#nestor fanfic

[garbinge]

Commission Job

Nestor Oceteva x F!Galindo!Reader

Day 19 from these April Prompts: A Commission Job

Summary: Part 2 to Minimum Wage, but can be read as a standalone. After Miguel orders a hit on Nestor, he comes crashing at your doorstep. 

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Angsty af. Mentions of blood, killing, death, murder, all canon level thangggs ya know. 

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @justreblogginfics​

Part 1​

You wished you ignored the doorbell and the persistent knocking. That was the lie you were telling yourself as the two parts of your brain argued against each other on what to do with the disheveled man at your doorstep. The part of you who had been living in this small town under a new name with no ties to your old life was fighting with the other part of your brain that hadn’t been functional in years… the Galindo in you. 

The initial shock of seeing Nestor bruised and bloody on your doorstep was gone in seconds. You didn’t ask questions, you just brought him inside and into the coat closet. 

“Wrong house!” You called out to the company you had over that was currently in the kitchen halfway through dinner as you shoved Nestor into the closet and shut the door. He didn’t say anything either, he just followed your suit. 

“You know, I’m not feeling so hot.” You made your way back to your kitchen bar and made a scrunched up face. “Getting up made me realize I’m feeling kind of blah.” You were easily falling into the lie, your Galindo traits rising back up from the ashes. 

Your date was making their way down the hallway, disappointment all over their face as they did whatever they could to change your mind. Little did they know that the half broken man in your closet was not going to make that happen. 

After your company left you moved immediately to the closet and opened the door to see Nestor sitting on the cubbies you had as storage. 

“You think you can make it to the bathroom? It’s upstairs.” You would ask questions later, but right now you were prioritizing. 

“Yea.” His voice was rough and more raspy than normal but it brought your heart up to your throat. Seeing him caused you to go into reaction mode but hearing him speak for the first time caused you to want to throw up. 

You brought your arm around his torso and his arm instinctually went around your shoulder as you trudged upstairs. Luckily, it wasn’t many steps before you were in the bathroom. It was obvious that he wasn’t putting all his weight on you but once he was seated on the closed lid toilet you could see his body collapsed in exhaustion. 

Black eye, deep scratch over his cheek bone, probably some broken ribs from the way he was limping. That was the bulk of the damage you were able to clock by looking at him. With a deep breath you opened the cabinets below the sink and pulled out the first aid kit. 

“I’m gonna need you to lift your shirt up.” 

Nestor obliged, it was then that you realized he wasn’t in his normal outfit of a button up and slacks but a t-shirt and jeans. You frowned but quickly moved to look at the bruising and cuts on his abdomen. 

“Great, more open wounds.” You mumbled as you bent down to clean up the dried blood around the cuts. You both sat in silence for a while as you cleaned up the cuts and gave Nestor a cold washcloth to hold against the bruising until you could go downstairs and grab an ice pack. 

“You need stitches.” You pointed to his face as you sat on the edge of your tub. “I don’t have the tools for that but I can give you a butterfly bandage.” Your voice was monotone as you spoke.

“That’s fine.” His voice still deep and raspy. 

With a nod you were leaning over him and grabbing the bandage from the kit and applying it to his face. His breath was hot against your face as you got close to adjust the open cut with the bandage. Quick to move back you looked back down at his ribs. 

“Let me get you an ice pack.” 

Before he could say anything you were up and out of the bathroom and picking up your pace down the stairs. It was an opportunity to truly ask yourself what the fuck was happening. It had been years since you saw Nestor. Suddenly everything was hitting you. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here? Who beat him up this bad? Why didn’t he go to Miguel? Did Miguel know where you were? 

It was overwhelming to say the least, you started to get angry but then you thought about Nestor’s helpless being upstairs and it disappeared instantly. The only way you knew you were going to get answers was to ask him, and if things were even remotely the same as they were years ago, you knew that wasn’t a guarantee either, but you had to try. 

As you walked back to the bathroom you saw Nestor struggling to stand up. 

“Woah, what are you–” Your feet moved quickly on the bathroom tile and before you could finish your statement he was collapsing into your arms taking the wind out of you. “C’mon, sit back down.” A large groan came from the both of you as you took on his full body weight now and attempted to place him back down on the toilet. The pain from his injuries and your shitty attempt to placing him carefully back down causing him to react in agony. 

“Take this.” The medicine cabinet was opening as you shuffled through your things and pulled out an old prescription of some pain medicine. You handed him two pills and filled up a dixie cup with water after he tossed them in his mouth. 

You stared down at him, your mind finding itself back in that same place it was downstairs. 

“I need something.” 

Those were the words you decided to lead with. Not what the fuck is happening. Not what the fuck is going on. No. You decided that you’d go into this the way you knew worked best with Nestor. Meeting him at his own place of comfort. It wasn’t fair, he came to your house, which was still unclear how, but he was the one barely able to stand in your bathroom right now so, sure, you’d give him a break. 

“Mikey has a hit out on me.” 

Now you were the one barely able to stand. You stabled yourself by gripping the bathroom counter. 

“Come again?” You frowned. It was shocking to hear Nestor so easily give up information and to hear THAT information was cause enough for you to feel like you were going to throw up. 

“Your brother hired someone to kill me. A commissioned job.” He said it again, this time more explanatory and it only made your stomach pit tighten more. 

“Wh– Uh– How?” You started to stutter, you weren’t able to take in that information. You prided yourself on your ability to take in all sorts of information, coming from the Galindo family where your father and brother lied and killed and manipulated, nothing came as a shock to you. For God’s sakes the braided man in front of you knocked on your door, that he shouldn’t have known about, bloodied and bruised and you brought him in with no words or question. But this? This was unexpected. 

“Your mom. She’s dead. He, uh, isn’t doing too good. He killed Paco. Right in front of me. In front of Marcus.” Nestor’s voice was rattled. It was how you knew that this wasn’t a normal situation, not that Nestor telling you your brother put a hit on him was normal but you were searching for anything right now. 

“Marcus?” You questioned completely ignoring the part about your mother, your voice just as rattled as his. 

“Consejero.” Nestor let out a deep breath as he remembered you had no idea about anything. 

“Nestor, what the fuck is going on.” The rattled tone changed to desperate and before he answered you heard a knock at your door. It was firm and loud, and it matched your heart beat. 

Nestor was standing up like none of his injuries existed, if you were thinking logically, you would have chalked it up to adrenaline but right now you just felt your whole life crashing down on you. 

So many thoughts in such little time. You didn’t ask for this. Nestor came to your doorstep and now you were dealing with the aftermath of that. You’d kill Miguel. Galindo habits die hard, but your will to protect yourself from them would go down harder. Nestor was quick to grab the gun from under the bathroom sink that he probably clocked earlier but like you said, Galindo habits die hard and he knew you probably had one stored in each room of the house. 

He was making his way down the stairs, way faster than when he arrived. He peaked through the peep hole and immediately his shoulders relaxed and he opened the door, quick to fall back on the steps. 

Now, there was a stoic tall man in a button up t-shirt and slacks standing in your foyer as Nestor laid collapsed on the bottom step and you at the very top staring down to both men. 

“Marcus.” Nestor pointed to Marcus in his way of introducing you. 

“I’d say nice to meet you but this is fucked.” You made your way down the stairs to grab the gun from Nestor and situate him in a better position. “I’ll be taking this for now.” You put the safety back on and placed the gun in your back waistband before picking Nestor up against the wall. “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on and how the fuck you knew where I was?” It was essentially two questions, one was pointed at Marcus and one was pointed at Nestor. 

“I’m sorry to barge into your home like this.” Marcus said like it was the beginning to an explanation but just looked at Nestor to respond. 

“She knows.” Nestor breathed out the two words. 

Marcus nodded. “Well then, you know everything we do.” 

You raised your eyebrows and let out a laugh. “Respectfully, I think the fuck I don’t.” 

Marcus was glaring at Nestor again, not wanting to get anymore involved in this than he already was. 

“I knew where you were, found you a few months after you left. Never told Miguel.” Nestor’s eyes were closed as his chest raised and fell with his deep breaths. 

You were speechless which was Nestor’s invitation to keep talking. 

“I got attacked. Your brother, ordered the hit on me. He’s pissed about your mom.” 

Your mom. When Nestor mentioned it before it slipped out of your mind over the thought that your brother ordered a hit on his best friend. 

“She was murdered. Not sure by who but he blames us all. I got away, laid low, told Marcus to meet me here.”  

“How do I know you weren’t followed.” You snapped your head to look at Marcus who was still standing stoic in your entryway. 

“I wasn’t.” His voice was steady. You believed him, there wasn’t anything you could do if you didn’t but the way he was handling this right now was better than you expected from someone you’d never met. 

You sat in the silence for a minute, taking everything in before shaking it all off, letting the Galindo fall right back into place. 

“So what the fuck do we do now?” You looked straight at Marcus as you asked, knowing Nestor called him here for a reason and if he trusted him you should too. 

“We run.” His advice was chaotic but it was spoken so confidently that you didn’t have an ounce of doubt in you. Maybe it was because running was a life you knew about pretty well, it was comfortable. It was safe, ironically. “But for now, let’s get him to a couch, we’ll head out in a few hours.” 

You nodded in agreement as Marcus walked over to help you bring Nestor to your living room. Placing him on the couch you both stood over him. After a moment you looked over at Marcus and introduced yourself giving him your name. 

“Miguel’s sister.” You specified even more. Before the two of you could speak more, Nestor was mumbling under his breath. 

“What?” You placed your attention on him. 

“Before I showed up. Were you on a date?” Nestor grumbled, the pain medicine obviously kicking in. 

Embarrassed, you snapped your head towards Marcus who was quick to look away. 

“I’ll, uh.” Marcus pointed towards the kitchen and quickly made himself scarce leaving you and Nestor in the living room. 

“Not a very good one if this was the highlight of my night.” Your voice was annoyed but you spoke the truth. 

Nestor smiled at your response. It was a mix of pride and also relief. “Maybe, when this is all over, I can take you on a date.” 

His voice was slurring, it was another empty promise, you knew that, but you also knew that he meant it. 

“You should get some rest, Nes.” As your hand swayed next to him, he grabbed it. 

“Promise me that you’ll give me a chance.” 

You froze at his touch but then nodded. If he could give you an empty promise, you should be able to also. 

“I promise.”

Part 1​

[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!"

[crow-writer]

Cozy autumn evenings with Nestor…

- Those evenings wouldn’t be too long, since Nestor usually got home late from work or the club

- Especially during stressful times you‘d make an effort to keep your home cozy and welcoming for him

- There would be blankets on the couch and some candles burning in the living room when he got home

- He‘d smile slightly and kiss your forehead before going to the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes

- When he‘d come back, he could smell fresh coffee. The two of you liked to have a cup also in the evening, it didn’t keep you from falling asleep anyways

- He‘d flop down on the couch and smile at you as you put the cups down on the table before pulling you down on the sofa by your waist

- You‘d chuckle and snuggle against him as he‘d bury his face in your neck to kiss you more

- Nestor wouldn’t really be too talkative, especially after a long day, but he would pull you close and his hands would roam over your back or arms and stroke your hair all evening

- Since it would usually be rather late, both of you had probably eaten already. Nestor does like snacking though, so you would sometimes prepare autumn trail mixes with pecans, marshmallows, little chocolates and other nuts, that he would practically inhale

- Nestor enjoys scary movies (not splattery ones though), but is willing to adjust a bit depending on your taste. He would love watching ghost movies with you though and laugh at you every time you‘d fall for a jump scare

- At some point both you would yawn every few minutes, which is usually when you‘d try and get him to go to bed

- „Come on, I‘m tired too“, you‘d hum in his ear, to which he would slowly shake his head and grin at you. „Just a few more minutes, mi amor? I don’t want the evening to be over yet“

- Eventually Nestor could be persuaded with some kisses to follow you to your bedroom

- You would help him open his braids and gently comb through his hair with your fingers before falling asleep together

[tastytoastz]

[imagininghim]

Drunk Dialling

A/N: I have heard the song Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan so much on Tik Tok lately. Everytime I hear it I picture Ez, so of course I had to make a story about it.

I hope you enjoy!

Like, comment, reblog!

~~ Flashback ~~

"Swear Ez, it's always the same with you!" She screamed at me, continuing to throw her clothes in a suitcase.

"Mi amour, please we can talk about this!" I said taking ahold of her wrist in attempt to stop her from packing.

"No! It's always the same with you! Club this, Angel that! When is it gonna be me?" She said pulling her wrist from my grasp. I stood there speechless, unsure of what to say. With a sigh, she threw the last of her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up. "That's what I thought, goodbye Ezekiel." And with that, she picked up the suitcase and walked out the door.

I stayed there and watched her walk out, hoping I would wake up from this nightmare.

~~ End of flashback ~~

It was a regular Friday night at the club, we had been throwing another party. I was sitting at the bar alone, sipping on my fourth or fifth beer of the night when Angel approached me.

"When are you gonna stop sulking little bro? It's been a year, it's time to let her go." With a scoff, I picked up my beer and chugged the rest of it. Signalling the prospect to bring me another as Angel let out a sigh.

"I'm not sulking, I'm just not in a party kind of mood." I said simply.

"You're never in the mood for anything anymore. When are you gonna go back to being your old self again?" I scoffed back at him before taking my beer off the bar and making my way through the crowd. Hearing angel call my name, I ignored it and continued out through the door.

When I got outside, I took a seat on top of the stairs before chugging the rest of my beer and throwing away the empty bottle, the sound of glass shattering in the distance. I pulled my phone out of my jeans and began scrolling through my camera roll and looking at all the pictures of her and I.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear the door open and Angel come out.

"You wanna talk about it?" He said, taking the seat beside me on the steps. With a sigh, I slip my phone back into my pocket.

"I miss her." Staring straight ahead, I could feel Angel's eyes on me.

"I know you do, but you can't beat yourself up over it. It's been a year, it's time to move on! Fuck some other bitches and forget her!" I felt anger begin to boil up inside as I stood up and made my down the steps.

"You don't get it!" I snapped. With a sigh, Angel stood up and made his way down the steps and in front of me.

"What don't I get Ez? Huh?!" He snapped back poking at my chest. "It's been a year Ez, she's not coming back! You made your choice, it was her or the club and I know it hurts but you gotta let her fucking go. Ever since she left, all you've been doing is drowning your sorrows in a goddamn bottle instead of moving on!" Anger ran through my veins as I pushed against Angel.

"I can't! Why can't you get that?!" I screamed back at him. "It's not that fucking easy, I love her! Not a goddamn day goes by that I don't see her face, I look for her everywhere I go! I didn't even try to stop her." I felt tears begin forming in my eyes, "I jus- I just let her go, I let her walk out." Angel stared at me in silence. "Why did I let her go?"

"Come on, let's go back inside and forget this." I shook my head before walking past him and over to the steps.

"You go on without me." I said taking a seat. "I'll be in later." Without taking another look at Angel, I heard him let out a sigh before making his way up the steps and back into the club.

As the door closed shut, I pulled out my phone and went into my contacts. Hauling up her contact, I hovered my finger over her number, contemplating on making that call.

Letting the alcohol speak for me, I pressed down on the screen before pulling the phone up to my ear and hearing it ring.

ring... ring... ring... "Hey you reached (Y/N), leave a message and I'll call you back!"

"... Uh, hey... It's Ez... I just wanted to say... I miss you." And with that I hung up the phone. I rubbed my hand over my face, wondering if I was making a mistake leaving her a voicemail. Would she even listen to it? Or would she delete it and pretend I never called?

A million thought swirled around my head as I sat on the steps, the feeling of little wet droplets falling on my skin tore me away from my thoughts.

I let out a sigh, standing up and getting ready to head back into the club when I felt a vibration in my pocket.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)" Flashed across my screen. I slid my finger across the screen, answering the call and placing it against my ear.

"Ez... I miss you too..."

[xanatharspen]

Momento Mori

I only remained on Twitter for so long because of Unus Annus. I was there for the Livestream and was live tweeting Pictures I doodled during the livestream with a timestamp of when I finished them in respects to the final count down.

But twitter is a trash fire so I took screenshots of my tweets and will be posting them and the originals below mainly for archive puposes now that I've deactivated my twitter.

Pictures below the Cut.

(Tweet of the first Picture "Momento Mori" completed at 4 hours, 31 minutes, and 53 seconds left in countdown to the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the second picture "Momento Mori 2" completed at 3 hours, 30 minutes, and 30 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the third picture "Momento Mori 3" completed at 2 hours, 45 minutes, and 10 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the fourth picture "Momento Mori 4" completed at 2 hours, 10 minutes, and 5 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the fifth picture "Momento Mori 5" completed at 1 hour, 32 minutes, and 35 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the sixth picture "Momento Mori 6" completed at 57 minutes and 45 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the seventh picture "Momento Mori 7" completed at 47 minutes and 56 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

(Tweet of the eighth picture, "Momento Mori 8" completed at 13 minutes and 10 seconds until the deletion of Unus Annus.)

Final Tweet a screenshot from the last frame of the last moments

I debated whether or not to save these and repost, save them just for me, or just delete them all together.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not posting them because I want Unus Annus to come back or anything. But sometimes you need some motivation, some reminder that creation doesn't have to be for financial gain.

You are okay to draw fan art and write fan fiction. Sometimes it can feel like people want you to stop those hobbies and instead create something that you can get paid for, but creating happiness should be what you focus on.

I still think about the last Livestream of Unus Annus and how motivated I was afterwards.

[cregansgf]

All they wanted. {N.O}

warnings: none!

friend reader x nestor

I watched as one of the girls behind the bar flirted with Nestor, the way he played into it and seemed to be flirting back.

I looked away closing my eyes for a moment before standing from my seat and heading outside, sliding down the clubhouse’s wall.

I hated the way I fell for him, the way my eyes always searched for him during party’s or when I knew he was around. I hated how badly I wanted him knowing he could never see me the same way.

I was pulled from my thoughts when someone sat down beside me. I looked over seeing him, the same guy I was thinking of.

“Are you alright?” He questioned his eyes scanning over my face.

“Mhm.” I hummed looking away from him and up at the sky “The sky’s so pretty isn’t it?”

Nestor kept his eyes on Y/n as he agreed, though he wasn’t talking about the sky. He was talking about her. She was the only thing he found pretty, the only thing he wanted. But she could never feel that way about him so he had to pretend he didn’t like her, pretend he wasn’t in love with her.

All he wanted was her.

All she wanted was him.

[egotank]

Hi, Celine! Can you write something for Unus? With the anniversary being today/tomorrow, I figured he could use a bit of comfort. Please and thank you! -Mark

Four Years Is Too Long

Unus lays down a black rose upon the black and white coffin.

Four years. Four years ago he and Annus came to exist as egos. Four years since he first filmed with Annus.

Four years too long.

He pouts thinking to himself he hadn’t even realized he was regressing until Annus arrived laying his white rose upon the coffin.

“It’s okay Angel I got you.”

Annus spoke enveloping Unus in a hug when had Unus begun to cry he didn’t know but it felt good to be in Annus’ strong arms again.

“Missed you.”

Unus whines into Annus’ chest.

“I know Angel four years is too long but you always got me don’t you ever forget it.”

Annus spoke, giving Unus head pats.

Sorry for how short it is but I wanted to keep it very soft. -Celine

[aagatinha]

A Christmas in Moulinsart ☃️

Notes: Tintin x Reader fem. (But feel free to imagine as you like) | No hot content

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Snow was falling gently outside while the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth filled the entire room in the heart of Marlinspike Hall.

Captain Haddock sat in an armchair near the fireplace, puffing on his pipe, while Professor Calculus leafed through a newspaper at a table near the large side window, which offered a splendid view of the night illuminated by the soft light of the moon. The ground was covered by a white carpet of snow that continued to fall.

Snowy was sleeping peacefully at the Captain’s feet, matched by a Siamese kitten curled up at the Professor’s feet —finally at peace after a long chase. Only then could Nestor set the dinner table in tranquility.

Tintin, calm and composed in his blue turtleneck sweater and long sleeves, watched the snowflakes fall from the sky, occasionally landing on the glass of the window where he was seated.

“What a perfect evening for a cup of hot chocolate, don’t you think, Captain?” he sighed with a serene smile, pulling Haddock from his reverie.

“Indeed, my dear Tintin. Indeed.”

“Do you think they’ll take much longer?” Tintin pulled back his sleeve to check his watch.

“I hope not. I’m starving!”

“Werewolves?” the Professor chimed in, mishearing the Captain, who rolled his eyes and sighed. “We’re not at Halloween, Captain! It’s Christmas, don’t you remember?”

“I said I’m starving!” Haddock raised his voice slightly, causing Snowy to open one eye, clearly annoyed by the disturbance.

“My goodness! There’s no need to shout, Captain. Dinner should be served shortly!” the Professor replied, completely oblivious to the situation, before returning to his newspaper.

Tintin couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the scene, and just then, the doorbell rang.

“Ah, finally!” Haddock raised his arms, thanking the heavens for the arrival of the last guests.

Nestor opened the door, revealing the detectives, with a bit of snow on their hats, accompanied by another person. The latter wasted no time announcing her presence with a melodic high note, causing Haddock’s eyes to widen as he immediately recognized the source.

“Blistering barnacles! Is that Castafiore?!” He dropped his pipe and clamped his hands over his ears as the falsetto grew closer.

Madame was dressed in a stunning red gown adorned with white feathered details on the off-shoulder neckline.

“Merry Christmaaaasss…” she sang as she entered, leaving Haddock shrinking into his armchair.

“Madame!” Tintin greeted her with a customary kiss on the hand.

“Tintin, caro mio! Ah! What a delight to reunite with you, my dear friends!”

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” the Thompsons said in unison. Each carried a gift box in the characteristic colors of green and red, along with their inseparable canes.

“What lovely sweaters you’re wearing!” Tintin remarked, making the two puff up with pride.

Indeed, their white sweaters, adorned with red reindeer patterns, were something to admire.

“Captain ‘Capop’!” Castafiore approached, extending her hand for him to kiss.

Haddock glanced disdainfully at the gloved hand before reluctantly planting a quick kiss, eager for her to step back. For a moment, he had forgotten that Bianca had mentioned spending Christmas at Marlinspike, but now he remembered —unfortunately, in the most unexpected way.

There was no need for Bianca to offer her hand to the Professor. As soon as Calculus saw her, he willingly stood to greet her. Unlike the Captain, he kissed her hand voluntarily and even praised her falsetto, leaving the singer utterly delighted. Haddock, of course, watched the whole scene with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He just wanted to eat and get through the evening as quickly as possible, all while avoiding any more of Castafiore’s singing.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚☃️˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

While everyone was chatting and laughing, Tintin, in the adjacent piano room, anxiously awaited someone. He wondered what might have happened for there to be no sign of her. He reproached himself for not staying despite Y/n's insistence that he go ahead, especially now that all he could see was the empty, snow-covered grounds of Marlinspike Hall, the snowfall having stopped a few minutes ago.

Noticing his friend staring intently out the window, Captain Haddock gave a couple of knocks on the door to get his attention. Within seconds, Tintin turned and slightly raised his eyebrows, as if asking what it was.

“Don’t worry, lad. She’ll be here soon!” Haddock tried to calm his friend’s nerves with a sly smile. “Castafiore mentioned she and Irma would be arriving together. Remember?”

“I know, Captain, but…” Tintin commented, glancing back at the window, where he saw two figures stepping out of a black car. “It’s her!” he exclaimed, recognizing Y/n as she walked toward the mansion alongside Irma.

The girl was wearing a wine-red, flared dress adorned with white gemstones across the bodice. A short cape of the same color covered her shoulders. She walked, chatting with Irma, Castafiore’s maid.

Tintin ran to greet them, and as he opened the door, his eyes lit up upon seeing just how beautiful Y/n looked up close.

“Sorry for the delay. Irma and I had a little setback. The roads are as slippery as ice!” she smiled, explaining the situation.

“You look magnificent, my love!” Tintin remarked, planting a kiss on her hand. The girl smiled at the gesture.

“We’re just glad you arrived safely! Now come on, Nestor has already set the table!” Haddock chimed in from behind, and everyone headed to the dining room.

Once everyone was seated around the long table filled with a variety of dishes, the Captain stood up and tapped a spoon against a glass to grab everyone’s attention.

He cleared his throat for a moment, and after noticing all eyes on him, he began.

“I’m not one for speeches, and I won’t start now. But I just want to say how grateful I am for each of you. Having the house this full fills me with joy. And though I sometimes miss the sea, I know it couldn’t offer me moments like these.” Haddock then grabbed a bottle of champagne, raised it, and declared, “To you, my dear friends!”

In the following moment, the cork popped off, sending foam cascading down the glass bottle.

“And nothing would be more fitting than a brief rendition of La Traviata before we eat!” Castafiore announced, rising from her seat.

Haddock, however, rebelled and didn’t hide his horror at the idea. He objected, insisting they should enjoy the meal first, eliciting laughter from everyone present. Snowy barked in agreement with the Captain’s protests. It would be absurd to waste time singing while the abundant feast sat untouched!

Despite his protests, Castafiore persisted, stepping aside to begin her performance, much to everyone else’s delight.

“Poor Captain…” Y/n chuckled softly after taking a sip of water. Tintin glanced at you with the same amused expression after seeing his friend sulking at the table.

“Madame Castafiore would never let an opportunity like this slip by.”

Y/n chuckled quietly.

“He could give her a chance!” the young woman teased, making Tintin laugh lightly.

After a few minutes, Bianca finished her “mini-opera,” though to the Captain, it felt like a millennium had passed. He was on the verge of falling asleep when the applause woke him.

“What did you think, Captain?” Castafiore asked as she returned to her seat.

“A masterpiece!” he replied sarcastically and began serving himself. “What are you all waiting for? Go on, dig in!” he practically ordered, seeing everyone still seated.

To the Captain’s relief, Castafiore refrained from singing again, sticking instead to lively conversation, allowing the feast to proceed peacefully.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚☃️˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

After dinner, everyone gathered once again in the living room to chat and wrap up the family gathering with a “Secret Santa” game. The Captain could swear the name box had been rigged after Bianca drew his name.

“What an honor for you, Captain 'Bardock', to be chosen by me!” Castafiore exclaimed as she handed him the gift.

The Captain thanked her as he took the package and opened it, revealing Bianca’s photograph proudly displayed on the cover of a record. He forced a smile and, not wanting to embarrass her, thanked her once again.

“I couldn’t have received a better gift!”

Continuing the game, the Captain drew Dupond’s name. He handed him a rectangular box, not too large, wrapped in white and red paper. Haddock felt relieved to have drawn a man’s name, as he hadn’t paid much attention to the gift he’d bought and only realized it once the game began.

When Dupond opened it, he found a fine pair of Oxford shoes. He expressed his gratitude and kept the game going by drawing Professor Calculus’ name.

“Oh! How curious!” the Professor remarked as he examined the box, carefully opening it. The Captain eagerly watched, anxious to discover what it was. In seconds, Calculus pulled out a black bowler hat.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Professor?” Dupond beamed, proud of his gift selection.

“Thank you, Detective. I was just in need of a new hat!” Calculus replied, his eyes fixed on the gift. Dupond raised his chin, clearly proud of himself.

“Excellent, Tryphon. Now draw another name.” the Captain urged, his curiosity about the remaining gifts getting the better of him.

Obliging, Calculus drew another name and read it aloud.

“Oh! Mrs. Irma!”

The woman seemed as surprised as he was and stood to receive a small box. Opening it carefully, she raised her eyebrows at the sight of a perfume. She held up the small transparent bottle, revealing a light brown liquid, and thanked him.

“I hope you like it, Mrs. Irma. It’s a blend of roses, lemongrass, and cinnamon. I made sure the scent wouldn’t be overpowering, but if it feels that way, I can adjust it!” the Professor explained as Irma sprayed a little onto her hand. The fragrance was soft and pleasant, surprising both Captain Haddock and the others.

“Well, I’ll be! Calculus, I didn’t know you had a knack for these things!” the Captain commented, genuinely impressed.

Irma then drew a name, calling out Dupont. She handed him a long, slightly thin box.

Dupont carefully unwrapped it, revealing an umbrella. His eyes lit up, as did Dupond’s when he saw the item.

“What a splendid umbrella, Mrs. Irma!”

“And I must say, it’s a very fine umbrella!” Dupond added, making the shy woman smile in relief.

“I was already planning to buy a new one. Thank you, Mrs. Irma.”

Dupond handed his gift to his partner and rummaged through the box of names. Pulling out a paper, he announced Y/n’s name. The girl looked surprised and eagerly got up to receive her gift. She thanked him and carefully unwrapped it, removing the lid of the box to reveal a scarf. It was black and white, with the colors alternating in stripes.

“It’s beautiful!” she said brightly. “Thank you, Dupont!”

Dupont tipped his hat in a brief bow and returned to his seat, brimming with pride.

“I thought you were going to buy a hat!” Dupond whispered quietly as his partner sat down.

“I didn’t buy one because I figured you already had.”

Y/n handed her box to the Captain so he could draw a name.

“Madame Castafiore!”

“Oh! Finally!” the woman smiled as she stood up.

She picked up a flat red box and carefully untied the white ribbon, revealing a black fountain pen with gold details. Though simple, it was a very luxurious item.

“How beautiful!” Madame exclaimed, and in her excitement, let out a slight high-pitched note. “Thank you, Miss Y/n! I can’t wait to christen it by signing lots of autographs!”

Her words made the girl smile with pride.

“Who’s up to draw the next name?” Haddock joked, eliciting brief laughter from his friends. Only Tintin and Nestor were left.

The redhead stood and grabbed the box with the names, but since it was no surprise to anyone that he and Nestor had drawn each other, Tintin took a different approach.

“Well, I think everyone already knows who I got,” he quipped. “Nestor.” He then picked up a slightly large, wide box and handed it to the butler, who stepped forward to take it.

“By a million thundering typhoons! What’s this?!” the Captain exclaimed as Nestor raised his eyebrows, surprised by the somewhat heavy item.

Nestor carefully placed the box on the floor and began unwrapping it. Everyone leaned in, curious about what lay inside, as the man revealed a beautiful decorative vase.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Tintin.” he said, astonished by the porcelain piece before him. The vase featured intricate red bird details encircling its rounded shape.

Tintin smiled, relieved and proud that Nestor was pleased.

“I’m not sure mine will measure up, but I chose it with care.” Nestor remarked before handing over a gold box with a red ribbon.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Nestor. Your thoughtfulness is worth more than the gift itself.” Tintin reassured him with a gentle smile while untying the ribbon.

He opened the box and pulled out a beautiful snow globe. Inside was a snowman surrounded by Christmas trees in the background. Tintin smiled as he shook it, making the artificial snow fall inside the globe.

“It’s beautiful, Nestor. Thank you!” Tintin said, embracing him warmly.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚☃️˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

After the lively gift exchange, Tintin and his friends chatted a bit more and enjoyed a delicious pudding. As the gathering came to an end, the Dupondts said their goodbyes. Despite Captain and Tintin’s insistence that they stay the night, the detectives politely declined, explaining that they needed to be at work early the next morning because, as they put it, “duty calls!” Soon, most of Moulinsart’s lights were turned off, and everyone retired for the night. Everyone except Nestor and Y/n.

Before heading upstairs, Y/n stayed behind to help Nestor clear the table. He insisted she didn’t need to worry about it, but she was determined to lend a hand. It was the least she could do, especially after all the work he had put into preparing the dinner.

She was drinking a glass of water when Tintin appeared in the kitchen. He was surprised to see her still up while everyone else had already gone to bed. At least now he knew where she’d been all this time.

“Still awake?” Tintin asked as he calmly approached, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

She chuckled after swallowing her water and turned to face him.

“Looks like I’m not the only one.” she replied, playfully tracing the tip of her finger along the redhead’s nose. He smiled at her gesture before stepping back to lean against the table.

“Tonight was amazing.” he remarked.

Y/n crossed her arms and leaned against the sink.

“It really was. The Captain is lucky to have you all.” she said with a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Tintin looked at her, studying her with a tender expression.

“And I’m lucky to have you.” he said, stepping closer and swiftly scooping her up in his arms.

The girl barely had time to process his confession or think of a response before letting out a surprised gasp at his sudden action.

“Time for bed, Miss S/n.” he teased in a playful, mock-scolding tone as he carried her away.

She couldn’t help but laugh along with him as they ascended the stairs. Tintin and his ever-protective nature…

And so, Christmas at Moulinsart came to a close — with plenty of joy, camaraderie, and, of course, good food! Truly, it had been an unforgettable night.

🎄 THE END 🎄

[emocxnteddie]

Hi! I loved your platonic markiplier fic! I was wondering if you could make something similar but with Ethan? And reader is his trans brother who gets bullied and Ethan teaches the bullies a lesson? <3

!-! Brotherhood !-!

Pair; Crankgameplays/Ethan Nestor x FTM!Reader.[He/Him Pronouns]

Genre; Platonic fluff & angst-ish.

WARNINGS; Swearing, blood, violence, fighting, transphobia, homophobic slurs, bullying.[Let Me Know If More Is Needed.]

A/N - I decided to base this on an au where Ethan is in his last year of high school & M/N is in his second year of high school.

M/N stood in the hallway of his high school, trying not to be seen. He had been relentlessly bullied for the past year for being trans. M/N hated it, always being called names.

M/N's older brother, Ethan was however always by his side. Though Ethan wasn't fully aware of everything, he didn't know his brother was bullied for being trans specifically.

Then one of M/N's classmates, a guy named Derek walked up to M/N along with Derek's minions. "Look! It's the faggot!" Derek laughed as he pushed M/N into the locker.

"Leave me alone, Derek," M/N muttered as he was pushed into the locker. He hated high school, all because of the bullying. Derek didn't stop, of course, he didn't. Derek just continued pushing M/N into the lockers, taunting him.

"C'mon, fag! Fight me! Fucking coward!" Derek laughed and M/N tried to push him off but it wasn't so easy. Then he saw a figure dash towards them, it was Ethan. He had gone to get something he'd forgotten in his classroom when he saw his younger brother being bullied by Derek & his group.

"Leave him alone, you piece of shit!" Ethan yelled as he pushed Derek to the ground. Derek stood up and glared at Ethan. "Why are you defending this homo freak!" Derek said in an angered tone. Ethan spaced out and just swung at Derek, hitting him in the face.

"That homo freak is my brother! So you keep his name out of your fucking mouth!" Ethan yelled as he kept punching Derek until he got enough of it, his fist being bloody and Derek's face being bloody. Derek ran off with his friends, yelling names.

Ethan looked at M/N and laughed. "Sorry, got a little carried away," Ethan said in an embarrassed tone and M/N just laughed along. "Thanks for protecting me, Ethan," M/N thanked his brother and Ethan just ruffled his hair.

"You're my brother, I couldn't let those punks treat you like that, I'm the only one allowed to tease you," Ethan said proudly as he heard teachers. "Oh fuck, gotta run! Catch you back home, bro!" Ethan said as he ran away, M/N just chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah, see you back home, brother."

[bullet-prooflove]

Blood Out: Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @oureternalbond  @lexondeck @weiwei0210

The lamp is on when Nestor comes home, and for a moment he wonders if he left it on this morning because you’re not supposed to be home for another couple of days. It isn’t until the bathroom door opens that he realises you’re actually there. His breath catches in his throat because you look like shit. Your face looks gaunt, your eyes hollow, you’re clad in a simple black bra and jeans, a bloody t-shirt in your hand.

“Hi.” He says softly.

“Hey.” You return.

Your smile is weak, a ghost of what it usually is. It’s when you lean against the doorframe that he sees the mess you’ve left in the bathroom. He sees the medical kit resting on the toilet seat, gauze spilling out of it. There’s blood streaked in the sink and his eyebrows furrow into a frown.

“Is it yours or someone else’s?” He asks, studying you intently.

You wave off his question before snatching up a spare t-shirt from your go bag by the door.

“Rosa, let me see.” He requests, reaching out a hand to steady you as you waver.

You let out a sigh as his hand touches your skin, it’s cool and clammy underneath his fingertips. He catches sight of the bandage on your back, haphazardly stuck with tape. It’s in a weird place, one that he knows that you can’t quite reach.

“At least let me wrap it properly.” He requests, gesturing at the injury.

You allow him to escort you to one of the kitchen chairs because truthfully, he doesn’t think you have the energy to fight him. You look exhausted and all he wants to do is tuck you up in bed and let you sleep but he’s concerned because your skin has an ashy pallor, one that he recognises from the last time this happened. You wince when he peels the tape from your skin, and he apologises under his breath.

When he sees the wound, he knows it’s infected. It’s warm to the touch and red around the edges, he can see it’s weeping, it’s been like this a couple of days he can tell from the smell. He wants to ask how this one happened but right now he has more pressing concerns.  

“It’s infected.” He tells you grimly and you incline your head at the sound of his words. “I’m gonna call Stitches, see if there’s anything she can do.”

He makes the call before he places his cellphone face down on the kitchen table. There’s silence between the two of you for a moment before he bites the bullet and asks you.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

“I’m starting to.” You tell him wearily. “This is the second time in two years. The first time was distraction, but this… I’ve not been the same since I was stabbed. It feels like I’ve slowed down.”

It’s hard to admit, he gets that. You’ve lived this life for such a long time, but he senses your heart isn’t in it anymore. You can only take so much death he thinks before you start to lose little pieces of yourself. You’ve been better over the past year, healthier. He notices that you’re not taking as many jobs as you used to, that you’re home more. He finds he likes that idea more than he thought he would. Here he knows you’re safe, that you’re alive and happy…

“Do you want me to retire?” You ask him curiously.

“I would never ask you to do that.” He tells you frankly.

“But…” You prompt.

“It’s the second time in as many years.” He says, gesturing to the wound with a hand on his hip and earnest eyes. “I’m worried that the next one you don’t come back from.”

“Yea.” You say quietly, your head coming to rest against the back of the chair. “Me too.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[garbinge]

New Years Resolutions Pt. 1

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Day 14 from these April Prompts: “Finally completing a New Years resolution” 

Summary: Nestor’s next door neighbor is his complete opposite, but yet she’s his best friend. Just some end of the year reflections as life is about to change for the both of them. 

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warnings: Angst, mentions of fighting. 

A/N: This is pre cartel, pre navy Nestor <3 I did so much mindless research on the book I mentioned in this fic, that I should have just read it LOL. Enjoy this lightly angsty but cute fic for a pre-mercenary Nestor.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini​

Part 2

The twinkle of string lights were shining through your window from your house and the street you lived on. It was the week in between holidays where everyone forgot what day it was, what they did for work, and lived in simple bliss of waking up everyday with no routine in site. 

You just closed the cover of the book. The red fist that filled the cover staring at you in the face. With your shoulders slumped you stared at the book, in awe of what you had just read, trying to take it all in. Your head turned to look out the window, seeing that across the street at the two level yellow painted house the window on the far top right had a faint light on. A smile filled your face and you kicked your blanket off and shuffled to find your shoes and a sweatshirt. Luckily despite the month being December, California barely got below 50 on a bad day. Extending your hand you grabbed the book and snuck out your room. It was something you had done plenty of times, luckily this week was the easiest week of the year to do it. Your parents loved to indulge in a holiday cocktail or 5 leading up to New Years, a perk of being off from work, which meant they were in the basement blasting music with other family members. This left the front door readily available for you to just wales out of. Now, with that in mind, you weren’t frivolous, you still checked your surroundings, peered around walls, tip-toed on the stairs, and slowly closed the front door just as extra precaution, wasn’t worth the risk. 

You crossed the street quickly and quietly, the sound of crickets and low hums of music being the only noises in the air. You made it to the front porch, not wasting any time to jump on the banister and balance yourself on the porch’s half wall until your hands could reach the slanted roof. First, you lightly tossed the paperback in your hand on the roof, then proceeded to position yourself to maneuver to the second floor. Hoisting yourself up, your right leg swung up, landing on the ladder of greenery that was used as privacy when relaxing in the outside entrance but was more commonly used as a means to lift yourself up to the roof. With ease, you made it up to the second floor and peered into the window. 

Nestor was laying on his bed which faced away from the window, headphones on full blast as he mindlessly flipped through his music collection. There was no chance he’d hear you tap on the window, so you waved your hands obnoxiously counting two full Mississippi seconds before giving up and just opening the window. Nestor didn’t jump or stir, he calmly took a headphone out and leaned up off the bed as he looked at you. That was one of your favorite things about Nestor, he didn’t scare easily. 

The sound of the music screaming through his headphones muffled as he cupped the ear bud in his hand and then eventually faded as he found his iPod and paused it. 

“You are never going to guess how it fucking ends.” The book was being tossed onto his bed as you paced back and forth in the open part of his room. 

Nestor glanced over at the book, becoming familiar again with it, he remembered you had given him a breakdown on Christmas of all that you had read so far. It was crazy he had followed along, Fight Club wasn’t exactly the easiest book to follow and add in your speed while explaining, it was a miracle he even knew what the title of it was.

“Isn’t the first rule about fight club not to talk about fight club?” He asked, sitting at the edge of the bed now. 

With a roll of your eyes and shake to your head, you pushed him over on the bed to sit next to him. “The fifth rule is one fight at a time, so you’re either going to have to fight me or fight your fuckin’ wack ass humor.” 

Nestor laughed, opening his mouth to say something else he probably found to be the most hilarious thing in the world until you cut him off. “Sixth rule, fights are bare knuckle.” You wound your fist back, there was no chance you’d actually hit him, and he knew this but he still surrendered by lifting his hands up, still not wiping the grin off his face. It was contagious, you smiled back at him and reached behind you for the book. 

“So, you gonna spoil the ending for me or what? I’m at the edge of my seat.” Nestor looked over at you. 

“Let me relish in this, it’s not just everyday I finish a New Year’s resolution, Nes.” This was book 12 out of your monthly journey of reading a novel a month. You had printed out a list from some shady site as Nestor called it, but you would have described it as niche. Nestor’s argument was that classic books weren’t categorized as niche, which the list had tons of classics, you just had a habit of not really paying attention to your internet surfing habits, or denying pop up ads, look it was enough that you were fulfilling a New Years Resolution, ok. 

Nestor took a deep breath and looked over at you impatiently. 

“Okay, okay.” You turned towards him on the bed so one leg was tucked under you while the other dangled off. 

“It was him the whole fuckin’ time!” You squealed. “Tyler was the Narrators alter ego!” You eagerly took the book and shook it against his chest in excitement. “And get this, Nes. Narrator shoots himself in the end right, and you think he’s dead but HE’S NOT!” Your hands went to your head as you recalled the words you just read. “But Tyler IS! It was crazy, you gotta read it.” 

“I feel like I have.” Nes chuckled. 

“Fuck.” Your head fell backwards. “I shouldn’t have ruined the ending, I’m an idiot. I was just so excited.” Rolling your head back forward, your shoulders slumped and you looked up at him through the top of your eyelids in defeat. 

He let out a laugh at that, “It’s fine. It’s not like I have much time to read it anyways.” He shrugged. 

Those words were like a strike to the gut. Sucker punch. Not fair. You had thought internally, but he was right. 5 days were left until Nestor left for boot camp. You dreaded thinking about it, you dreaded hearing about it, and most of all you dreaded that the days were flying by making it become reality all too quickly. 

While you felt all these things, you never let them show. Not wanting to ruin the time you had left with your best friend, you buried all the emotion down and kept a smile on your face. That was the thing about Nestor though, he knew. He knew you so well he could see right through the facade, but he let you have it. That’s what best friends were for, right? 

“You mean to tell me you can’t take a book with you to boot camp?” You fell backwards on the bed, and crawled next to him. Positioning your legs against the wall so your back could be on the bed with your head on his lap. 

Nestor thought about responding, but knew talking about leaving wasn’t how you wanted to spend the night. 

“What’s your resolution for next year?” Nestor laid back against his pillow, letting your head fully rest on his abdomen. 

“I have 5 more days to figure it out, don’t rush me, Oceteva.”

Your head shook as he let out a laugh and you couldn’t help but smile and look up at him. Taking a deep breath in, your gaze moved back to the ceiling. Your thoughts starting to consume you, wondering what the next year was going to look like for you. Resolutions aside, you were losing your best friend. There was a part of you that knew whatever happened to him at boot camp would change him as a person. Forget about active duty. The countdown was ticking in your head, 5 days, 120 hours, 7200 minutes left of your Nestor. 

“You know I’ll write you, right?” He said almost like he knew what was going on in your mind. 

“It won’t be the same.” Those words were the most you had said about him leaving after he announced it to you. 

“Even if I wasn’t going it wouldn’t be the same.” His hand came to rest closer to you but didn’t touch you. “You’re going to study abroad in 5 days. We would be writing each other letters regardless.” 

His tone was so full of rational and reasoning which wasn’t where your head was at. 

“But when I come back you’re not going to be here.” The croak in your voice was apparent and even though you tried really hard to mask it the crack caused a tear to break free. 

“I’ll be back in the summer for a week.” His voice changed from reasoning to desperate. The distress was coming from a place of trying to convince you everything was going to be alright. And maybe a little bit of trying to convince himself too. 

“I’ll see you for like a day. Between your mom, brother, and Mikey you’re going to be booked and busy.” You argued every point he made. 

“You know what. First rule about boot camp, no one talks about boot camp.” Frustrated he sat up and stared down at you, your eyes meeting his. 

“I like that rule very much.” You smiled. 

The rest of the night, the two of you hung out like you had millions of times before. Critiquing new music, hanging up magazine cut outs on Nestors wall, taking time to create more sharpie art over it to customize it. At one point Nestor had knocked out while you were on the computer, using limewire to download pirated music. You had realized it because normally he would argue until he won to get you away from the computer, not trusting a single second of you searching on the Java-scripted program in fear of you wrecking his PC.

Turning your head, you saw his eyes shut, and managed to get a glance at the time. 1:30AM. A sigh left your mouth, quiet enough that it wouldn’t wake him, although you knew once Nestor was asleep, he was knocked out, able to sleep through pretty much anything.

As you grabbed your book, you saw something at the edge of the bed. A duffel bag, partially packed with clothes, toiletries and other items he was taking with him to boot camp. You stared at it for a minute. Letting all your emotions bubble up for a short amount of time, you wouldn’t talk about it with him again, not until the day he was leaving, and you were pretty sure even then you wouldn’t mention it. You’d hug him goodbye and that would be that. Looking down in your hand you saw the book and without thinking your legs started to move. A pen was in your hands and the ball point was gliding across the inside cover. 

Rule 1: You do not talk about boot camp. 

Rule 2: You do not talk about boot camp. 

Rule 3: You must write to me as often as possible. 

Rule 4: You can not get another best friend. 

Rule 5: You must stay safe. 

Rule 6: If you have leave time, at least one day must be reserved for me. (i’ll gladly take more if you’re offering)

Rule 7: Phone calls are a MUST when possible. 

Rule 8: Once at boot camp you can talk about boot camp. 

Your tears fell onto the page leaving it to crinkle as it dried. Luckily, you had written your rules on the back of the front cover so the ink didn’t smudge. You carefully placed the book under what he had already packed in his duffel, taking one last deep inhale before shoving the emotions back down. You didn’t bother looking at Nestor before sneaking back out the window, knowing it would bubble up everything you just bottled in. Part of you knew you’d regret it. Sure you had 5 days left of seeing him, but now that meant only 5 more times of seeing his face. You weren’t in the position to give up stealing glances at his face. One that would indefinitely change, the Nestor that was sleeping in that bed right now would be different than the Nestor you’d even see tomorrow. The more and more he packed his bag, the more of him would be packed away. And yet, you did. You did give up stealing glances at his face, because you knew that with every glance, you would fall more in love with a man who he was never going to be again.

Part 2

[katerinaaqu]

What makes the Heart Beat (An Achilles and Antilochus one-shot)

Somehow a sequel to this:

Antilochus was walking fast. His feet seemed to have grown wings even if he was trying to appear like walking casually. He had no idea what was making his heart beat so fast but he knew he had somehow to hurry up. He had received a note with one of Achilles’s slaves that Achilles requested his presence in his tent. They had grown pretty close recently, especially since the day they had shared their sad fates with each other. Antilochus was even afraid all the time that Achilles still wished for death; he could see it in his sad eyes quite often, however the fact that he gained life every time he saw him was filling him both with joy and relief. Perhaps, the Noblest of all the Greeks would find a reason to live after all. He had promised to protect him and Antilochus believed him. He already felt safer closer to him. As he reached the tent he took one breath. It didn’t matter how many times he had been summoned there or walked in there; Antilochus always felt a bit nervous. Achilles was the greatest of all heroes among them; his idol, and yet he was now so casual with him. It felt surreal and amazing at the same time. He rubbed his chilly hands together as a shiver ran down his spine. Winter as in for good at the foot of Troy. He was wearing his warmer clothes today and he noticed that he would need potentially to wear a coat or a mantle soon. He breathed in and out one last time before walking in. The tent was specious and comfortable as always. Slaves and servants were moving about; they seemed to be setting the benches and the pillows in place. The fire and the coals at the bronze braziers were already creaking friendly and emitting much needed warmth in the tent. His eyes immediately fell upon the central part of the tent and he met the beautiful features of Achilles who immediately gained some life and color to his cheeks upon seeing him. Antilochus shyly brushed a rebellious lock of hair behind his ear.

“You asked for my presence…my lord” he said

“Yes” Achilles replied

For one second Antilochus would swear he seemed almost as nervous as he was for one second!

“I…” the Best of the Achaeans stared, “I got some wine from Pthia today. I was wondering if you wanna share”

The younger man smiled without being able to stop himself. Achilles indeed seemed in need of company.

“Sure” Nestorides replied, “I would be happy to!”

“Then…come! Please come near the fire to get warm!”

Yes, Achilles often did that too. He was a good host, that much he remembered. Whoever got to his tent would eat and drink to their fill while Achilles would play his lyre or talk to them on stuff to keep them entertained. Antilochus took the offer gladly as he approached the bench right next to the man he admired as the servants were already mixing the wine to the crater. Antilochus noticed then the covered object to the other end of the room. He almost smiled again seeing how Achilles was trying to heed his advice and stop having the golden urn in plain sight. He quickly lowered his gaze, feeling Achilles looking at him; not wishing to share more of that thought with him. He didn’t want to rub salt in open wounds. The slaves brought plates with cooked eggs and fish and seasonal fruit as well as golden cups for them to drink from. Achilles had prepared a whole feast! Antilochus half-regretted having a good breakfast that morning so that he could honor his host by appreciating more of his hospitality!

“Please…” Achilles said, fixing a fur cover over his shoulder, “Help yourself. Don’t be shy…”

Antilochus obayed. How could he refuse such an offer? He took an egg and softly chewed on it, feeling also the spice that were sprinkled over it to his tongue. Achilles mimicked the move by cutting a flatbread in half, offering him one half and then lazily biting at the crust but he seemed as without appetite as he could be more. Antilochus noticed that he had barely made himself presentable and that was because of him and his visit. He did seem down as he was that day they firstly talked heart to heart and he felt privileged to sense that his presence might have had some positive effect on him. As the wine was poured in the jug, Achilles made a dismissive move with his hand.

“I won’t need you anymore!” he said almost too harshly even if he wasn’t yelling, “I believe I can pour my own wine. I will entertain my guest. Leave us alone!”

The women did not object as they bowed their heads and left. Antilochus noticed the last to leave stopping and looking with sad eyes towards Achilles, who was busy serving the wine to pay attention to her. She was a beauty of brown eyes and wavy hair to the color of pinewood; she smelt of a fine aromatic oil. Antilochus remembered her around. She was Briseis; Achilles’s most priced woman; his status prize and a woman he had expressed his feelings so strongly for a year before. Briseis sighed sadly, covered herself with her warm vail and exited the tent.

“She’s beautiful…” Antilochus whispered absentmindedly.

Achilles looked up for the first time towards the direction Briseis had left.

“She is…” he whispered honestly, “She means so much to me…but…I have to confess you these days I feel like I cannot stand the sight of her…”

“Why?” Antilochus asked as if on an impulse, taking the cup Achilles had offered him

“You know why…” Achilles whispered

His voice was suddenly husky; raspy even. It was the voice he had when anger was boiling inside him but this time the anger was different. It was self-directed.

“I love her…I care for her but…because of her I…I…”

His hands clenched at his cup.

“Because I…”

“Achilles!” Antilochus whispered pleadingly, “Stop blaming yourself!”

“And who’s there to blame?”

Suddenly Achilles looked at him. His blue eyes were liquid with fresh tears.

“At first I wanted to blame the gods…then Hector…then I had no idea anymore! And yet nothing would have happened if I had listened to him! If only I never sent him in my place!”

“What’s done, it’s done” Antilochus said, “The gods have a weird fate for all of us”

“I…” Achilles wiped his newly shed tears, “I never expected to lose him! I always knew he would bury me! I always expected that I would die first… When we left from Skyros he was almost tearful…”

Antilochus realized how he strategically avoided to speak his name; he felt as if uttering the very sound of his companion’s name would tear him apart.

“He thought he would bid me goodbye…and he tagged along. He knew that I would die…and then…I saw his body…at my feet… I…I had no idea that I…that he…”

The youth saw his idol jerk by some unspoken sob. He had to bring his fist to his mouth to stop the new moan from arising.

“Achilles…”

The man he loved and admired suddenly forced a smile to his face.

“I am such an idiot!” he said, “I am collapsing again! I am here to entertain you not get you all sadder with the same repetitive speech of mine!”

“My lord…please…don’t you think for a moment-…”

“Taste the wine!” Achilles interrupted with a forced cheerfulness, “See the wine from my homeland and let me know”

For one more time Antilochus obeyed and brought the goblet to his lips. He tasted the rich wine to his tongue; it was light, lighter than what he expected and had a juicy flavor that reminded him of summer. He felt the eyes of Achilles on him. He felt like he should say something.

“It is exquisite, my lord…” he managed to utter, “Truly can see how much your homeland means to you”

That seemed to have positive effect for his loved idol smiled, this time genuinely, and took a sip of his own. Antilochus observed the lines of his face; he had the beauty of a woman and the strength of a man. How was it possible, even if he was not taking the same good care of himself?

“I see you started growing your beard” Antilochus mentioned as a matter of fact.

“I do?” Achilles seemed shocked as he touched the light, blonde hair that had started to grow to his chin, “I…didn’t notice…”

Antilochus raised a brow. For one second he remembered that Achilles would be now old enough to grow and take care of his beard but now he seemed genuinely shocked to discover its existence. That also seemed, Antilochus realized, that for one more thing he had abandoned himself.

“I don’t like it. Can you help me?”

“My lord? You don’t feel like taking care of your beard?”

“No” Achilles’s reply left no room for doubt, “P-…he liked my face as it was… I did too. I don’t need beard to tell me that I managed to survive this long! Can you help me?”

“I…” Antilochus rubbed the back of his nape in thought, taking another sip of wine, “I would be delighted to be of assistance but surely you can do it yourself…or one of your slaves can…”

“Right now…I don’t trust my hands much with blades close to me…” Achilles confessed, “And I do not want any of my slaves close now! You are the only company I need! Please…”

Color climbed to Antilochus’s cheeks at that remark. Surely Achilles would have many people to rely on and yet he chose him! Once again his lips curled to a small smile.

“I…I am not sure if I am the best candidate to assist with this, my lord, but I will do my best”

Achilles seemed satisfied. He stood up from his seat and went to a wooden box at the corner and took a dagger out. It was one of his most priced possessions; a dagger made of the rare blue iron of the east. Not many people had such weapons to their disposal. As he came back instead of sitting to his bench he curled upon the sheep rug he would have around the heath of fire. He patted a spot next to him.

“Come nearer the fire…” were his cheekbones painted pink because of the heat of the fire or maybe…? “It’s easier to see here…”

Antilochus gulped and for one more time obeyed. He sat and took the knife before carefully approaching the older man’s face. He focused probably way too much. He almost felt the slightest miscalculation would hurt Achilles’s tender-looking skin. The youth felt almost laughing at himself. Achilles had the fame of being invulnerable to any kind of weapon and yet here he was wondering whether he would scratch him with a blade. And yet his skin looked almost sensitive; as if a drop of rain could damage it! His complexion was pale and rosy, slightly sprinkled with light freckles along the shoulders and arms. Being so close to his face let him see with more detail his blue orbs reflected in the fire; the lips of his that were so soft and expressive all the time. Hands shaking he placed his free hand to the chin of the Son of Peleus trying to focus at how he would shave him better.

“You’re very good at this…”

Antilochus blushed.

“Y-You’re very kind, my lord…”

“I might call you to do it next time too!” Achilles teased him

“D-Don’t tease me, Achilles!”

“I’m being serious!” Achilles chuckled in response

“Y-You don’t sound serious!” Antilochus complained, “Anyway…I think I am done”

Achilles felt across his chin. He made a hum of approval but he didn’t say anything. The corner of his eye followed Antilochus’s movement as he attempted to return the dagger.

“Keep it” Achilles said softly, pushing it towards him

“N-No! I can’t possibly…!”

“Keep it…” Achilles repeated, “So you can have something to remember me…when…when I…”

“Achilles! Please don’t! Don’t say that! I told you-…”

“Let’s be realistic here” Achilles finally said, “That is my fate. Whether I stop talking about it or not will make no difference. I will do my best to protect you, Antilochus!”

It was the first time Achilles had actually voiced his name that day and Antilochus felt a shiver down his spine, feeling the syllables that consisted it running to Achilles’s tongue.

“You won’t die in Troy while I live! I promised you that! But I know I will not leave Troy…so, please, I want you to have this…to remember me…perhaps my spirit will be with you the time when…when your fate is to strike you, maybe this dagger will stop it from appearing…”

Antilochus clenched the deadly weapon to his chest, feeling his heart increasing a beat. What made this man’s heart beat, he wondered? How could he find that so that he would gain more faith that perhaps his own fate was not irreversible? Somehow he knew he sounded like a naive child by thinking that but he wouldn’t bear the thought of losing him either; for once he understood his other half, the name avoided all evening; Patroclus. Patroclus; a man he so much envied and felt sorry for but mostly the envy was that he could influence the heart of this great man so effortlessly, even if he was so far away now while he, Antilochus, had to struggle to make himself adequate to the situation! He felt ashamed of his jealousy and yet he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps that was what kept him going now.

“Thank you, my dear…” he finally said, “I will treasure it always”

“It’s yours…” Achilles whispered

The silence that passed between them was both awkward and tensed. Neither of them stood up to go back to their seats. In fact they continued getting warmed up by the fire and each other’s presence. It was as if the benches were too far apart; and this closeness was warm. He thought he should say something to break the ice but, unexpectedly, it was Achilles the one to smile again and speak.

“Do you want me to play something for you?”

“If that would please you, my lord…”

“I am asking you!” Achilles said with a light laugh, “You are my guest. You shall tell me how you want to be entertained!”

Antilochus drew one more sip of wine and smiled back. It truly felt amazing that he had the impact on him that he could make him smile.

“Then…I would be delighted to hear you play, my lord.”

Once more, the man dear to his heart smiled and rose only to fetch his lyre from the hanger he kept it. He sat back down and placed the fur blanket over his shoulders anew. After taking a few minutes to tune his instrument, Achilles began to play a light melody. Antilochus realized he could hear him play for hours. He would only stop to sip some wine and ask him if there was something else he wanted to hear. Eventually he grew tired and he needed to fetch more wine from the crater. He placed the lyre on the bench he sat before and rose to fetch the newly filled jug. Antilochus smiled, watching him. Everything was so out of the heart with Achilles! Achilles eyed towards his head; his hair, seeing the hairpin that was holding it together. With one move he pulled that hairpin out and Antilochus felt his hair cascade down his shoulders.

“Achilles!” he almost shrieked, “Give that back!”

“Not on your life!” Achilles chuckled, then turning serious again he whispered, “You have very beautiful hair.”

Antilochus felt blood climbing to his head again.

“I-I do? Never thought of it”

“Let me braid it for you…” Achilles suggested, “To return the favor for the shave”

Antilochus felt he couldn’t blush more but apparently he could!

“I-If that would please you, my lord…”

“It would!” Achilles replied playfully.

The young son of Nestor gulped a bit and showed Achilles his back. The prince of Pthia softly pulled all the locks back and combed the wavy, dark brown hair with his fingers. Antilochus’s long hair cascaded almost all the way to his hips. He had fathomed he should trim it a bit to stop getting in his way. Feeling Achilles’s light fingers work on the several pieces of hair, carefully already arranging it in small braids made his heart beat faster. Once more he wondered what made Achilles’s own heart beat because his had a pretty obvious reason!

“Your hair seem as if made to be braided!” he heard Achilles whispering

“I…” he stammered back, “I never thought of doing that before…I usually thug it high in my helmet”

“Shame” Achilles commented, “It really suits you”

Feeling the care in those fingers, Antilochus wondered; did he use to do that to Patroclus as well? Or Patroclus used to do that for him? He heard him hum as if trying to surpass a laughter.

“What?”

“Nothing” Achilles dismissed it, “It is just…I remember the first day you came here…”

“Y-You still remember that!?” Antilochus blushed

“Of course. You rushed in this tent asking for my support to your decision to fight; to make your father understand, you said”

“And you helped me…like nothing…”

“How could I refuse such a brave offering? Although…”

His movements stopped for one second.

“...Hearing the fate you had in store…I regret it…”

“Don’t!”

Antilochus turned around all of the sudden and he held Achilles’s hands in his.

“Don’t you ever say you regret it! It was my decision back then! It was my decision to stay even if I overheard the conversation of my father’s! I am scared, yes, but you have nothing to be blamed for! And I know you said you will protect me. That is enough for me! You do not need to apologize all the time for the games of fate that befall others! Please don’t do that, dear to my heart! Please!”

There was some silence between them anew but Achilles smiled.

“Yes…you are right. Forgive me…”

Forgive you! Forgive you! How can I forgive you and your heart big enough to fit us all! Antilochus wanted to scream and yet he remained silent. He let Achilles finish.

“There! I believe I did a decent job!” he approached the bronze spectrum to his face

Antilochus faced himself as he never saw it before; his wavy hair was half-arranged at some small braids Achilles had tied together with some colorful strings he had cut off the edge of his shawl, while Antilochus had his back at him! He was at loss of words.

“I-Is that me…?” he whispered feeling like an idiot for saying this

“It is!” Achiles chuckled, “I told you, you have beautiful hair!”

Antilochus eyed Achilles as well. His hair was cut short for the funeral of Patroclus. Now it had started to grow again but barely touched his shoulders. He lowered his eyes. This man knew how to love; he had loved with a passion he never saw in any other mortal! Achilles seemed to him like the expert to the matters of the heart!

“Achilles…” Antilochus hesitated, “Don’t get me wrong but…I have a silly question.”

“Hm? Shoot” Achilles drank some more wine

“How…how did you realize…you know…”

“Realize what?”

“You know…” Antilochus blushed again, “That you…feel something for someone. I mean…” he looked down in his cup, “You tell me sometimes on your wife and child and all…”

“Oh. That…”

Was that disappointment in his voice? Fatigue? New sadness?

“It’s hard to tell…I mean…Deidamia is a very good woman; a strong and kind woman. She bore me a son but I barely could see his first steps happening before coming to Troy. I care deeply for both; their well-being and safety. I guess that is a sign enough…”

He was strategically avoiding the subject again. He knew that if he had asked this man about his most intense emotions he would probably break down, cry and be much more descriptive than that. However the explanation he gave was good enough on its own.

“My father got me married when I was 13 too…”

“He didn’t!” Achilles banged his hand down the fleece

That look on his face was a genuine childish happiness Antilochus hadn’t see before! He was genuinely shocked in the most positive way; especially that he heard something new about his new companion! That gave Antilochus the boost to continue.

“I suppose he wanted us all to be able to have a family as soon as possible. He had always a big family and he was already getting older back then. I guess he wanted to make sure that we could start our family soon to be with them for as long as possible… I think I left my wife pregnant before embarking for Troy!”

“No!” once again the same look of childish enthusiasm and disbelief emerged

Antilochus wondered if the wine they had both drunk so far made him more cheerful, finally letting go of some of his sadness. In fact for one second he thought he had something in common that he didn’t have with Patroclus! They had the same fate with their spouses!And this new connection made him so happy; more than what he could express!

“Well…” he started, “That’s what I think. I left for Troy soon after but I think that was what she was trying to tell me.”

“How are they?”

Antilochus shrugged.

“I don’t know, haven’t heard anything of them for five years ever since I came here…”

“Ah…good…” Achilles mumbled absentmindedly

Realizing what he said made him once more gasp and raise his hands in defense.

“No! I mean…not good! That is not good definitely!”

Antilochus chuckled lightly. Maybe he too was getting cheerful by the wine after all. But once more he realized how much better suited this smile to Achilles over sadness.

“No need to worry too much, Achilles.” he reassured him, “The reason I am asking is exactly because I am not sure of my feelings on them. I mean I barely knew them. Of course I care for their safety and all but if I am honest I still feel like a child now, yet alone back then. I was barely out of my childhood…and yet being prepared for a family…”

He turned the drink in his cup in thought.

“I am not sure how to feel about it…”

“I understand” Achilles said sincerely, “I know how that feels like…”

“Yes, you do, don’t you? I knew you would understand…”

“It will come with time, I suppose…” the prince of Pthia replied, “it is a matter of time till you can go back home and see them again and…catch up, you know…”

“Perhaps…”

For some reason that day seemed way too distant; almost unimportant compared to the present; to this closeness with the greatest of all heroes on earth. Achilles took a mischievous expression as he smiled.

“So…have you ever since…you know!”

Antilochus once more blushed. He had lost counting how many times he did!

“I-…of course I did…once or twice…here I mean. Some slaves my father gave me that is… Can’t say I am that much invested to it!”

He cleared his throat.

“What about you?”

“No…” the answer was again immediate, “Not ever since…”

“I understand!” Antilochus rushed to stop the train of his thoughts

The last he wanted was to let Achilles sink to melancholy anew; not now that he had experienced his happiness and laughter! Achilles seemed to take the cue and stop. However then he half-smirked again as if he was about to say some good gossip.

“And have you ever experienced…you know?”

It took him ten seconds to realize what the Noblest of all Greeks was implying and when he did, he swore all the liters of his blood had climbed to his face, almost making him explode. He had no idea why he reacted like that but the question resonated way too deep for his own good!

“N-No!” he replied, perhaps louder than what he intended, “Never…I mean I came here so…I never had… way too many experiences of that kind anyways!”

It was way too awkward for some reason; why was his heart hammering against his ribcage?

“Antilochus…” Achilles whispered drawing his attention

And he then felt the warm, slightly calloused from the sword palm against his cheek. His face slowly turned and then Achilles’s soft lips were against his own. He forgot how to breathe! It took him several seconds till his paralyzed brain realized it was the pair of lips massaging his softly. And then all his mind could think was; Achilles! Achilles is kissing me! His lips tasted of wine and spices, his body had a slight essence of sweat combined with the smoke of the fire…he was warm. Antilochus felt the warmth spread in him like a wave. Achilles was kissing him in a slow and methodical manner; like a person that knew what he was doing; a man far more experienced than what Antilochus was in affairs and intimacy…and Antilochus felt like flying; the touch against his lips and the ghost-touch of that thumb to his cheek…the magic of the moment had left him speechless and out of reality. The soft lip-locking lasted only a few seconds and those seconds seemed like eternity; like the Elysian Fields! All his contact with reality was lost for those few seconds! Achilles pulled back, massaging his cheek with his finger.

“That’s how it feels…” he whispered against his lips

He let him go and only then was the magic evaporating.

“Achilles!” Antilochus screeched, “Please stop playing with me!”

“I am not”

Was that sincerity in his look? Antilochus was way too embarrassed to speak!

“But…” the elder man smirked, “You make it irresistible not to tease you!”

His head seemed ready to explode. For one second he wondered what that proposal was all about and the second he felt like he was the one to misunderstand! Achilles was reserved as well. It was as if he was unprepared for the consequences of his own actions. He brushed some hair behind his ear.

“I-I..need to go…” Antilochus said standing up

“Of course. I understand. It’s late” Achilles replied numbly

“Y-yeah… Thank you very much for the wine…and the meal! It was great”

“Sure…” Achilles once more reply

For one second he seemed worried as he added;

“You will come over again, right?”

His eyes looked almost hurt; as if he was afraid his joke or not so much had ruined their relationship they built so far. Antilochus smiled a bit.

“Of course” that was said very easily. “I would be delighted…m-my lord”

“Good! Be careful on your way back!”

“I-I will!”

And he left the tent…

*

Antilochus was running like his feet had grown wings! He had no idea what had happened or why he felt so curious not to mention eager to see the next stage of this! All his accumulated emotions; admiration, sympathy, worry, fear, jealousy and now this weird new desire that arose made him feel ready to explode! He ignored several of the slaves that walked past him (daresay he must have bumped into several of them) or of several soldiers that tried to stop him or ask him what was wrong. Antilochus didn’t stop until his breath was cut off. He then halted and leaned against a wooden pike of a tent, breathing heavily; his breath coming in white clouds in the evening winter cold. He clasped the dagger to his chest; the dagger that touched the flesh of Achilles and now that was given to him as a gift or as memorial and he tried to put his thoughts in order; he couldn’t remember when was the last time someone kissed him like this! Was it is wife on their wedding night? He highly doubted it; they were both young, scared and unsure. It definitely was not one of the slaves he bedded at the camp; none of them had any reason to be passionate with him; for once he was not particularly experienced or daring as a lover and for second they were slaves; they were probably afraid of him deep down. Achilles was the first person to kiss him first! The first person to add so many emotions in one kiss and, by gods, it was just a soft and chaste touch!

“Oh gods…!” he mumbled, “Gods…!”

His heart was hammering against his chest at the memory; the lips against his; the hand on his cheek… His idol had kissed him…his hero had held him closer than ever before! He wondered what that meant; was it just a moment’s tease? A moment of weakness and loneliness…or was it maybe a promise? A potential promise for more? He shook his head violently at the thought, trying to pull his thoughts together.

“Focus!” he said to himself, “You have a war to fight! Achilles relies on you! Stop having weird thoughts like this! If Achilles means something like that…he will let you know!”

And yet his hand touched his hammering heart. And then he wondered maybe that was what made the heart beat after all and maybe that was the answer to his question; somehow he knew now…that he knew how it felt!

*

Achilles was left alone in his tent after Antilochus left. He couldn’t find his voice not even to call the slaves back in and gather the remains of their meal… The silence was chocking him and yet he couldn’t feel himself break it! He was shocked at himself; the reaction that started as a joke, potentially pushed by the wine they had consumed; a mutual teasing about their love life made him move fast and taste the boy’s lips! And that chaste touch had awoken something inside him he had thought frozen ever since he gathered the ashes of his other half from the funeral pyre! That young man who apparently could understand him in every shape or form had somehow awakened this new or rather the old and forgotten feeling inside him; had awakened his need to live, his will to protect and now this… He clenched the hair pin he had somehow forgotten to return to Antilochus. It still bore one or two of his brown hairs on it. He clenched it against his beating heart. And now there was another feeling he knew well; guilt… He eyed the cloth that was hanging like a silent ghost. He had not even the strength to stand. Only he crawled to the spot and grasped the piece of linen, pulling it down. The golden urn came back on sight. Achilles then felt his throat burn; tied in a knot.

“Forgive me…” he whispered

His trembling hand touched the cold, golden surface.

“F-Forgive me…heart of my heart…I can’t do this anymore!” he whispered

Tears arose from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. The pin was clasped in his hand against his chest; like a sinful proof of a criminal action.

“I can’t bear this anymore…! The loneliness…the longing! Forgive me…! Please try to understand! I can’t keep pushing people away…f-for you…!”

He moaned in desperation.

“Oh gods…!” he mumbled, “Forgive me for my words! My beloved! Soul of my soul…dear as my own life and heart! Forgive me! But I cannot do this anymore! I am alive! I am not a corpse! I cannot keep going like this! Forgive me…forgive me! Please! Try to understand…”

He had no idea what made his heart beat more;

The past the present or the nonexistent future?

****

Soooo it has become colder around here so I got inspired for another fluffy thing after also a conversation with @ellilyre about these two and I just couldn't help but explore a bit more the possibility!

So yeah fluffy stuff!

Antilochus according to some versions of the myth he was too young at the beginning of the war but at the 5th year he arrived to Troy and asked for Achilles to support his decision to fight because Nestor had objections being terrified by the prophecy

Once again I wanted to create some more tragic climate for Achilles because I so agree with people who say he was not prepared to lose Patroclus but he loses him. Now he makes a promise that he will protect Antilochus but as we know Antilochus would die by the hands of Memnon

According some myths Antilochus was also married and left an heir behind so I wanted to include that here!

I based Antilochus's description on his depiction at a vase.

The detail with the iron dagger was inspired by a conversation I had with @captnbunnie Homer mentions Iron as anachronism in his poems however iron was not completely unknown (although not widely used) so yeah decided to sneak it in as well and make it a bit more "period accurate" by making it some luxury item.

And decided to add the emotional conflict here. What do you think? Let me know!

Once again special mention to @ellilyre and of course my dear friend @artsofmetamoor because most of my work reflects a lot stories we work together with!

[lyculuscaelus]

Astronomical Greek mythology shenanigans #1

588 Achilles found himself staring into the darkness that was known as space.

He felt so alive, once again. And he was glad that death had not erased even a bit of his memories. He still remembered how he went under the training of Chiron—now a constellation of stars over there, going by the name “Centaurus”—an honor to the great mentor of heroes; he remembered how his mother disguised him as a girl, sending him among Skyros where his identity could be hidden; he remembered how he fought under the city of Troy, earning great honor and fame until the irascible Atreïdes, shepherd of people, took away what belonged to him, dishonoring the prideful Peleïades…

Speaking of whom, 588 Achilles could now see 911 Agamemnon talking to his a close friend 3564 Talthybius, the loyal herald of Agamemnon. Somewhere above them, the great Cretan king 2759 Idomeneus was engaged in a conversation with his companion 3596 Meriones, and 659 Nestor—that Geranian noble horseman. 588 Achilles did not find either 1437 Diomedes or 1143 Odysseus anywhere—no doubt these two were once again getting up to some mischief…

But he did not find his Patroclus anywhere.

Where could he be? Roaming around in the Greek camp, 588 Achilles still couldn’t find any sign of his therapon, which was unnerving him even more. He did managed to drop by and exchange greetings with his good cousin 1404 Ajax, and he did see most of the Greek camp entertaining themselves with conversations and songs conducted through dust and radiation of various frequencies, during this one and only leisure time of theirs. But still, there was no sign of his best friend.

And then 588 Achilles remembered how Patroclus died. At least, what Antilochus told him of.

A shove by the god. A lance through his chest. A spear in his torso—then on the ground you lay, struggling for breath, with your last strength you whispered a curse, for the one that held fast.

“A curse fulfilled by myself,” 588 Achilles murmured. Why did it feel like it had happened so long ago? 588 Achilles continued to drift forward, trying to look for an answer to all this.

About sixty degrees behind him, the great Jupiter—known as Zeus to them all—kept watching over everything. The Great Red Spot in his grandiose realm continued to brew, wielding storms and lightning on the gas giant, as if a huge eye of the wide-seeing god was holding its glare over both camps or either or none, keeping their fortune and fate in check.

Speaking of which…shouldn’t I be dead already?

588 Achilles looked at his own physical form, feeling so lost. No longer could he feel the hands that were to grasp his spear and shield—not without effort. He didn’t see his armor either—maybe this piece of rock will become what he was—he had no idea. So…is this what death feels like? Adrift in deep space, with other souls that are either dead or alive—but still we are together, the great league of Achaeans, conversing all these feats and sufferings we have experienced in our lifetime?

But then, he saw 3793 Leonteus drifting towards him, almost on a course of collision before the Thessalian soldier spun wildly, converting most of his translational kinetic energy into rotational energy. But then, he accelerated, trying to synchronize with 588 Achilles. And when he did, 588 Achilles asked. “What is it that brings you here, noble son of Coronus?”

“Achilles, we have found something,” 3793 Leonteus began. “Someone, actually. Hiding among a group of soilders, but we know his face almost immediately.”

“Where?” 588 Achilles blurted. “Take me to him, now.”

“He’s right here,” 3793 Leonteus pointed to their right hand side.

And there 588 Achilles saw him. It was rage that came before his disappointment, as 588 Achilles glared at this Trojan, the one he hated the most, the one he had once had his vengeance upon—the one that had landed the last blow to his dear friend, Patroclus.

588 Achilles barely heard 3793 Leonteus’s words through the radio waves—the closest thing he had to a whisper—“a spy”.

For he was already charging towards the huge form of 624 Hektor.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Come Undone - A Nestor Oceteva/Reader Short.

Just a lil’ bit of fluffiness for Nes! 

Words - 583

Warnings - None! 

“Are you okay?”

You shuffle onto your side, turning to look at him. “I’m sleepy.”

He snorts softly at this, reaching to stroke your face. “Oh, really? I could never tell.”

His sarcasm is always soft, never biting, unless he’s angry about something. With you, though, he has little cause to ever be vexed. Well, perhaps when you take much too long deciding on food, or where to go in order to get it in the first place. For a man whose whole life is steeped in bullets and bloodshed, Nestor is remarkably calm and controlled. He has to be, you suppose.  

“I believe the technical term is dick drunk.” Your words have him laughing quietly in an instant.

“That doesn’t sound very technical to me.” The proud smirk that lights up his face has enough wattage behind it to power an entire city. “I’ll take it, though.”  

“Well, why break the habit of a lifetime?” He frowns, pinching you. “Nes, no!”

“You know your sass won’t be tolerated, young lady.” Oh yes, how right he is. “Besides, you’ve only known me a few months. Give it time before you make such sweeping statements.”

You scoff, poking him in the chest. “Oh, I need more than four months, do I, to attest that you soak up compliments like a sponge without even a hint of modesty?”

“You just let me fuck your mouth until I came all over your face, and you’re mentioning modesty?” He snort laughs, shaking his head, rooting a finger into one of his braids and scratching his head.  

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, waving your hand at his comment, sitting up a little. “Whatever.”  

“You’re cute, you know that?”

You beam, watching as he continues to scratch. “I try.” A moment of pause follows, your fingers curling around one of his braids, giving it a gentle shake. “You should just unbraid your hair if your head itches. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair loose, either. How long is it?”

“Long!” he exclaims with a soft snort. “You can unravel ‘em if you like?”

You like.  

Shifting up, you push his back gently, encouraging him to move and seat himself between your legs, Nestor stroking your calves as you unfasten the first one, placing the band down on the nightstand, your fingers unhooking each careful link. He's better at doing his hair than you are yours, you think, knowing that your own endeavours in attempting French braids were not executed quite as neatly. You work up to his scalp, the hair coming loose in your hands, a mountain of black waves becoming free, repeating the same on the other side.  

“Oh wow,” you exclaim softly, letting the curls tumble through your fingers. “You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever encountered. Shit, what’s your conditioner bill like every month?”

He raises his eyebrows, leaning back against you. “Enough for me to consider buying shares in Aussie.” You knew you recognised the scent somewhere.  

“You should wear it down more often,” you comment, Nestor shaking his head.  

“Nah, it gets in the way.”

“Of what?”

He turns, pushing your legs wider apart, kissing you between your breasts. “Lots of things. One in particular.”  

Half an hour later, and you’re left wondering why he’d think that, as clutching handfuls of his beautiful mane while he goes down on you, from your perspective at least, is only an added bonus to anything sexual, rather than the hindrance he alluded it to be.  

[thegirlwhowritesfics]

Mastermind

NSFW 18+ - Not smutty but smut implied.

It was one of those rare days in Santo Padre where the cool air reminds you that there are four seasons, the scent of death lingers in the air. The leaves, the soil, the grass, all dying as autumn blows through town, everything tinged brown. The click of her boots echo through the empty park as she slides into the cold metal chair, placing her handbag carefully on the ground she pulls out a smaller bag emptying it on the chess board table. 

Her long fingers placing the pieces from their last meeting, satisfied with their placement she leans back, studying the board. Trying to predict his next move. She doesn’t have to wait long, as he slides into his seat, no acknowledgement of her as he slides his next move. 

A smirk dances across his lips as he watches her, her skin glowing, she’s always been brighter than anything in this town. He watches as she cocks an eyebrow studying the board. Her tongue darted out, licking her lower lip, before her teeth sank in. He wonders what it would be like to sink his teeth into her delicate lips, would she enjoy it, or would she shed a tear? He doesn’t know which option excites him more. 

She finally looks up, his hair is out of his normal braids, his curls cascading around his face, a hint of the wildness that sits just under his skin. Her eyes roam, taking in his wide shoulders and hard chest. His tattoos poking out of his shirt collar and his wrists, she lets her mind wander, wondering just how far down his ink goes. Her fingers hover over her next move, and without a second thought she captures two of his pieces. 

A soft laugh escapes his lips, as her eyes meet his dark ones, getting lost in the soft flecks of gold within. 

“One of these days I’m going to stop letting you win,” he murmurs. 

“You’ve never once let me win,” she retorts. 

“No?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow as he makes his next move. 

She gazes down at the board, thinking of her next move “why would you?” she asks. 

He leans back in his chair stretching his legs out, his jeans brushing up against her stockings, the heat from his body making him shiver. 

“Maybe I just want to get back in your good graces,” he smirks. 

“There are better ways to get back in my good graces” she states, making her move, her eyes studying his fingers, wondering what they would feel like against her bare skin, skimming across her ribs, cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between them. 

She can feel the intensity of his gaze, as she looks up meeting his eyes again. His tongue darts out, licking his lower lip, another shiver runs through her. 

“You could get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness to start with” she says, moving her final piece into place “Checkmate” she smirks as she packs up the pieces, as he leans back in his chair, smirking at her. 

She slides an envelope across the table as she stands, picking her handbag up and slings it over her shoulder. As she starts to walk away his hand snakes out grabbing her arm, she can feel his warmth through the thickness of her coat, his fingers setting her alight. 

She looks down at him as he smirks up at her “tell me when and where” he murmurs, his voice tinged with anticipation and desire. 

She reaches into her coat pocket pulling out the card she prepared earlier, dropping it into his lap, leaning down as she brushes her lips across his ear.

“Don’t be late,” she whispers, feeling the shiver run through him. 

Straightening up, she walks back out of the park, her heels echoing against the concrete, his eyes burning into her from behind. 

Once she’s out of sight he picks up the card she dropped, heavy paper, embossed with gold detailing only an address with a date and time, neatly typed. 

He smirks down at the card “checkmate” he mutters to himself as he collects the envelope off the table and heads out of the park himself.