate her

[leynaeithnea]

Had a chat with a friend about how to make the world more brutal, we came up with some ideas:

Slavery

War crimes

Bread and games

Sexual slavery

Sacrifices

"Normalized" Assassinations (often used, not rly legal)

(Circus)

[leynaeithnea]

Spent the whole morning thinking of a question, at some point I had a good one so I ran here but ... I forgor 🥺

So... Hi! Anything random you want to share?

Mhh.....yes

Meet Taín

Aleius

And Eryis

The main characters for my WIP :>

(Pictures as base inspiration for now from Pinterest)

[leynaeithnea]

I have an ao3 account now

I almost want to write something for it

I dont know what though

[leynaeithnea]

The worldbuilding i wish came with ease to my own stories

(I agree with most of these)

capri lore i literally just made up

-mainland of akielos invaded isthima a few hundred years pre canon, there’s still a lot of tension between them. akielos considered isthima “underdeveloped” and thought they needed to adapt mainland culture

-veretian women more oppressed than akielon women, a lot of veretian women moved to akielos post alliance

-patran culture similar to byzantine culture

-slave labour used to be legal in akielos but was outlawed like 100 years before sexual slavery was. their slave labour system was also the “debt labour” thing in ancient cultures where if you were in debt to someone you’d be their slave/servant for a specific amount of time before your debt was cleared

-same sex coupling is common in both countries, but it’s rare to marry. coupling between two women less common + accepted in akielos until veretian women moved there

-vere worships one god while akielos worships multiple (though mootie suggested they have the same gods under different names which i also like)

-vere in general is more religious than akielos

-akielos is richer in precious gems and spices, vere richer in salt and silver, patras richer in gold

-southern akielons have a very warm and slow accent, like a southern american drawl

-southern akielons also prize hospitality more than anywhere else

-vask’s less physically capable women are usually concubines, there are some male ones but not as many bc they don’t want to risk pregnancy from an unfit male

-akielon noblewomen wear veils a lot of the time—not the ones that cover their face, but over their hair, and it’s usually sheer. used to deflect the suns light from making the top of their dark hair burning hot lol

-akielon women tend to be curvier than veretian women, but not necessarily taller

-a lot of isthimans have brightly coloured eyes, but their complexion is darker than most mainlanders (mostly bc they’re out in the sun more)

-paler skin isn’t more prized in akielos, damen is just weird. pale skin is associated with vere, so is generally looked down upon by most akielons

-akielos’s main meat consumption is seafood and lamb, vere has more beef and chicken

-only rich women can play sports in vere, and only particular ones, all women can play all sports in akielos

-female soldiers in akielos don’t have their own tents, men are just expected to behave, which they do most of the time

-there are what would be considered “clubs” today in akielos, where there’s dancers on a raised stage. mostly women, but some men

-akielons are generally better dancers than veretians

-akielons don’t generally like spicy food, but it’s more common than in vere. patrans like their spicy food though, so the spice trade is big between patras and akielos

-in aleron’s court, female pets would perform as well, since there were noblewomen in power back before the regent cast them all out

[leynaeithnea]

Aesthetic references for the (yet unnamed) countries of the Day and Night regions neigboring each other

1 lies in endless night and 2 in endless day

(The pics are from pinterest, def not mine)

[leynaeithnea]

Gotta think of ways to make the Day and Night culture/society fucked up.....going with themes of sun and stars, and honesty and deceit... mh....